epressed-looking donkey, lean and ragged, his sleepy eyes half-closed,
his ears hanging down. This dreadful object was to open the sports.

"What fools some people are!" I thought.

Minutes were passing away, the tumult increased, impatience was waxing
into anger, when the great red scoundrel, with his immense sugar-loaf
hat, advanced carelessly into the middle of the open space, and cried
solemnly, with his fist upon his hips--

"The onagra of the desert against any dog in the town!"

There was a silence of astonishment. Daniel, the butcher, with staring
eyes and gaping mouth, asks--

"Where is the onagra?"

"There she stands!"

"That! why, it's an ass!"

"It's an onagra."

"Well, let us see what it is," cried the butcher, laughing.

He whistled his dog to come, and, pointing to the ass, cried--

"Foux, catch him!"

But, strange to say, as soon as the ass saw the dog running to the
attack, he turned nimbly round, and launched out with the whole length
of his leg--so well aimed a kick that the dog fell back as if struck by
lightning, with his jaw fractured!

Loud laughter rang all round, while the poor dog fled with a piteous yell
of pain.

The bear-leader smiled at the butcher, and asked--

"Well, what's your opinion? Is my onagra an ass?"

"No," said Daniel, rather ashamed, "it is an onagra."

"All right! all right! any more dogs coming to fight my desert-born,
desert-bred onagra? Come on, the onagra is ready!"

But no one came forward; and the bear-leader shouted in vain in his
shrill tones--

"Gentlemen! ladies! are you all afraid? afraid of the onagra? The dogs of
your town ought to be ashamed of themselves. Come on! courage, gentlemen!
courage, ladies!"

But no one was inclined to risk his dog's life or limbs against so
dangerous an animal, and the cries for the bears were beginning again.

"The bears! the bears! bring out the bears!"

After waiting a quarter of an hour the fellow saw that his onagra was not
likely to get any more customers, so, putting the beast up in the stable,
he approached the pigsty, opened it, and drew out by his chain Baptiste,
the Savoy bear, an old brute with a brown mangy-looking coat, as sulky
and ashamed as a sweep coming down a chimney. For all he was not handsome
the shouts of applause rang out, and the fighting dogs themselves, shut
into the tavern porch, smelling a wild beast, set up a tragic howl that
made your hair stand on end. The miserable bear was