["The French sportswoman is not ardent, but just now _Le Sport_ is the
thing."--_Daily Paper._]
Ze leetle bairds zat fly ze air
I vish zem not ze 'arms--
Zat is not vy ze gun I bear
So _bravement_ in mine arms;
'Tis not zat I vould kill--_Ah! non!_
It is zat I adore
Ze noble _institution_
Ve call in France _Le Sport_.
And zen ze costume! Ah! ze 'at!
Ze gaitares! Vot more sweet
For ze young female-chaser zat
Do 'ave ze leetle feet?
Ze gun?--I fear 'im much, and oh!
'E makes my shouldare sore,
But yet I do 'im bear to show
'Ow much I love _Le Sport_.
Ze leetle partridge 'e may lay
'Is pretty leetle eggs,
Ze leetle pheasant 'op away
Upon 'is leetle legs,
Ze leetle 'are zat run _si vite_
I do not vish 'is gore--
But vile mine ankles zey are neat
I'll cry, "_Ah! Vive le Sport!_"
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Keeper_ (_to beater_). "What are you doin' here? Why
don't ye go and spread yourself out?"
_Beater._ "Zo I were spread out, and t'other man 'e told I, I were too
wide!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Master Bob._ "I say, Adam, that was a pretty bad miss."
_Keeper._ "'Twasn't even that, Master Bob. 'Twas firing in a totally
wrong direction."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "Beg pardon, sir! But if you was to aim at his lordship
the next time, I think he'd feel more comforbler, sir!"]
* * * * *