CHAPTER XXX. 



DOLEFULLY, drearily, dismally dull, 



With sorrow and sadness my cup is brimful, 



Old age has crept o'er me, my best time is past, 



Where once I was first now Fm doomed to be last ; 



But grunting and grumbling the matter won't mend, 



And sooner or later all pleasures must end. 



Then, ho ! for a flagon, and quick pass it round, 

 To the health of the huntsman, the horse, and the 

 hound ! 



Come fill up the flagon, and pledge me with zest, 

 As we sing of the run of the season the best ; 

 How Gaylass and Ruby stooped well to the scent, 

 And away o'er the pastures so merrily went. 

 When a certain bold rider, of sportsmen the chief, 

 O'er those stiff posts and rails came " so muchly " to 

 grief. 



Then, ho ! for a flagon, etc. 



Let us hunt with the Cottesmore, from Ranksboro' 



Gorse, 

 With the Belvoir from Croxton (in fancy, of course) ; 



