HUNTING SONGS 



XI 



Two feet deep in buttermilk the stoker's two feet lie, 

 The cook, before she bakes it, finds a finger in the 



pie ; 

 The labourers for their lost legs were looking round 



the farm. 

 They could not lend a hand because they had not 



got an arm. 



XII 



Oldstyle, all soot from head to foot, look'd like a big 



black sheep ; 

 Newstyle was thrown upon his own experimental 



heap : 

 " That weather-glass," said Oldstyle, " canna be in 



proper fettle. 

 Or it might as well a tou'd us there was thunder in 



the kettle." 



XIII 



" Steam is so expansive." " Ay," said Oldstyle, " so 



I see ; 

 So expensive, as you call it, that it wunna do for me ; 

 According to my notion, that's a beast that canna 



pay, 

 Who champs up for his morning feed a hundred ton 



o' hay." 



XIV 



Then to himself, said Oldstyle, as he homewards 



quickly went, 

 " I'll tak' no farm where th' doctor's bill be heavier 



than the rent ; 



I 12 



