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Most people have heard of Alexandre Dumas, the great French novelist who wrote 'The Three Musketeers' and many other delightful historical romances. Besides being a great novelist, M. Dumas was a most kind and generous man-kind both to human beings and to animals. He had a great many pets, of which he gives us the history in one of his books. Here are some of the stories about them in his own words.

I was living, he says, at Monte Cristo (this was the name of his villa at St.-Germains); I lived there alone, except for the visitors I received. I love solitude, for solitude is necessary to anyone who works much. However, I do not like complete loneliness; what I love is that of the Garden of Eden, a solitude peopled with animals. Therefore, in my wilderness at Monte Cristo, without being quite like Adam in every way, I had a kind of small earthly paradise.

This is the list of my animals. I had a number of dogs, of which the chief was Pritchard. I had a vulture named Diogenes; three monkeys, one of which bore the name of a celebrated translator, another that of a famous novelist, and the third, which was a female, that of a charming actress. We will call the writer Potich, the novelist the Last of the Laidmanoirs, and the lady Mademoiselle Desgarcins. I had a great blue and yellow macaw called Buvat, a green and yellow parroquet called Papa Everard, a cat called Mysouff, a golden pheasant called Lucullus, and finally, a cock called C?sar. Let us give honour where honour is due, and begin with the history of Pritchard.

I had an acquaintance named M. Lerat, who having heard me say I had no dog to take out shooting, said, 'Ah! how glad I am to be able to give you something you will really like! A friend of mine who lives in Scotland has sent me a pointer of the very best breed. I will give him to you. Bring Pritchard,' he added to his two little girls.

How could I refuse a present offered so cordially? Pritchard was brought in.

He was an odd-looking dog to be called a pointer! He was long-haired, grey and white, with ears nearly erect, mustard-coloured eyes, and a beautifully feathered tail. Except for the tail, he could scarcely be called a handsome dog.

M. Lerat seemed even more delighted to give the present than I was to receive it, which showed what a good heart he had.

'The children call the dog Pritchard,' he said; 'but if you don't like the name, call him what you please.'

I had no objection to the name; my opinion was that if anyone had cause to complain, it was the dog himself. Pritchard, therefore, continued to be called Pritchard. He was at this time about nine or ten months old, and ought to begin his education, so I sent him to a gamekeeper named Vatrin to learn his duties. But, two hours after I had sent Pritchard to Vatrin, he was back again at my house. He was not made welcome; on the contrary, he received a good beating from Michel, who was my gardener, porter, butler, and confidential servant all in one, and who took Pritchard back to Vatrin. Vatrin was astonished; Pritchard had been shut up with the other dogs in the kennel, and he must have jumped over the enclosure, which was a high one. Early the next morning, when the housemaid had opened my front door, there was Pritchard sitting outside. Michel again beat the dog, and again took him back to Vatrin, who this time put a collar round his neck and chained him up. Michel came back and informed me of this severe but necessary measure. Vatrin sent a message to say that I should not see Pritchard again until his education was finished. The next day, while I was writing in a little summer-house in my garden, I heard a furious barking. It was Pritchard fighting with a great Pyrenean sheepdog which another of my friends had just given me. This dog was named Mouton, because of his white woolly hair like a sheep's, not on account of his disposition, which was remarkably savage. Pritchard was rescued by Michel from Mouton's enormous jaws, once more beaten, and for the third time taken back to Vatrin. Pritchard, it appears, had eaten his collar, though how he managed it Vatrin never knew. He was now shut up in a shed, and unless he ate the walls or the door, he could not possibly get out. He tried both, and finding the door the more digestible, he ate the door; and the next day at dinner-time, Pritchard walked into the dining-room wagging his plumy tail, his yellow eyes shining with satisfaction. This time Pritchard was neither beaten nor taken back; we waited till Vatrin should come to hold a council of war as to what was to be done with him. The next day Vatrin appeared.

'Did you ever see such a rascal?' he began. Vatrin was so excited that he had forgotten to say 'Good morning' or 'How do you do?'

'I tell you,' said he, 'that rascal Pritchard puts me in such a rage that I have crunched the stem of my pipe three times between my teeth and broken it, and my wife has had to tie it up with string. He'll ruin me in pipes, that brute-that vagabond!'

'Pritchard, do you hear what is said about you?' said I.

Pritchard heard, but perhaps did not think it mattered much about Vatrin's pipes, for he only looked at me affectionately and beat upon the ground with his tail.

'I don't know what to do with him,' said Vatrin. 'If I keep him he'll eat holes in the house, I suppose; yet I don't like to give him up-he's only a dog. It's humiliating for a man, don't you know?'

'I'll tell you what, Vatrin,' said I. 'We will take him down to Vésinet, and go for a walk through your preserves, and then we shall see whether it is worth while to take any more trouble with this vagabond, as you call him.'

'I call him by his name. It oughtn't to be Pritchard; it should be Bluebeard, it should be Blunderbore, it should be Judas Iscariot!'

Vatrin enumerated all the greatest villains he could think of at the moment.

I called Michel.

'Michel, give me my shooting shoes and gaiters; we will go to Vésinet to see what Pritchard can do.'

'You will see, sir,' said Michel, 'that you will be better pleased than you think.' For Michel always had a liking for Pritchard.

We went down a steep hill to Vésinet, Michel following with Pritchard on a leash. At the steepest place I turned round. 'Look there upon the bridge in front of us, Michel,' I said, 'there is a dog very like Pritchard.' Michel looked behind him. There was nothing but the leather straps in his hand; Pritchard had cut it through with his teeth, and was now standing on the bridge amusing himself by looking at the water through the railing.

'He is a vagabond!' said Vatrin. 'Look! where is he off to now?'

'He has gone,' said I, 'to see what my neighbour Corrège has got for luncheon.' Sure enough, the next moment Pritchard was seen coming out of M. Corrège's back door, pursued by a maid servant with a broom. He had a veal cutlet in his mouth, which he had just taken out of the frying-pan.

'Monsieur Dumas!' cried the maid, 'Monsieur Dumas! stop your dog!'

We tried; but Pritchard passed between Michel and me like a flash of lightning.

'It seems,' said Michel, 'that he likes his veal underdone.'

'My good woman,' I said to the cook, who was still pursuing Pritchard, 'I fear that you are losing time, and that you will never see your cutlet again.'

'Well, then, let me tell you, sir, that you have no right to keep and feed a thief like that.'

'It is you, my good woman, who are feeding him to-day, not I.'

'Me!' said the cook, 'it's-it's M. Corrège. And what will M. Corrège say, I should like to know?'

'He will say, like Michel, that it seems Pritchard likes his veal underdone.'

'Well, but he'll not be pleased-he will think it's my fault.'

'Never mind, I will invite your master to luncheon with me.'

'All the same, if your dog goes on like that, he will come to a bad end. That is all I have to say-he will come to a bad end.' And she stretched out her broom in an attitude of malediction towards the spot where Pritchard had disappeared.

We three stood looking at one another. 'Well,' said I, 'we have lost Pritchard.'

'We'll soon find him,' said Michel.