CHAPTER VII. 



** To hear the lark begin his flight, 

 And singing startle the duil night, 

 From his watch-tower in the skies. 

 Till the dappled dawn doth rise; 

 Then to come in spite of sorrow, 

 And at my window bid good morrow, 

 Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, 

 Or the twisted eglantine. 



» » * * * 



Oft listening how the hounds and horn 

 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn." 



" I HATE this meet," observed Tom Holt, 

 as we arrived at four cross ways close to the 

 market town nearest our kennel. " I hate this 

 meet worse than any we have in the country." 



" It's not a pleasant one, certainly," 

 replied the huntsman. 



"Pleasant?" repeated Tom. "In the 

 first place there's a nasty, close, woodland 

 country with banks as high as churches. Then 



