And now he bounded up and down,
Now like a jelly shook;

Till bumped and galled-yet not where Gall
For bumps did ever look!

And rowing with his legs the while,

As tars are apt to ride;

With every kick he gave a prick

Deep in the horse's side!

But soon the horse was well avenged

For cruel smart of spurs,

For, riding through a moor, he pitched

His master in a furze !

Where, sharper set than hunger is,
He squatted all forlorn;

And, like a bird, was singing out
While sitting on a thorn!

Right glad was he, as well might be,
Such cushion to resign:
"Possession is nine points," but his
Seems more than ninety-nine.

Yet worse than all the prickly points
That entered in his skin,

His nag was running off the while
The thorns were running in!

Now had a Papist seen his sport,
Thus laid upon the shelf,
Although no horse he had to cross,
He might have crossed himself.

Yet surely still the wind is ill
That none can say is fair;
A joily wight there was, that rode
Upon a sorry mare!

A sorry mare, that surely came

Of pagan blood and bone;
For down upon her knees she went
To many a stock and stone!

Now seeing Huggins' nag adrift,
This farmer, shrewd and sage,
Resolved, by changing horses here,
To hunt another stage!

Though felony, yet who would let
Another's horse alone,

Whose neck is placed in jeopardy
By riding on his own?

And yet the conduct of the man
Seemed honest-like and fair;
For he seemed willing, horse and all,
To go before the mare!

So up on Huggins' horse he got,
And swiftly rode away,

While Huggins mounted on the mare

Done brown upon a bay!

And off they set in double chase,

For such was fortune's whim, The farmer rode to hunt the stag, And Huggins hunted him!

Alas! with one that rode so well

In vain it was to strive;

A dab was he, as dabs should be-
All leaping and alive.

And here of Nature's kindly care
Behold a curious proof,

As nags are meant to leap, she puts
A frog in every hoof!

Whereas the mare, although her share
She had of hoof and frog,

On coming to a gate stopped short
As stiff as any log;

While Huggins in the stirrup stood
With neck like neck of crane,
As sings the Scottish song-"to see
The gate his hart had gane."

And, lo! the dim and distant hunt
Diminished in a trice:

The steeds, like Cinderella's team,
Seemed dwindling into mice;

And, far remote, each scarlet coat
Soon flitted like a spark-

Though still the forest murmured back

An echo of the bark!

But sad at soul John Huggins turned:
No comfort could he find;

While thus the "Hunting Chorus" sped,
To stay five bars behind.

For though by dint of spur he got
A leap in spite of fate-
Howbeit there was no toll at all-
They could not clear the gate.

And like Fitzjames, he cursed the hunt,
And sorely cursed the day,
And mused a New Gray's elegy

On his departed gray.

Now many a sign at Woodford town

Its Inn-vitation tells :

But Huggins, full of ills, of course

Betook him to the Wells.

Where Rounding tried to cheer him up
With many a merry laugh:

But Huggins thought of neighbour Fig,
And called for half-and-half.

Yet, spite of drink, he could not blink
Remembrance of his loss;

To drown a care like his, required
Enough to drown a horse.

When thus forlorn, a merry horn
Struck up without the door-
The mounted mob were all returned;
The Epping Hunt was o'er !

And many a horse was taken out
Of saddle, and of shaft ;
And men, by dint of drink, became
The only "beasts of draught."

For now begun a harder run

On wine, and gin, and beer;

And overtaken men discussed
The overtaken deer.

How far he ran, and eke how fast,
And how at bay he stood,
Deerlike, resolved to sell his life
As dearly as he could:-

And how the hunters stood aloof,

Regardful of their lives,

And shunned a beast, whose very horns They knew could handle knives!

How Huggins stood when he was rubbed

By help and ostler kind,

And when they cleaned the clay before, How worse "remained behind.”

And one, how he had found a horse
Adrift-a goodly gray!

And kindly rode the nag, for fear
The nag should go astray;

Now Huggins, when he heard the tale,
Jumped up with sudden glee;
"A goodly gray! why, then, I say,
That gray belongs to me!

"Let me endorse again my horse,
Delivered safe and sound;
And gladly I will give the man
A bottle and a pound!"

The wine was drunk-the money paid,

Though not without remorse,

To pay another man so much

For riding on his horse ;—

And let the chase again take place
For many a long, long year-
John Huggins will not ride again
To hunt the Epping Deer!

MORAL.

Thus pleasure oft eludes our grasp
Just when we think to grip her:

And hunting after Happiness,
We only hunt the slipper.

H

JACK HALL.

"Tis very hard when men forsake
This melancholy world, and make
A bed of turf, they cannot take

A quiet doze,

But certain rogues will come and break
Their "bone" repose.