"She (the hare) generally returns to the beat from which she was put up, running, as all the world knows, in a circle, or something sometimes like it, we had better say, that we may keep on good terms with the mathematical. At starting, she tears away at her utmost speed for a mile or more, and distances the dogs half way; she then returns, diverging a little to the right or left, that she may not run into the mouths of her enemies-a necessity which accounts for what we call the circularity of her course. Her flight from home is direct and precipitate: but on her way back, when she has gained a little time for consideration and stratagem, she describes a curious labyrinth of short turnings and windings, as if to perplex the dogs by the intri. cacy of her track." Compare this with Shakspere: And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mr. Ayton thus goes on:— 6 "The hounds, whom we left in full cry, continue their music without remission as long as they are faithful to the scent; as a summons, it should seem, like the seamen's cry, to pull together, or keep together, and it is a certain proof to themselves and their followers that they are in the right way. On the instant that they are at fault, or lose the scent, they are silent. The weather, in its impression on the scent, is the great father of faults;' but they may arise from other accidents, even when the day is in every respect favourable. The intervention of ploughed land, on which the scent soon cools or evaporates, is at least perilous; but sheep-stains, recently left by a flock, are fatal: they cut off the scent irrecoverably-making a gap, as it were, in the clue, in which the dogs have not even a hint for their guidance." Compare Shakspere again : Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometimes sorteth with a herd of deer; For there his smell with others being mingled, Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, One more extract from Mr. Ayton : 66 Suppose, then, after the usual rounds, that you see the hare at last (a sorry mark for so many foes) sorely beleaguered-looking dark and draggled and limping heavily along--then stopping to listenagain tottering on a little-and again stopping; and at every step, and every pause, hearing the death-cry grow nearer and louder." One more comparison, and we have exhausted Shakspere's description : : By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, And now his grief may be compared well Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch And being low, never reliev'd by any. Here, then, be it observed, are not only the same objects, the same accidents, the same movement, in each description, but the very words And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep, Some say that here a murder has been done, What thoughts must through the creature's brain have past! Are but three bounds—and look, sir, at this last; For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; And in my simple mind we cannot tell What cause the hart might have to love this place, Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, In April here beneath the scented thorn He heard the birds their morning carols sing: And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born Not half a furlong from that selfsame spring. Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade; So will it be, as I have often said, Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are gone." "Gray-headed shepherd, thou hast spoken well; Small difference lies between thy creed and mine: This beast not unobserved by nature fell; His death was mourn'd by sympathy divine. The Being that is in the clouds and air, That is in the green leaves among the groves, Maintains a deep and reverential care For the unoffending creatures whom he loves. And now, too happy for repose or rest, Sir Walter walk'd all round, north, south, and west, And climbing up the hill (it was at least Nine roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till now To commemorate the wondrous leap of the gallant stag, Sir Walter raised three pillars where the turf was grazed by the stag's hoofs, and he built a pleasure-house, and planted a bower, and made a cup of stone for the fountain. I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost, 66 And what this place might be I then inquired. The shepherd stopp'd, and that same story told The arbour does its own condition tell; You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream; There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep, Will wet his lips within that cup of stone; And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep, What thoughts must through the creature's brain have past! Are but three bounds—and look, sir, at this last; For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; And in my simple mind we cannot tell What cause the hart might have to love this place, Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, Lull'd by this fountain in the summer-tide; In April here beneath the scented thorn He heard the birds their morning carols sing: And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born Not half a furlong from that selfsame spring. Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade; The sun on drearier hollow never shone; So will it be, as I have often said, Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are gone." "Gray-headed shepherd, thou hast spoken well; Small difference lies between thy creed and mine: This beast not unobserved by nature fell; His death was mourn'd by sympathy divine. The Being that is in the clouds and air, That is in the green leaves among the groves, Maintains a deep and reverential care For the unoffending creatures whom he loves. |