128 THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. 



will find him out. In vain the tunnels of the 

 c bury/ they will come as surely under ground 

 as above. At last, weaned, panting, frightened 

 almost to death, the timid creature will hide 

 in a cul-de-sac, a hole that has no outlet, bury- 

 ing its head in the sand. Then the tiny blood- 

 hounds will steal with swift, noiseless rush, 

 and fasten upon the veins of the neck. What 

 a rattling the wings of the pigeons make as 

 they rise out of the trees in hot haste and 

 alarm! As we pass a fir-copse, we stoop 

 down and look along the ground under the 

 foliage. The sharp c needles,' or leaves, which 

 fall will not decay, and they kill all vegetation, 

 so that there is no underwood or herbage to 

 obstruct the view. It is like looking into a 

 vast cellar supported upon innumerable slender 

 columns. The pheasants run swiftly away 

 underneath. High up the cones are ripening 

 those mysterious emblems sculptured in the 

 hands of the gods at Nineveh, perhaps typify- 

 ing the secret of life. More bracken. What 

 a strong, tall fern ! it is like a miniature tree. 

 So thick is the cover, a thousand archers might 

 lie hid in it easily. In this wild solitude, 



