88 THE ZOOLOGIST. 
in distress of mind. Presently he makes a movement to spring, checks it, 
and turns round as if looking for advice or encouragement. Next he runs 
back a short way, as if about to give it up; returns, and cranes over the 
brink ; after which he follows the bank up and down, barking in excitement, 
but always coming back to the original spot. The lines of his face, the 
straining eye, the voice that seems struggling to articulate in the throat, the 
attitude of the body,—all convey the idea of intense desire which fear » 
prevents him from translating into action. There is indecision—uncertainty 
—in the nervous grasp of the paws on the grass, in the quick short 
coursings to and fro. Would infallible instinct hesitate? He has no 
knowledge of yards, feet, and inches—yet he is clearly trying to judge of 
the distance. Finally, just as his master disappears through a gateway, the 
agony of his “ mind ” rises to the highest pitch. | He advances to the very 
brink—he half springs, stays himself, his hinder paws slip down the steep 
bank, he partly loses his balance, and then makes a great leap, lights with 
a splash in mid-stream, and swims the remainder with ease. There is, at 
least, a singular coincidence in the outward actions of the two.” 
Mr. Whymper’s portrait of the dog could scarcely be better 
if it were a photograph. The “ indecision,” “ uncertainty,” and 
the “ nervous grasp of the paws on the grass,” so well described 
by the author, are very happily rendered by the artist. 
His illustration of a “‘ Hawk pursued by small birds” (p. 125), 
while equally forcible in character, depicts some very different 
features of animal life. Here we have * determination” and 
“fixity of purpose” in the rush of small birds, and “ boldness ” 
in the outline of the Sparrowhawk, whose upturned yellow eye, 
short rounded wings, and long slender legs, at once proclaim his 
species, so different to the dark-eyed, long-winged Falcon. 
“Tt is difficult,” says the author, ‘to understand upon what principle 
the hawk selects his prey. He will pass by with apparent disdain birds that 
are within easy reach. Sometimes a whole cloud of birds will surround and 
chase him out of a field; and he pursues the even tenour of his way 
unmoved, though Sparrow and Finch almost brush against his talons, 
Perhaps he has the palate of an epicure, and likes to vary the dish of flesh 
torn alive from the breast of partridge, chicken, 01 mouse. He does not 
eat all he kills; he will sometimes carry a bird a considerable distance, and 
then drop the poor thing. Only recently I saw a hawk, pursued by twenty 
or thirty finches and other birds across a ploughed field, suddenly drop a 
bird from his claws as he passed over a hedge. The bird fell almost 
perpendicularly, with a slight fluttering of the wings, just sufficient to 
preserve it from turning head-over-heels, and on reaching the hedge could 
