get very hungry. Fortunately, as I
had calculated on remaining out all day, I had my breakfast and dinner in
my game-bag, and I eat as I went along.'

"'Pardon me,' said Mery, interrupting M. Louet; 'I have an observation to
make. Observe, my dear Dumas, the difference between the habits of the
human race in northern and southern climes. In the north the sportsman
runs after his game; in the south he waits for it to come to him. In the
first case he takes out an empty bag and brings home a full one; in the
other he takes it out full and brings it home empty. Pray, go on, my dear
M. Louet. I have spoken.' And he recommenced puffing at his cigar.

"'Where was I?' said M. Louet, who had lost the threat of his narrative
through this interruption.

"'Speeding over hill and dale in pursuit of your thrush.'

"'True, sir. I cannot describe to you the state of excitement and
irritation I was in. I began to think of the bird of Prince Camaralzaman,
and to suspect that I, too, might be the victim of some enchantment. I
passed Cassis and La Ciotat, and entered the large plain extending from
Ligne to St. Cyr. I had been fifteen hours on my feet, and I was half dead
with fatigue. I made a vow to Our Lady of La Garde to hang a silver thrush
in her chapel, if she would only assist me to catch the living one I was
following; but she paid no attention to me. Night was coming on, and in
despair I fired my last shot at the accursed bird. I have no doubt he
heard the lead whistle, for this time he flew so far that I lost sight of
him in the twilight. He had gone in the direction of the village of St.
Cyr. Probably he intended to sleep there, and I resolved to do the same.
Fortunately there was to be no performance that night at the Marseilles
theatre.'"

The worthy basso goes to the inn at St. Cyr, and relates his troubles to
the host, who decides that the object of his pursuit must have halted for
the night in a neighbouring piece of brushwood. By daybreak M. Louet is
again a-foot, accompanied by the innkeeper's dog, Soliman. They soon get
upon the scent of the devoted thrush.

"'Every body knows that a true sporting dog will follow any one who has a
gun on his shoulder. "Soliman, Soliman!" cried I; and Soliman came. Sir,
the instinct of the dog was remarkable: we had hardly got out of the
village when he made a point--such a point, sir!--his tail out as straight
as a ramrod. There was the thrush, not ten paces from me. I fired both