MOORLAND IDYLLS. 



birds whose home is on the moor, it is a 

 cataclysm inexpressible, appalling, unthink- 

 able. Lizards run before the advancing 

 phalanx of flames in trembling terror till it 

 catches them by the hundred, and calcines 

 them as they run into fine white ashes ; rats 

 squeal from their holes in the bank with 

 piteous screams of agony, as they are slowly 

 roasted alive by the remorseless inundation ; 

 rabbits wait in silence in their stifling bur- 

 rows, and are burned without one sound, 

 for, true to their instincts, they prefer to 

 meet death in their own scorching homes, 

 rather than expose themselves to the dogs 

 who follow every fire, and pounce with mad 

 joy on hapless creatures that run for dear 

 life from its devouring onslaught. 



Next day ah ! next day the area over 

 which the flames have swept is pitiful to 

 behold : blackened soil, charred bushes, 

 naked boughs of burnt fir-trees. Among 

 them, one morning, I saw a poor belated 

 squirrel, exposed on the open, and picking 

 142 



