50 Gleanings from the 



" A whelp 



That ley undir a fteyir, a grete Walfh dog, 

 That bare about his neck a grete huge clog, 

 Becaufe that he was fpetoufe, and wold fone bite." 



Though the poems of Tickell and Somerville 

 can fcarcely, in point of time, be deemed old 

 enough to merit an antiquarian's notice, yet are 

 they fufficiently remote from the prefent genera- 

 tion's reading to warrant here a word or two, 

 which may aptly conclude thefe notes. A frag- 

 ment of a poem on hunting by the former, the 

 friend and mourner of Addison, is marked with 

 all his claffic eafe and grace. The following 

 lines will illuftrate at leaft one of Dr. Caius's dogs. 

 Tickell bids his reader mark : 



" How every nerve the greyhound's ftretch difplays, 

 The hare preventing in her airy maze j 

 The lucklefs prey how treach'rous tumblers gain, 

 And dauntlefs wolf-dogs fliake the lion's mane ; 

 O'er all the bloodhound boafts fuperior (kill, 

 To fcent, to view, to turn and boldly kill." 



And what reminifcences of the " Georgics " 

 breathe in this portrait of a hound ! We truft 

 thefe famples may induce fome readers to turn to 

 a poet who has been too long unjuftly neglected : 



" Such be the dog I charge, thou mean'ft to train, 

 His back is crooked, and his belly plain, 

 Of fillet ftretch'd and huge of haunch behind, 

 A tapering tail that nimbly cuts the wind ; 

 Trufs-thighed, ftraight-hamm'd, and fox-like form'd his paw, 

 Large legged, dry foled, and of protended claw ; 

 His flat wide noftrils fnuff the favoury fteam, 

 And from his eyes he moots pernicious gleam, 

 Middling his head and prone to earth his view, 

 With ears and cheft that dafli the morning dew : 



