184 



Thus in misery despondent 

 Sighs each wretched correspondent. 

 Ever writing, never getting 

 Answers, but for ever fretting, 

 While the labour and the cost 

 Of his letters all are lost. 

 And he's thinking, thinking, " Ah ! 

 How I wonder where you are ! " 



If to Chil well's frigid swamp 

 You despatch your postage stamp, 

 Nicolas you then may swear 

 "Will be anywhere but there : 

 Jumping with a wild delight 

 On the hounds of Charley Wright, f 

 Or adding to his load of sins 

 By gammoning the trusting Binns ; t 

 But, wherever he may be, 

 Correspondents still you see. 

 Thinking, vainly thinking, *' Ah ! 

 Bow we wonder where you are ! " 



16th Nov., 1884. L. Rolleston. 



MY OLD HOEN: 

 A Song, 



DEDICATED TO MT DEAR OLD FRIEND, FREDEEICK 



BROCKMAN, ESQ., WHO FOR THIRTY-SIX TEARS HUNTED 



THE EAST KENT HOUNDS WITH UNFLAGGING 



PERSEVERANCE AND SIGNAL SUCCESS. 



Now up in the heather, now down in the plain. 



The secret shall never be known. 

 How often I've pressed it again and again, 



That sweet little lip to my own ; 



t The Badsworth. t Mr. Binns, of Leeds. 



