THE PUPPIES 129 



What beautiful, jolly things those puppies are ! I give the 

 reader a picture of them. It is a beautiful autumn eve in 

 September, the weather like summer, as if that season, seated 

 on the blue mountains of Wales, and the nearer hills of the 

 Forest of Dean, robed in the rays of the western sun, was taking 

 a last lingering look on the ruddy Severn and the deep rich 

 emerald vale beyond. The banner on the Castle tower sleeps 

 around its staff, or idly stirs as the congregating wings of 

 swallows and martins, with their merry chirping, flit around it. 

 There is scarce a breath of air, the hares and rabbits come out 

 to feed, and the vale re-echoes with the near and distant and 

 mellowed lowings of the milch-cows answering to the call of the 

 farmers' daughters or of their male and female servants. The 

 atmosphere is perfumed by the sweet breath of kine mingled 

 with the fragrance which arises from the bruised fresh grass over 

 which they pass, and the ruddy fruit of the orchards. There is 

 a beautiful girl with her pail on her head ! She would not 

 shame a drawing-room ; and see, before her trot two fat, sleek, 

 foxhound puppies, their dappled coats as soft as a mole-skin, 

 and their wrinkled faces, full eyes, and trailing ears expressive 

 of sagacity and content. They tumble through the stile by the 

 footboard, being too young to jump ; one of them slips into the 

 ditch, and is extracted by the graceful girl, who stoops to pull 

 him out without casting the pail from her head, when on they 

 go again. The favourite cow is milked first, and, while the full 

 pails of the farmer's daughter and her attendants are rattling 

 and frothing up in their milky treasures, the two puppies wander 

 together in the grass. A delicious odour then assails their nose 

 it arises from a fine old hare who has not yet left her form. 

 Cautiously they venture, or the boldest of them alone at first, 

 to smell her ; up she jumps, and the puppies, uttering a short 

 suppressed bark, for it does not amount to a bay, retreat 

 towards their young mistress. Her forehead is still pressed 

 against the cow, but she turns her healthful cheek, and laugh- 

 ingly asks the puppies, " What is the matter ? " Emboldened 

 by finding that the hare has not pursued them, they return to 



