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
nag should go astray;

The

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.

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.

'Tis hard we can't give up our breath,
And to the earth our earth bequeath,
Without Death-Fetches after death,
Who thus exhume us;

And snatch us from our homes beneath,
And hearths posthumous.

The tender lover comes to rear

The mournful urn, and shed his tear-
Her glorious dust, he cries, is here!
Alack! Alack!

The while his Sacharissa dear

Is in a sack!

'Tis hard one cannot lie amid The mould, beneath a coffin-lid,

But thus the Faculty will bid

Their rogues break through it,

If they don't want us there, why did
They send us to it?

One of these sacrilegious knaves,
Who crave as hungry vulture craves,
Behaving as the goul behaves,

'Neath church-yard wall

Mayhap because he fed on graves,

Was nam'd Jack Hall.

By day it was his trade to go
Tending the black coach to and fro;
And sometimes at the door of woe,
With emblems suitable,
He stood with brother Mute, to show
That life is mutable.

But long before they pass'd the ferry,
The dead that he had help'd to bury,
He sack'd-(he had a sack to carry
The bodies off in)

In fact, he let them have a very
Short fit of coffin.

Night after night, with crow and spade,
He drove this dead but thriving trade,
Meanwhile his conscience never weigh'
A single horsehair;

On corses of all kinds he prey'd,
A perfect corsair !

At last-it may be, Death took spite,
Or, jesting only, meant to fright-
He sought for Jack night after night
The churchyards round;

And soon they met, the man and sprite,
In Pancras' ground.

Jack, by the glimpses of the moon,
Perceiv'd the bony knacker soon,
An awful shape to meet at noon
Of night and lonely;

But Jack's tough courage did but swoon
A minute only.

Anon he gave his spade a swing

Aloft, and kept it brandishing,

Ready for what mishaps might spring

From this conjunction;

Funking indeed was quite a thing
Beside his function.

"Hollo!" cried Death, "d'ye wish your sands Run out? the stoutest never stands

A chance with me,-to my commands
The strongest truckles;

But I'm your friend-so let's shake hands,
I should say-knuckles."

Jack, glad to see th' old sprite so sprightly
And meaning nothing but uprightly,
Shook hands at once, and, bowing slightly,
His mull did proffer:

But Death, who had no nose, politely

Declin'd the offer.