errets, gins, and wires being alike forbidden,
foxes scarcely ever seen, and even guns a rare and very memorable
visitation. The headland staves the southern storm, sand-hills shevelled
with long rush disarm the western fury, while inland gales from north
and east leap into the clouds from the uplands. Well aware of all their
bliss, and feeling worthy of it, the blameless citizens pour forth, upon
a mild spring evening, to give one another the time of day, to gaze
at the labors of men upon the sea, and to take the sweet leisure,
the breeze, and the browse. The gray old conies of curule rank, prime
senators of the sandy beach, and father of the father-land, hold a
just session upon the head borough, and look like brown loaves in the
distance. But these are conies of great mark and special character, full
of light and leading, because they have been shot at, and understand how
to avoid it henceforth. They are satisfied to chew very little bits of
stuff, and particular to have no sand in it, and they hunch their round
backs almost into one another, and double up their legs to keep them
warm, and reflect on their friends' gray whiskers. And one of their
truest pleasures is, sitting snug at their own doors, to watch their
children's gambols.

For this is the time, with the light upon the slope, and the freshness
of salt flowing in from the sea, when the spirit of youth must be free
of the air, and the quickness of life is abounding. Without any heed
of the cares that are coming, or the prick-eared fears of the elders, a
fine lot of young bunnies with tails on the frisk scour everywhere over
the warren. Up and down the grassy dips and yellow piles of wind-drift,
and in and out of the ferny coves and tussocks of rush and ragwort, they
scamper, and caper, and chase one another, in joy that the winter is
banished at last, and the glorious sun come back again.

Suddenly, as at the wave of a wand, they all stop short and listen. The
sun is behind them, low and calm, there is not a breath of wind to
stir their flax, not even the feather of a last year's bloom has moved,
unless they moved it. Yet signal of peril has passed among them; they
curve their soft ears for the sound of it, and open their sensitive
nostrils, and pat upon the ground with one little foot to encourage
themselves against the panting of their hearts and the traitorous length
of their shadows.

Ha! Not for nothing was their fear this day. An active and dangerous