CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



flews keeps licking his bloody legs, and with long 

 darting tongue cleansing the mire from his neck, 

 breast, side, and back a sanguinary spectacle! He 

 seems almost insensible to our caresses, and there is 

 something almost like upbraiding in his victorious 

 eyes. Now that his veins are cooling, he begins to feel 

 the pain of his wounds many on, and close to vital 

 parts. Most agonizing of all all his four shanks are 

 tusk-pierced, and, in less than ten minutes, he limps 

 away to his kennel, lame as if riddled by shot 



"Heu quantum mutatus ab illo 

 Hectare!" 



gore-besmeared and dirt -draggled an hour ago se- 

 renely bright as the lily in June, or the April snow. 

 The huge waggon moves away out of- the clachan 

 without its master, who, ferocious from the death of 

 the other brute he loved, dares the whole school to 

 combat. Off fly a dozen jackets and a devil's dozen 

 of striplings from twelve past to going sixteen 

 firmly wedged together like the Macedonian Phalanx 

 are yelling for the fray. There is such another 

 shrieking of women as at the taking of Troy. But 



" The Prince of M earns stept forth before the crowd, 

 And, Carter, challenged you to single jight !" 



Bob Howie, who never yet feared the face of clay, 



and had too great a heart to suffer mere children to 



[79] 



