Skull of a Hare. at 
and the ants doubtless had their share of the carcass. 
Perhaps a wound caused by shot that did not imme- 
diately check his speed, or wasting disease depriving 
him of strength to obtain food, brought him low ; 
mayhap an insidious enemy crept on him in his. 
form. 
The joy in life of these animals—indeed, of almost 
all animals and birds in freedom—is very great. You 
may see it in every motion: in the lissom bound of 
the hare, the playful leap of the rabbit, the song that 
the lark and the finch mzs¢ sing ; the soft, loving coo 
of the dove in the hawthorn ; the blackbird ruffling 
out his feathers on a rail. The sense of living—the 
consciousness of seeing and feeling—is manifestly 
intense in them all, and is in itself an exquisite plea- 
sure. Their appetites seem ever fresh: they rush to 
the banquet spread by Mother Earth with a gusto that 
Lucullus never knew in the midst of his artistic glut- 
tony ; they drink from the stream with dainty sips as 
though it were richest wine. Watch the birds in the 
spring ; the pairs dance from bough to bough, and 
know not how to express their wild happiness. The 
hare rejoices in the swiftness of his limbs: his nostrils 
sniff the air, his strong sinews spurn the earth ; like 
an arrow from a bow he shoots up the steep hill that 
we must clamber slowly, halting half-way to breathe. 
On outspread wings the swallow floats above, then 
slants downwards with a rapid swoop, and with the 
impetus of the motion rises easily. Therefore it is 
