94 THE MEYNELL HOUNDS. 



Moy oyes ! bur yo' canna joomp theere, it's seven foot 'oigh very 

 near ; 

 There's a ditch at t'fur soide most tremenjously woide. 

 A's joomped it, boy goy, jooniped it clear ! " 



Bepeat Chorus. 



VIII. 



Now the front rank grows small, for full many's the fall 



That their numbers has thinned since the find. 

 Some have bellows to mend, many pray for the end, 



For they're getting most sadly behind. 

 But the customers sit down, and ride determined, whate'er may 

 betide. 

 To be able to say of that glorious day, 

 I was there when that gallant fox died. 



Repeat Chorus. 



See, yonder he goes, you can see by the crows 



That are circling and wheeling above him. 

 Though the moment is nigh when this good fox must die. 



Though we all want to kill him, we love him. 

 See the fox and the hounds in one field, but he'll fight to the death 

 ere he yield. 

 Ah ! hark to that yell, 'tis poor Reynard's death knell ; 

 The fate of the rover is sealed. 



Repeat Cliorus. 



1882-1883. 



One day, in August of this year, the following notice 

 appeared in public print : — 



''For a piece of plucky endurance (refreshing in 

 these days of ' track-walking ' for gate-money) commend 

 us to Mr. Fred Cotton, the well-known Master of the 

 Dove Valley Harriers, and author of the popular hunting 

 song, ' The Meynell Hunt,' who — as we are informed 

 in a letter from Scotland, which arrived on the eve of 

 publication — started off from Ashbourne last week to 

 walk as far as Auchlyne House, in Perthshire, Mr. Albert 

 Worthington's shooting-box, in seven days, and has per- 

 formed the distance (only three hundred and forty miles !) 



