FOX AND HOUND 



Sporting Annals included) who was not a man 

 both of abilities and virtues. But where are we? — 

 at the Trysting-Hill Farmhouse, jocularly called 

 Hunger-them-Out. 



*Line is formed, and with measured steps we 

 march towards the hills — for we ourselves are the 

 schoolboy, bold, bright, and blooming as the rose 

 — fleet of foot almost as the very antelope — Oh ! 

 now, alas ! dim and withered as a stalk from which 

 winter has swept all the blossoms — slow as the 

 sloth along the ground — spindle-shanked as a lean 

 and slippered pantaloon ! 



**0 heaven! that from our bright and shining years 

 Age would but take the things youth heeded not ! " 



An old shepherd meets us on the long sloping 

 rushy ascent to the hills — and putting his brown 

 withered finger to his gnostic nose, intimates that 

 she is in her old form behind the dike — and the 

 noble dumb animals, with pricked-up ears and 

 brandished tail, are aware that her hour is come. 

 Plash, plash, through the marsh, and then in the 

 dry furze beyond you see her large dark-brown 

 eyes — soho, soho, soho — halloo, halloo, halloo — 

 for a moment the seemingly horned creature 

 appears to dally with the danger, and to linger ere 

 she lays her lugs on her shoulder, and away, Hke 

 thoughts pursuing thoughts — away fly hare and 

 hounds towards the mountain. 



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