METAPHYSICS OF BEAR HUNTING. 365 



shooting up. What can it mean ? Ha ! the greedy rogue ! 

 He is jumping up at the tit-bits, that I hung on a limb. 

 He's welcome to them if he can get them if that'll satisfy 

 him so far that he wont attempt to make tit-bits out of me. 



Ha ! ha ! strange that that quaint song about the fairies 

 should be buzzing through my brain now: 



"From the silver tops of the moon- touched trees, 



Where they swing in their cobweb hammocks high, 

 And rocked about in the evening breeze " 



I'd make a good-sized courtier for Queen Mab's 



" Hall of state in the lilly's cup." 



I wonder how the " wee people" would fancy buckskins. 

 I'm "rocked about in the evening breeze" with a vengeance. 

 I wish I had " cobwebs," or something stouter in proportion, 

 to lash my "hammock" a little more securely 



" Ye Gods ! 



From fairies and tempters of the night 

 Guard me !" ' 



Rather heathenish rendering that of 



" And now I lay me down to sleep," &c. 



I fear I am no better than a heathen, anyhow ! But bless 

 us, they say a fairy is 



" Something betwixt heaven and hell, 

 Something that neither stood nor fell 

 Something that through thy wit or will, 

 May work thee good, may work thee ill." 



i. e. it is a "betweenity !" But hush! they are "pesky 

 folk," and won't stand being spoken of disrespectfully. They 

 "may work thee ill," I am ill enough off already ! 



Curious notions to get into a body's head ! I wonder if 



