The pictures of Pictor Ignotus pleased neither himself nor future. generations. Even the idol of the decadents, Paul Verlaine, attained his highest point of expression in his purely religious poetry.

But if we consider Mr. Pater's theories on the practical side, if we consider how they accord with modern life, we must own that the change is all for the better.

The conclusion of the "Renaissance" was dangerous to those who would apply it to life because it judged everything from an individual standard of beauty and pleasure, and also took no account of right and wrong. To the well-balanced mind, perhaps, only the good might appear the beautiful; but we question whether such a character would not be almost unique. We have already said what we think would be the result on minds which are not unique. Such a theory of life is indeed bound to be a failure, for no man can live by individual judgment. He is bound, whether he likes it or not, to take others into account; and he must obey the social conditions under which he is born, however much they may seem to check his artistic development.

Indeed, those who have tried to live up to such a theory have afterwards owned it was impossible, and not even desirable. A free development of individuality, regardless of those around us, and sometimes in spite of them, is after all only a dream of youth, and cannot be realised. We are compelled to give it up later in life. Man was not born to be a law unto himself; he will be to the end of time a society unit.

Mr. Pater, indeed, did not change his views for the practical reasons suggested above. He changed because the truths of Christianity dawned upon him; and he came to believe that in the Church was real development alone possible. He saw that it was a better thing to be under the laws of the Church than to try and live for himself alone. And no one can honestly accuse him of giving up his liberty; for no man is really free, however much he may delude himself into the idea that he is. Let him try to be so, and he will find himself hedged in on every side by the claims of his fellow men. He will be one against many; and the result of the struggle is easily to be foreseen.

Such a piece of writing as the conclusion to the "Renaissance" no doubt would lead many to suppose they were free, and that the only people in the world they need take account of were themselves. But the same teacher went on to show that this freedom was, after all, an illusion; that true liberty was the service of Christ; that it was only by entering the Church that the fulness of life could be realised,

Would that those who take the Walter Pater of earlier years as their master would follow him along the path he trod. Many will not do so; they will say he went backwards, that he became commonplace, bourgeois. They will assail him with all the cant opprobrium that comes to hand. But there will be others who will at length acknowledge that Walter Pater sought and found truth. In the Church of Christ he found a real freedom, higher and better than the lawlessness which so often masquerades beneath that name.

STANLEY ADDLESHAW,

N

A FIGHT FOR LIFE.

ATURALISTS often see strange sights and enjoy curious experiences, even in England. I have heard the "hedgepig" grunt, and watched him in the dusk walk fearlessly to my feet before detecting the presence of a possible enemy, but who, needless to say, did not even frighten it. I have all but trodden on an otter concealed in a dry ditch, and seen the dormouse like a miniature squirrel quietly eating nuts in a hazel copse. To take another family-weasels. I have watched a weasel-mother lead out her young ones from a hollow tree and teach them to hunt for their food along the edge of a brook, much as a tigress teaches her cubs how to kill. If I never caught a weasel asleep, I have seen one pull the tail out of a water-hen, which only just dropped into the water off the bank before the disappointed and bloodthirsty pursuer could seize it. A weasel has even attacked me because I rescued a skylark from its clutches, and has returned again and again to its prey while in my hand. The following incident, however, well illustrates the cunning and persistent ferocity of the weasel, than which a more destructive animal scarcely ranges country districts. It is not, indeed, so bloodthirsty as the polecat, which kills for the mere sake of killing; but it is fiercer and more ready to act on the aggressive, and at times loses that instinctive fear of man which more or less actuates all animals. Should anyone doubt the possibility of the following adventure, he may be referred to Jefferies's "Gamekeeper at Home," p. 121, and to several notices of the weasel's ferocity which have appeared in the Field newspaper. When it is remembered that in India the little wild jungle-dogs will contrive to kill the lordly tiger by hunting it in a pack and surrounding it, till, unable to obtain food, it perishes miserably by starvation; it is no wonder that when numbers give confidence, the weasel, insignificant enough by itself, will dare to attack even man, the lord of all.

