(_Stanzas for the First of April_)
Right day to bid a long farewell
To the field's gladsome glee;
To hang the crop upon its peg,
The saddle on its tree.
All Fools' the day, all Fools' the deed,
That hunting's end doth bring--
With all those stinking violets,
And humbug of the Spring!
Good-bye to pig-skin and to pink,
Good-bye to hound and horse!
The whimpering music sudden heard
From cover-copse and gorse;
The feathering stems, the sweeping ears,
The heads to scent laid low,
The find, the burst, the "Gone-away!"
The rattling "Tally-ho!"
My horses may eat off their heads,
My huntsman eat his heart;
My hounds may dream of kills and runs
In which they've borne their part,
Until the season's bore is done,
And Parliament set free,
And cub-hunting comes back again
To make a man of me!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "A-HUNTING WE WILL GO!"
_Lady._ "You're dropping your fish!"
_Irish Fish Hawker_ (_riding hard_). "Och, bad luck to thim! Niver
moind. Sure we're kapin' up wid the gentry!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: JUMPING POWDER
(_Mr. Twentystun having a nip on his way to covert_)
_Small Boy._ "Oh my, Billy, 'ere's a heighty-ton gun a chargin' of
'isself afore goin' into haction!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: DRAWN BLANK
_Huntsman._ "How is it you never have any foxes here now?"
_Keeper_ (_who has orders to shoot them_). "Pheasants have eat 'em all!"]
* * * * *