whilst few, if any, animals have more enemies than the hare, none perhaps is better endowed with instincts to outwit them.

as that great mediæval hunter, the master of game, said in 1402: “there is no man in this world that would say that any hound can unravel that which a hare has done, or that could find her. for she will go the length of a bowshot or more by one way, and ruse again by another and then she will take her way by another side and the same she shall do ten, twelve or twenty times, then she will come into some hedge or thicket and shall make semblance to abide there and then will make crosswards ten or twelve times and will make her ruses and then she will take some false path and shall go thence a great way, and such semblance she will make many times before she goes to her seat.”

shifts such as these, probably unrivalled in their subtlety, are embodied in the incidents, based on observation or record, which make up the present story of the hare, a story for the first time told at length.

imagination has of necessity supplied much of the description of a life spent under the stars; but nothing alien to the hare’s habits and character has been wittingly introduced, though what the outlook on the world, what the thoughts of this and the predatory creatures entering into the drama are, must ever remain a matter for speculation.

the narrative has been placed a century back, chiefly because the more primitive days of a bygone cornwall allowed the inclusion of more numerous fauna, and permitted the use of a wilder setting.

for my aim has been to present a picture instinct with the spirit of the wild, of the upland, moor, and cliff of the land’s end at a time when the prey and the beast of prey roamed the night fearless of snare and gin—and man rarely intruded by day—under conditions, rapidly fading into oblivion, which seem worthy of record before they disappear for ever.

j. c. t.

rosmorran, newquay,

cornwall, aug. 28, 1912.