ness. Their bloodthirstiness was
appalling; they knew exactly what was to happen, and their sharp yells
of rapture made a din that set my head swimming. Each of them writhed
and strained at the collar, and I caught myself wondering what the poor
rabbits thought (can they think?) as they heard the wild chiming of
that demon pack. In the country, when a dog gives tongue Bunny sits up
and twirls his ears uneasily; then, even if the bark is heard from afar
off, the little brown beast darts underground. Alas! there is no
friendly burrow in this bleak field, and there is no chance of escape;
for the merry roughs will soon finish any rabbit that shows the dogs a
clean pair of heels.

The ceremony of weighing was completed in a dignified way, and the first
brace of dogs went to the slipper. One was a sprightly smooth terrier,
with a long, richly-marked head; he was quivering with anticipation, and
his demeanour offered a marked contrast to that of the dour, composed
brute pitted against him. The rabbit was lifted out of the hamper by one
of those greasy nondescript males, who are always to be seen when pigeon
shooting or coursing is going on. The greasy being held the rabbit by
the ears, and put it temptingly near the dogs. The sprightly terrier
went clean demented; the sullen one stood with thoughtful earnestness
waiting for a chance to catch the start. When the rabbit was put down it
cowered low and seemed trying to shrink into the ground; its ears were
pressed hard back, its head was pressed closely to the grass, and it was
huddled in an ecstasy of terror. Of course that is quite usual, but we
practical sportsmen cannot waste time over the sentimental terrors of a
rabbit. The greasy man uttered a howl, and Bunny started up, ran in a
circle, and then set off for the fence. I was struck by the animal's
mode of running. For hours I have watched them feeding, at early morning
or sundown, and I have noticed that as they shifted from place to place
they moved with a slow kind of hop, gathering their hind legs under them
at each stride. When Bunny is on his own ground he is one of the fastest
of four-footed things. He lays himself down to the ground, and travels
at such a terrific pace for about forty yards that he looks like a mere
streak on the ground. I never yet saw a terrier that could turn a rabbit
unless Bunny was imprudent enough to wander more than one hundred yards
from home. But this wretched brute in our field was moving