" SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDl/^ 183 



" I caii^t get my legs out of tlie clay/^ said 

 Clodpole. 



" Then what the deuce business had you there ? " 

 said I. 



Fallacious as may have been my prognostics of 

 my OAvn career in life, they were correct enough 

 of that of the hunted hare ; back she came from 

 the Beacon Hill, blackened was her colour, and 

 the reeling high and stiff gait told a tale not to 

 be mistaken. On came the pack like a minia- 

 ture hurricane ; on came old Mullins on the big 

 bay. 



Poor puss, your hours are numbered ! Fate 

 follows thee with untiring footstep, and a life un- 

 conscious of premeditated harm to others pleads 

 but feebly against its stern resolve : so might 

 soliloquise he who in lifers chace has played a 

 somewhat prominent and hardly contested race. 



The pack now caught a vicAV; each hound 

 rushed impetuously forward ; up a high bank reeled 

 the sinking hare, and through a well-known meuse 

 she slid feebly ; over went the high-mettled little 

 pack ; over went Mullins, taking part of the 

 hedge with him. "Wheek! wheek ! ^^ and poor 

 puss was soon in a leathern case behind Sam^s 

 saddle. 



I am not of a particularly sensitive turn, but 

 the plaintive '^ wlieek " of a dying hare grates on 

 my nerves : the fox dies a game, a fighting foe ; 



N 4 



