A few further details of the now-forgotten author of 

 the most popular of hunting songs may not be out of 

 place. John Woodstock Graves has published his 

 reminiscences, and, amongst other incidents in his life, 

 tells the story of his marriage, which, though not as 

 romantic as that of his friend John Peel, is certainly re- 

 deemed from commonplaceness by its quaintness. 



' I thought,' he says, ' I would marry a neighbour's 

 daughter whom I had known from childhood. I was 

 daily in her father's house. One evening I had stayed 

 late, reading in the parlour. She was sewing ; the rest of 

 the family had retired. After asking what o'clock it was, 

 I laid down the paper, and placing my arms on the 

 table, said to her : — 



' " Miss Porthouse, I've been thinking some time of 

 putting a question to you." 



' " And pray," asked she, " what kind of a question is 

 it ? A foolish one, Pll warrant." 



' " Pve been thinking," said I, " of proposing marriage 

 to you." 



* She started, looked me sternly in the face, then, with- 

 out a single word, snatched up the lighted candle and 

 indignantly stalked away upstairs and slammed the 

 door to. 



' However, we were married afterwards, and had eight 

 children.' 



Was ever love story told in more bald, prosaic style, 

 and by a man, too, who was a bit of a poet ? 



Graves emigrated to Tasmania, settled in Hobart 

 town and died there, on the 17th of August 1886, at the 

 great age of ninety-one, two-and-twenty years after the 

 death of the friend whom he has immortalised. 



Graves, who was himself a man of some education and 



