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
barrels--Poum! Poum! Powder not worth a rush. I had used all my own the
day before, and this was some I had got from my host. The thrush flew away
unhurt. But Soliman had kept his eye on him, and went straight to the
place where the bird was. Again he made a most beautiful point; but
although I looked with all my eyes, I could not see the thrush. I was
stooping down in this manner, looking for the creature, when suddenly it
flew away, and so fast, that before I got my gun to my shoulder, it was
out of reach. Soliman opened his eyes and stared at me; as much as to say,
"What is the meaning of all this?" The expression of the dog's face made
me feel quit humiliated. I could not help speaking to him. "Never mind,"
said I, nodding my head, "you will see next time." You would have thought
the animal understood me. He again began to hunt about. In less than ten
minutes he stopped as if he were cut out of marble. I was determined not
to lose this chance; and I went right before the dog's nose. The bird rose
literally under my feet; but I was so agitated that I fired my first
barrel too soon, and my second too late. The first discharge passed by him
like a single ball; the second was too scattered, and he passed between it.