THE HUNTER
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THE HUNTER
Traditions of a hunter tells— A hardy man, and stout; Who ne'er used snow-shoes—for his feet Were large enough without! With dog and gun, across-lots, he Would roam 'mong bush and stump; Nor swerved he from the snow-drifts deep,- He'd very seldom slump!
But once, 'tis said, he sank far down While crossing o'er a field; The damp snow caved upon his feet And there he stuck—and squealed! Then, standing like a statue Beneath the sun 's warm glow—His feet, like steamship's anchor Fast pinioned under snow.
He one mighty effort made— He gave a piercing yell,—The language wafted far and wide E'en Echo ne'er would tell!
