coursing. A weasel, maybe, or an otter, would be out the night.
Or a hare itself. Ay, there would be sport for you! The hare
running hell-for-leather, and me after him over brake and dell.
Ay! Ay! Ay! A good hunt's a jewel! I'll take a stretch along
the road."

Or there is in him what does be troubling the birds, and they on
tropic islands. "Tweet-tweet," they grumble. "A grand place this
surely, and very comfortable for the winter. The palm-trees are
green, but I'd rather have the green of young grass. And the sea,
you ken, it becomes monotonous. Do you remember the peaches of
Champagne, wife, and the cherry-trees of Antrim? Do you remember
the farmer who was such a bad shot, and his wife with the red
petticoat? I'm feeling fine and strong in the wings, AVOURNEEN.
What do you say? Let's bundle and go!"

He wandered out with the discontent of the season on him. The sun
had dropped at last, and everywhere you'd see torches, and the image
of torches in the water. On the canals of the town great barges
moved. Everywhere were fine, noble shadows and the splashing of oars.
There was a great admiral's galley, ready to put to sea against Genoa.
There a big merchantman back from Africa. And along the canals went
all the people in the world, you'd think. Now it was a Frenchman,
all silks and satins and 'la-di-da, monsieur!' Or a Spaniard with a
pointed beard and long, lean legs and a long, lean sword. And now
it was a Greek courtesan, white as milk, sitting in her gondola as
on a throne. Here was a Muscovite, hairy, dirty, with fine fur and
fine jewels and teeth sharp as a dog's. And now an effeminate Greek
nobleman, languid as a bride. And here were Moorish captains,
Othello's men, great giants of black marble; and swarthy, hook-nosed