He was out of old "Bountiful," gotten by "Chorister,"
Quiet at nights, and they'd christened him "Forester;"
And by way of just gently watering his back,
Said the last one he reared is the pride of the pack.
And I feel pretty certain and greatly afraid,
There is nowhere such "tricks upon travellers" played,
As with us! and the reader may think we abuse 'em—
But it's seldom indeed that the Farmers refuse 'em;
And then it is only with "hairy-heeled coves,"
For around us are living "good woolled uns" by droves,
Who have no hesitation in standing their pound
Towards kennel expenses and keeping a hound.
To such, and preservers of foxes, long life,
A home blessed with plenty, a good tempered wife,
A nag that can carry him twice in a week,
For I love a good fellow, and hate every sneak.
When I make you aware that I once lived at Meynell's,
You won't be "supprised" I know something of kennels,
I am glad I have written, for I quite set my heart on it,
Though I'm bound to admit our first whip[1] did a part on it.
If it were as difficult to make a promise as a "pig-trough," what an awful diminution of the article in question would accrue ! It might even have a deleterious effect upon the law courts—Eh?
- ↑ Paul Puosley, now Huntsman to the celebrated "Catch 'em-who-can" Pack of Foxhounds.
