175 



But thou, dear George, in thine own sport thus ta'en, 



In all the prime of manhood, and the swing 



Of gallant gallop, struck stone dead ! the thing 



Appals and petrifies the mind with pain. 



Bright, brave, and tender, poesy's pet child, 



Romance and history's lore alike were thine ; 



Thy wit ne'er wounded, yet the contest won. 



For at thy jests the gravest dullard smiled. 



Last scion of an ancient Scottish line. 



Whose " old folks " live to mourn their only son. 



Lord Eosslyn. 



EXTRACT PEOM "BAILY," 1871. 



" Why is it we so seldom hunt up to a fox on a cold 

 scent, and pick him up creditably at the end — so ordinary 

 an occurrence in countries where one would imagine it 

 more difficult of accomplishment ? Captain Thomson 

 does, but no one else can. It is far from my business 

 to " crab " the hunting of the crack packs, but there 

 must be a solution to the problem somewhere. Un- 

 doubtedly the perfection of a run in these parts is five 

 and twenty minutes, with a scent over which hounds 

 need not falter throughout, and a kill in the open of 

 course adds brilliancy to it. This is the sort of thing 

 that men come down to Leicestershire to see — that they 

 go out every day in hopes of— that is not often to be met 

 with even there; but, when experienced, brings with it 

 a supreme delight that is not to be found anywhere else. 

 A long slow run in a fiying country is often irksome in 

 the extreme, particularly when it degenerates into 

 hedgerow hunting; but it too often happens that, as 



