360 Appendix. 



Tally-ho ! "What a title to welcome a stranger, 

 Way-weary, distressed, in sore travail and pain ; 



Tally-ho ! Every syllable echoing danger. 



Says, '^Here is no rest:" so hark forward again ! 



Oh ! could I apostrophize good Meliboeus, 



Like the Mantiian Bard, I would say as we pass, 



Surely man for his sins made the ploughshare, but " Deus 

 Hsec otia fecit ;" subaudi — the grass. 



But look at those Herefords ! all their white faces 

 Amazed, in a stampede through mud to their hocks : 



Can yon be a colly, to cause such grimaces, 



As he steals through the bottom ] — By Jove ! it's the fox ! 



There are signs of distress ; there is sobbing and sighing ; 



There is crashing of timber, and plying of steel ; 

 But still o'er the pastures the sirens keep flying ; 



Crescendo the pace, for they're running to kill. 



Holthorp Hills are in front : can he reach them ? Ah, never ! 



He hesitates — crawls through the " ^meuse " — doubles back : 

 He has played his last card ; and now gallant as ever, 



He turns on his foes, and he faces the pack ! 



Look ! Firefly has got him ! Whoohoop ! It is over ! 



There's a crash and a worrying, and muttering of sounds : 

 AVill is up, and jumps oft', just in time to recover 



A dark stiff'ened form from a tumult of hounds ! 



LETTER FROM A YOUXG LADY-NATURALIST. 



The following is a letter lately received by the author [1886] 

 from a fair young Naturalist, whose chief enjoyment consists 

 in watching all that goes on out of doors — one to whom a few 

 hours only with hounds are placed on the list of joys 

 unspeakable. 



After informing her correspondent that she has had a present 

 of a new pony — a real beauty — six years old — very fast and 

 quiet — with a closely-hogged mane — and that with more 



