Life an exquisite Pleasure 



the shadow falls into and darkens the cavities once filled 

 by the wistful eyes which whilom glanced down from 

 the summit here upon the sweet clover fields beneath. 

 Beasts of prey and wandering dogs have carried away the 

 oones of the skeleton, dropping them far apart ; the crows 

 and the ants doubtless had their share of the carcass. 

 Perhaps a wound caused by shot that did not immediately 

 check his speed, or wasting disease depriving him of 

 strength to obtain food, brought him low ; mayhap an in- 

 sidious 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 must 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 pleasure. 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 gluttony ; 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 that this skull here, lying so 

 light in the palm of the hand, with the bright sunshine 



