When there is nothing more
exciting to do, he will drive a trotter for twenty miles at break-neck
pace. When he dies, his life's work may be easily summed up:--He drank
so many quarts of ale; he killed so many pigeons and rabbits. Nothing
more.
My terrier made a ferocious dash at the big hamper, and I knew that our
victims were there. Presently the dogs began to arrive, and I was amazed
and amused to see some of the little brutes. They could no more catch a
rabbit on fair ground than they could pull down a locomotive; but the
long railway journey, the strange field, and the clamorous mob render
poor Bunny almost helpless, and he gives up his life only too easily.
The best of the terriers were beautiful wretches with iron muscles and a
general air of courageous wickedness. 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.
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