I was walking quietly through a wood and had almost gained the farther side-in fact, I was walking up a dry ditch which was itself bounded by the hedge-when I heard a rustling in front. Halting

at once I saw a rabbit, seemingly fascinated, in the ditch gently running towards me. At once I guessed the cause of this unusual proceeding that a weasel was pursuing the rabbit. On it came, not in the least caring for man, its greater foe, but pushing past me with scared eyes far more terrified at the weasel which was behind. At that moment, with its head right up in the air sniffing the rabbit's scent, the weasel appeared some twenty yards before me, also in the ditch. The rabbit when once it had passed me seemed to shake off its curious trance and terror, darted through the hedge and ran nimbly over the grass field beyond. Raising my stick, I advanced towards the bloodthirsty little creature, which slowly gave way and ran back through the herbage. I pressed on, and was astonished at a turn to find the weasel standing still, its hair bristling, its tail waving like that of an angry cat, and now reinforced by a second, which also looked extremely unamiable. I was miserably hampered by trees and bushes on each side, and determined to get out of the ditch in case my little enemies should attack me. An old willow bent over my head from the hedge, and I jumped up, caught a branch and pulled myself towards the trunk by it, scrambling thence to a larger bough which extended over the hedge, and intending to drop in the field beyond. But I looked at my enemies before dropping, and saw them reinforced by three more, and all had scented me and were approaching with fury in their demeanour to assail me in my friendly tree. Clearly it was best to remain where I was for a minute or two and let them pass on. This, however, was farthest from their thoughts. Baffled by their smaller victim, they had made up their mind in their frenzy to attack me, and soon they advanced to the tree, and while two proceeded to climb up, the others rushed at the hedge and commenced to scramble up its sticks. Matters looked serious, and I leaned down and struck one weasel off the trunk of the willow, but it began climbing again, apparently little the worse for the blow, and I remembered that unless its back be broken the weasel possesses even more lives than a cat; the weasels which were scrambling up the hedge were now nearing me, and I foresaw that they might render my position untenable if they all fell on me at once. Luckily I disabled one with my stick, but as I did so another bit me fiercely on the left fingers which held the willow bough, and then dropped off as I hastily removed my hand.

Matters now looked serious, as my hand bled a good deal, and the smell and sight of the blood appeared to madden my small foes worse than before. To my horror, too, I now counted seven

questing about below me, and now rushing up the willow, now ascending by the boughs of the hedge, while I stoutly defended myself, and meditated what should be my next move. Fortunately I was not more than a hundred yards from a river which ran in the grass field below, and I determined to evacuate my present position, and take refuge in it, where I might evade or better deal with my assailants. I had small time allowed me in which to come to this decision, for the maddened creatures were all round me, and gave me plenty of work in defending myself. Nor did they seem in the least to tire of the business. On the contrary, they now numbered eleven, and each accession of allies appeared to give them fresh rage.

Suddenly I dropped on the hedge, and leaping into the field ran at once to the river, followed by the weasels, who were at first somewhat disconcerted by my strategy. They soon recovered themselves, however, and caught me, tearing at my trousers and leaping on my coat, but I effectually disabled two before I reached the bank. Weasels, I knew, could swim well. I had often seen them crossing streams, but I had laid my plan of escape as cunningly as did Horatius in the battle between his kindred and the Curiatii. My plan was to cut them off one by one. Thanks to wading in the river while trout-fishing, I knew its exact depth, and, jumping in, swam some half-dozen strokes to a pebble ridge, on which I was certain I could stand up to my waist, but none of it projected from the water. The current naturally flowed swiftly on each side of this bank. Taking my stick from my mouth, I now faced my pursuers in confidence. They halted for a moment on the bank, sniffed the air, and did not seem inclined at first to dispute my victory. At length a couple leapt in, and were swept down past me. I could not reach them, but waited for the rest. The others, whether from instinct or by what looked remarkably like a reasoning process, went twenty yards or so farther up the bank, and then leapt in, hoping the stream would carry them on to me. I let them come opposite, and then killed both as they swam by. Not discouraged, the others leapt in all at once, and drifted down towards me. I killed another, and disabled a second, and hoped I was clear of my enemies now. Not at all. They landed, and to the number of five again ran up the bank, and repeated this manœuvre of swimming down. Again I killed two, and it will hardly be credited that the remaining three, with courage worthy of a better cause, again and again leapt in, trying to fix on me, until I had killed every one of them. Then I swam out, victorious,