SS THE BOY ON THE PONY. 



See the huge piece of cake he is quietly eating, 



Held up with both hands — he is friends with the cook ; 



Look, now, as he sits at his ease, he is treating 

 The hounds to a morsel ; how wistful they look. 



Last month, on a balmy bright day in November, 

 We found in the woodlands and ran to the vale ; 



The boy on the pony was there, I remember, 



Both covered with mud from the head to the tail. 



The country was cramped, but the pony was clever, 

 The ditch in the meadow, the drop in the field, 



He had them in turn ; I assure you he never 

 Made half a mistake, and he never would yield. 



We ran for three hours where the country was deepish, 

 The field was diminished, the leaders were blown ; 



And many a good rider went home and looked sheepish, 

 But the boy on the pony was holding his own. 



At last, when our fox was dead beat and before us, 

 We came to a fence that made all of us stop ; 



We heard the good hounds and their modified chorus, 

 W'e looked at the fence, and we thought o( the drop. 



There was only one place, that was narrow and trappy, 

 Beneath a tall tree, where a horse could not pass ; 



Hut the boy on the pony crept through. Oh ! how happy 

 He looked as they landed all safe on the grass. 



