"What a fine hunting day"--
'Tis an old-fashioned lay
That I'll change to an up-to-date pome;
Old stagers may swear
That the pace isn't fair,
But they're left far behind us at home!
See cyclists and bikes on their way,
And scorchers their prowess display;
Let us join the glad throng
That goes wheeling along,
And we'll all go a-hunting to-day!
New Nimrods exclaim,
"Timber-topping" is tame,
And "bull-finches" simply child's play;
And they don't care a jot
For a gallop or trot,
Though they _will_ go a-hunting to-day.
There's a fox made of clockwork, they say
They'll wind him and get him away;
He runs with a rush
On rails with his brush,
So we must go and chase him to-day.
We've abolished the sounds
Of the horn and the hounds--
'Tis the bicycle squeaker that squeals
And the pack has been stuffed,
Or sent to old Cruft,
Now the huntsmen have taken to wheels!
Hairy country no more we essay,
Five bars, too, no longer dismay,
For we stick to the roads
In the latest of modes,
So we'll bike after Reynard to-day!
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LANGUAGE OF SPORT.
"Where the----! What the----!! Who the----!!! Why the----!!!!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: COMFORTING, VERY!
_Sportsman (who has mounted friend on bolting mare) shouts._ "You're all
right, old chap! She's never been known to refuse water, and swims like
a fish!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Stubbles_ (_having pounded the swells_). "Aw--haw----!
laugh away, but who be the roight side o' the fence, masters?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: CUB HUNTING
1. "Ah, my boys," said Percy Johnson, "give me a good old hurry and
scurry--Heigh O! gee whoa!--over the downs and through the brushwood
after the cubs. So, early in the morning as you like. What can be more
exhilarating?"