i44 TBE OPEN AIR. 



THE HAUNT OF THE HARE. 



It is never so much winter in the country as it is 

 in the town. The trees are still there, and in and 

 about them birds remain. " Quip ! whip ! " sounds 

 from the elms; "Whip! quip!" Kedwing thrushes 

 threaten with the " whip " those who advance towards 

 them ; they spend much of the day in the elm-tops. 

 Thick tussocks of old grass are conspicuous at the 

 skirt of a hedge ; half green, half grey, they contrast 

 with the bare thorn. From behind one of these tus- 

 socks a hare starts, his black-tipped ears erect, his 

 long hinder limbs throwing him almost like a grass- 

 hopper over the sward— no creature looks so hand- 

 some or startling, and it is always a pleasant surprise 

 to see him. Pheasant or partridge do not surprise in 

 the least — they are no more than any other bird ; but 

 a hare causes quite a different feeling. He is per- 

 fectly wild, unfed, untended, and then he is the 

 largest animal to be shot in the fields. A rabbit sHps 

 along the mound, under bushes and behind stoles, 

 but a hare bolts for the open, and hopes in his speed. 

 He leaves the straining spaniel behind, and the 

 distance between them increases as they go. The 

 spaniel's broad hind paws are thrown wide apart 

 as he runs, striking outwards as well as backwards. 



