CAPE FOXHOUNDS 



and scrub. As we come over the 

 hill-top the fun is spread before us. 

 Just in time we are to view him cross 

 the ridge in front a fine old fox, 

 looking somewhat like the little rover 

 of Old England, but, being longer in 

 the leg, he does not stretch himself 

 so close along the ground. 



Hounds in cheery chorus are 

 stretching after him, gleaming white 

 and mottled on the green grass slope. 

 And George, not far behind them, in 

 his pink and leathers, riding a bright 

 bay gelding, completes a hunting 

 picture of the brightest colouring, 

 that in the instant photographs itself 

 upon the mind. 



And now the Master is through the 

 brook-bog in the bottom, and in our 

 turn we scramble through, bringing 

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