The months: February, 1871. Hidden under the brambles, its coat of the colour of the brown underwood, no wonder we did not notice the timid hare. But she is at least cognisant of our presence. It is very amusing to watch the startled creature. First she gives a hurried tap with her fore paws on the ground, then, kicking up the snow in a fleecy cloud, is off as quick as thought. Scudding over the plain, she soon puts a safe distance between herself and her uninvited visitor; then she stops, and, stretching forward her tawny neck, erects her ears, eager to catch the sound of our unwelcome footsteps...she may well be timid, for no animal of the game species has so many enemies. The votaries of sport in their relentless pursuit hunt her down with their hounds, or bring her bleeding to the ground with their leaden missiles. She has four-footed foes as well as biped - stoats and hedgehogs prey upon her tender young. The only wonder is that the hare escapes at all from her numerous adversaries, for she has only her swiftness of foot to rely upon as a protection from danger...We certainly deprecate the preservation of hares when they are reared only to be afterwards slaughtered by so-called sportsmen, who delight to boast of the hundreds they slay. From "Illustrated London News", 1871.