Beam and rafter ring with laughter, eyes are glistening as before;
Beyond all doubt the secret's out, for Katey is herself once more.
Hey down derry! ho down deny! what's the reason Kate's so merry?
Powers above now, is it love now? it looks uncommon like it—ver-y!
The Subscription Pack.
[The Conclusion of the Season, with an account of certain matters connected therewith.]
The season is over! no more shall we hear
The music of hounds, or the huntsman's glad cheer;
No longer on wings of the breeze shall be borne
The crack of the whip or a sound of the horn.
Sly Reynard may now take his foraging prowl
In search of a rabbit, a duck, or a fowl;
Or, prompted by love, he may wander about,
Without the least danger of being stopped out.
The kennels, how altered! the flesh-pot is cold;
The oatmeal, though clean, is by no means so old
As that on which daily the pack had been mess'd;
It is finer, yet cheaper, and has not been press'd;
When made into paste (but perhaps I may wrong it),
I fancied I saw some "mashed taters" among it.
