then on my front, then on my side, and then on my seat bounding, scrambling, rolling, up again, posturing, squaring, warding, and down again-at first dry, next wet, then tattered and torn, but still fighting, encouraged by shouts of "Go it, Lively!" though purblind, giddy, bleeding, and almost out of that precious article, my breath. Still the battle raged with various success; my spirit, or spirits, for I seemed to have several within me, yet unsubdued, when just in the middle of a furious rally, in the very crisis of victory, I was caught up horizontally, and before tongue could cry rescue, Peregrine Phoenix, Esquire, the Dead Man of the "Morning Herald," was borne off kicking and shouting at the top of his voice "Hurrah for Life-Hurrah for LifeHurrah for Life-Life-Life in London!"

BY

THOMAS HOOD, ESQ.

Author of "Whims and Oddities."

ILLUSTRATED WITH

SIX ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD,

BY

BRANSTON & WRIGHT, BONNER, SLADER, & T. WILLIAMS

After the Designs

OF

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

"BUNTS ROASTED”.

ADVERTISEMENT.

STRIPING in the Steps of Strutt--the historian of the old English Sports-the author of the following pages has endeavoured to record a yearly revel, already fast hastening to decay. The Easter Chase will soon be numbered with the pastimes of past times: its dogs will have had their day, and its Deer will be Fallow. A few more seasons, and this City Common Hunt will become uncommon.

In proof of this melancholy decadence, the ensuing epistle is inserted. It was penned by an underling at the Wells, a person more accustomed to riding than writing.

"SIB.

"About the Hunt. In anser to your Innqueries, their as been a great falling off laterally, so much so this year that there was nobody allmost. We did a mear nothing provisionally, hardly a bottle extra, which is a proof in Pint. In short our Hunt may be sad to be in the last Stag of a Decline.

"I am, Sir,

"With respects from

"Your humble Servant,

"BARTHOLOMEW RUTT."

THE EPPING HUNT.

'On Monday they began to Hunt."

JOHN HUGGINS was as bold a man

As trade did ever know,

A warehouse good he had, that stood
Hard by the church of Bow.

CHEVY CHASE.

There people bought Dutch cheeses round,
And single Glos'ter flat,-
And English butter in a lump,
And Irish-in a pat.

Six days a week beheld him stand,
His business next his heart,
At counter with his apron tied
About his counter-part.

The seventh in a sluice-house box
He took his pipe and pot;

On Sundays for eel-piety,
A very noted spot.

Ah, blest if he had never gone
Beyond its rural shed!

One Easter-tide, some evil guide
Put Epping in his head!

Epping for butter justly fam'd,

And pork in sausage pop't;
Where winter time, or summer time,
Pig's flesh is always chop'.