77 



CHAPTEE YIII. 



FOX-HUNTING. 



When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 



Her bow across her shoulder flung. 

 Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew 



Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 

 The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known ; 



The oak-crown'd sisters and their chaste-eyed queen, 

 Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen 



Peeping from forth their alleys green j 

 Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear. 



And Sport leaped up and seized his beechen spear. 



Fox-hunting ! what a thrill the word sends through our souls 

 as we think of the many happy days already spent in its pursuit, 

 and look forward with joyful anticipation to the many more that 

 we hope to spend ! Truly, fox-hunting is, after all, the sport of 

 the English nation. Its votaries may say what they like for 

 racing, and extol it to the skies as the amusement of the many ; 

 but, from prince to peasant, hunting appeals to an Englishman's 

 heart and feelings in a way that nothing else can. Let any one 

 who doubts this attend a meeting of the Quorn, on the JSTotting- 

 ham side of the country, or the Pytchley, at Long Buckby, and 

 see how the stockingmakers and shoemakers patronize it — how 

 happy they are in an Englishman's privilege to shout to his heart's 

 content as long as lungs will bear the strain, and note how long 

 that strain can be borne. Talk of the English as a consumptive 

 nation, except in the matter of beer — bah ! their lungs must be 

 as strong and stout as the leathern aprons they wear ever to 



