METAPHYSICS OF BEAR HUNTING. 865 
‘shooting up. What can it mean? Ha! the greedy rogue! 
He is jumping up at the tit-bits, that I hung on a limb. 
He’s welcome to them if he can get them—if that'll satisfy 
him so far that he wont attempt to make tit-bits out of me. 
Ha! ha! strange that that quaint song about the fairies 
should be buzzing through my brain now:— 
‘From the silver tops of the moon-touched trees, 
Where they swing in their cobweb hammocks high, 
And rocked about in the evening breeze ——” 
I'd make a good-sized courtier for Queen Mab’s 
‘« Hall of state in the lilly’s cup.” 
I wonder how the “wee people” would fancy buckskins. 
’m “rocked about in the evening breeze’ with a vengeance. 
wish I had “ cobwebs,” or something stouter in proportion, 
to lash my “‘ hammock’ a little more securely— 
“Ye Gods !— 
From fairies and tempters of the night 
Guard me!” 
Rather heathenish rendering that of— 
‘¢ And now I lay me down to sleep,” &c. 
I fear I am no better than a heathen, anyhow! But bless 
us, they say a fairy is 
‘Something betwixt heaven and hell, 
Something that neither stood nor fell— 
Something that through thy wit or will, 
May work thee good, may work thee ill.” 
t. e. it is a “betweenity!’ But hush! they are “pesky 
folk,” and won’t stand being spoken of disrespectfully. They 
“may work thee ill,” I am ill enough off already ! 
Curious notions to get into a body’s head! I wouder if 
