Boekgegevens
Titel: First English reading book: Engelsch leesboek voor instituten, gymnasiën en hoogere burgerscholen: met Nederlandsche woordenlijst
Auteur: Herrig, Ludwig
Uitgave: Arnhem: J. Voltelen, 1869 *
Auteursrechten: Zie auteursrechten
Citeerinstructie: Bijzondere Collecties van de Universiteit van Amsterdam, UBM: IWO 513 H 21
URL: https://schoolmuseum.uba.uva.nl/bookid/LCSM_204683
Onderwerp: Taal- en letterkunde naar afzonderlijke talen: Engelse taalkunde
Trefwoord: Leesvaardigheid, Engels, Leermiddelen (vorm)
* jaar van uitgave niet op de gebruikelijke wijze verkregen, mogelijk betreft het een schatting
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21'
steed was sadly mangled, and the lion,
equally injured, lay on his side panting, as
if unable to move; but the taste and smell
of the horse's blood excited him again to
renew the combat; so, after waiting a few
minutes to recover his strength, he raised
himself, more on his belly than his feet,
and with a stealthy pace began to creep
towards the horse, who stood trembling all
over, close to the gate of the area. The
lion creeping towards him made a spring,
but the horse suddenly turned and again
treated his enemy with a powerful kick,
which threw him into the middle of the
space, and there he lay, quite disabled and
unable to renew the combat, while the horse
sank on his haunches from loss of blood,
and looked a most piteous spectacle.
With this cruel sport our entertainment
ended, and a sumptuous breakfast awaited
us at the royal palace. After the repast
was over, the cloth being removed, quails
trained for the purpose were placed upon
the green cloth, and fought most gamely,
after the manner of the English game-cock,
and large bets were laid by the company
on the different birds.
Such is the way that men, said to be
created in the image of their Maker, amuse
themselves. For my part, it would seem
to me that those who delight in tormenting
dumb animals for the sake of their own
pleasure, were rather made in the image
of the Evil One. Ip, Parley.)
167.
DEER-STALKING IN THE
HIGHLANDS.
Of all true British sports, this is the
noblest. I do not think it noble for a large
landowner or country squire to boast, as
many do, of having bagged (slaughtered)
three or four thousand partridges, half as
many pheasants, and a quarter of as many
hares. This is the work of a butcher, not
of a sportsman, and is a disgrace to our
country. Nor am I an admirer of anything
that gives unnecessary. pain to any living
thing — from the mite in the cheese, to
the elephant in the forest; but in this sport
the scene is so inspiririg,. with its mountains
and precipices; its cataracts and its burns,
its storms, its mists, and J^s golden exha-
lation of the dawn, that I cannot but ad-
mire it. But to the sport.
It is just daybreak; the Stalker leaps
from his' bed, takes a single glance at the
sky, to see the course of the wind, and
hurries on his clothes. Breakfast awaits
him, a Scotch breakfast — tea and coffee,
and venison pasty, mutton chops and broil-
ed grouse, eggs, cakes, dog-toasts, and ban-
nock — and so forth in supply for twenty
men instead of two or three. Breakfast
over, he prepares for a start. His attend-
ants are holding a couple of hounds in a
leash, that, tugging with impatience to be
off, are quite ready, and they move off at
a good pace through the light falling mist.
'Ben Doerg,' or the red hill, is their im-
mediate object. A little higher, and they
are on the top of Ben Daivy, looking down
as upon a new world. There every thing
bears the original impress of nature, un-
touched by the hand of man since its creation.
The vast moor spread out below, the mass
of huge mountains heaving up their crests
around, the peaks in the distance, faint
almost as the sky itself, give the appear-
ance of an extent boundless and sublime
as the ocean. Through all this desolate
scene there is nothing to remind you of
domestic life; you hear no sound but the
rushing of the torrent, or the notes of the
wild animals, the natural inhabitants. You
see only the moor-fowl and the plover
ffying before you from hillock to hillock,
or the eagle soaring aloft, with his eye to
the sun, and his wings wet with the mists
of the dawn. The stalker now lays down
his riile on the heather, and creeps forward
on his hands and knees to a spot where
he may have the best view of the glens
below, then steadily poises his telescope
and takes a minute survey. Disappointed,
he is about to torn away and shift his po-
sition, when something attracts his attention
in the fog by the burn on the opposite
mountain. It is — yes, it is a hart, a fme,
noble fellow, with a magnificent pair of
antlers, as he shows us by that toss of his
head. With a rapid, yet accurate glance,
the landmarks all round the spot where the
hart lies are noted; one of the party is
left to watch his movements, whilst the
others endeavour, by a circuitous movement,
to get within shot. They descend the hill
easily enough, but now must advance on
their hands and knees over the surface of
the thick bog; now they must descend the
rocky burn, following its continual windings
until they reach a piece of greensward,
open to the view of the watchfull hinds,
who are scattered on the surface of the
hill beyond the devoted hart. What is now
to be done? A still more circuitous path
is sought in vain, 'Raise not a foot nor
a hand,' commands the leader; 'let not a
hair of your head be seen; imitate my
motions precisely." He lies down upon his
breast and worms himself along, half stifled,