THE FARNDALE. 163 



December 19th, 1890, his remains were borne up the 

 steep hill which separates Farndale from Bransdale, then 

 down into that dale, a long and tedious journey of which 

 Joe reck'd not. His soul was in that happy hunting-ground, 

 this was his last journey over that rugged road which 

 climbs the heathery hill. His end was hastened by 

 a fall. Hearing the horn one hunting morning, he 

 turned to the door, again it sounded, clear, sharp and 

 musically on the frosty air ; had not the old man been a 

 huntsman himself ? Was it likely then he could remain 

 indoors when the very note he had just heard bade him come 

 as did the old hunting song : — 



O list ! 'tis the horn's joyous sound, 



Re-echoing over yon hill ; 

 The Mountains far distant resound, 



It gurgles along with the rill. 

 O haste to the joys of the chase, 



Ye youth of the mountain and vale ; 

 Mount steeds, the most famed for the race 



As they snort to the echoing gale. 



Joseph did haste, indeed so quick and hot did the blood flow 

 in his old veins that he said to the maid-servant, who was 

 engaged in washing the step, " if ya deean't cum by Ah'll 

 jump ower t'top o' ya." He suited his action to his words, 

 and there being ice outside he slipped and fell, and I imagine, 

 broke his leg. This was the beginning of the end, and he 

 died as stated. 



Ah sing nut o' yan fra history's page, 



Bud o' one Joseph Duck, wheea deed a gret age ; 



I' Farndale he lived, i' Farndale he deed, 



An' 'at Joe war a reeght un, yan an' all war agreed. 



Then here's ta Joey Duck, me lads, 



May his name amang uz live ; 

 Seea lang ez spoort is spoort ya ken, 



Seea lang ez we can give 

 A three times three we'll drink ti Duck, 



Tiv his memory let uz drain 

 A bumper, an' neea heel taps noo ! 



Cum, drink ti awd Duck's name. 



