THE BOT-H^^■IEP.. 49 



I long sorely to run I — ^Pompey starts off, I call him back ! 

 It is necessary I shonld be dignified — should prove to bitn 

 and all the world, by my unhurried calmness, — 



that my demerits 



May speak nnboimeted to as proud a fortane 

 A3 this that has befiaJlen." 



I walk slow and stately, feeling exalted by my self-denial 

 — speculating after what maimer the fates are about to reward 

 me — tTiinVing of a whole dozen of partridges, a splendid 

 male red-bird — or, it may be, a large fat pheasant, or some 

 entirely new and wondrons creature, as best befitting my 

 just claims. 



We are close at hand — ^we can sco the little tenement 

 shake — hear the heavy beat of struggling wings. Too mnch 

 for my stoicism is that sound ! With flattering pulse I spring 

 eagerly forward — bah ! — ^it is nothing but a common thieving 



jay' 



I almost stagger witJi the revulsion of my soaring aspira- 

 tions — ^while Pompey proceeds to get out the poor bird with 

 sundry abusive epithets and gabbled threats of neck-wringing. 

 " Yah ! yah I ole feller ! — ootch at last 1 Carry sticks to de 

 debbil, to make fire, bum dis child wid, wiU you ! Da ! now 

 you carry sticks to debbil !" and away flutters the obnoxious 

 jay's headless body over the bloodied snow. 



I have said I was not cruel, and it was a perfect agony to 

 me to witness the death of any of my prisoners — ^but the 

 shock of the fall of my high-flown hopes was too much for 

 me, and in this case I did not recover in time to save the 

 unlucky victim of a superstition universal among our negroes, 

 and to which, if I were not ashamed of the confession, I 

 mi^t admit having been more than half inclined myself 1 



But this was not all our sport on the snow, either ! K it 

 grew damp towards evening, then the cold night-winda would 



