The milk of human kindness had curdled in my breast; I felt that I could sympathize with the restless anxiety of Charles IX on the memorable eve of St. Bartholomew. But the butchery of unarmed Huguenots was a different affair altogether from a war of extermination against invading dragons. I looked out of the windows every moment to see what Hannibal was about; but there he continued hoeing, and weeding, and raking, and looking as calm and amiable as the Duke when he awaited the proper moment to attack the French. Suddenly he paused; I watched him quietly drop his rake, and retire backwards behind a bush, where he remained crouching down, with the double-barrelled gun in his hands. Unable to remain quiet any longer, I opened the window, and cried in a fierce whisper, "Kill! kill!" With his hand he motioned me to be quiet, so I withdrew and paced about the room with feverish anxiety. The discharge of both barrels made me drop into a chair. Murder had been committed! Vengeance was satisfied, and remorse arrived as usual. Remorse, the ill-favoured offspring of Fear! "You will get yourself into scrapes," said the chief magistrate, "if you use any other weapon than the law." I reasoned with Conscience; I repeated the argument that I had a right to defend my property when the law failed to afford me protection. Dragons, said I, are 'ferae naturae'; the people of Perth, it would seem, are in the habit of keeping them as pets, and thus they come to be considered private property. But then, let the people of Perth destroy their own substance, and not mine. If they do not choose to have gardens of their own, they have no right to prevent the growth of my radishes. Because they do not like sack, shall we have no more cakes and ale? Because they can exist without cauliflowers, must I renounce all hopes of having hyssop in my pottage? What! am I to rise up early in the morning and sow the seeds of carefulness and labour, merely for the sustenance of other people's harpies? To whom am I to look for redress, when I know not to whom the ruthless creatures belong? -- Creatures that wander far and wide in search of food; that gain their precarious subsistence by plunder and rapine; and are intensely hostile to the labours and improvements of civilization. No wonder the poet looked upon them as hell-born, and called them a pest and a curse to society: -- "------nec saevior ulla Pestis et ira Deuim Stygiis sese extulit undis." I had made these reflections, and received a good deal of comfort from them, when Hannibal appeared at the door with a pallid countenance. "Two of them, Sir, are done for; one's a big un -- eight pounds, if he weighs an 'unce. He's a handsome feller, that un; black feathers, and spurs to his heels six inches long. They'll make a houtcry about him, I expect." "What have you done with the carcases?" "Dragged 'em behind the bushes. 'Tan't legal to lift the bodies."