Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 6

pip; He rode The Mirror, a raking horse, A piebald full of points and force. All that was best in English life, All that appealed to man or wife, Sweet peas or standard bread or sales These two men loved. They hated Wales.
* * * * *
The fox burst out with a flair of cunning, He ran like mad and he went on running; He made his point for the Heroes' Pleasance, By Hang Bill Copse, where he roused the pheasants. They rose with a whirr and kuk, kuk, kukkered; The fox ran on with a mask unpuckered By Boshale Stump and Uttermost Penny, Where the grass was short and the tracks were many. He tried the clay and he tried the marl, A workman's whippet began to snarl; Into the Dodder a splash he went; All that he cared was to change the scent, And half of the pack from the line he shook By paddling about in the Beaver Brook.
* * * * *
He swerved to the left at Maynard Keynes, With an eye to sheep and an eye to drains; By Old Cole Smiley and Clere St. Thomas, Without any stops and without any commas; At Addison's Cots he went so quick, He startled a bricklayer laying a brick; He ran over oats and he ran over barleys, By Moss Cow Puddle and Rushen Parleys; By Lympne Sassoon and Limpet Farm He scattered the geese in wild alarm; He ran with a pain growing under his pinny Till he heard the sound of a war-horse whinny, And tried for an earth in the Tory Holts.
* * * * *
The earth was stopped. It was barred with bolts.
* * * * *
He turned again and he passed Spen Valley, By Paisley Shawls and Leamington Raleigh; His flanks were wet, he was mire-beslobbered By Hatfield Yew and by Hatfield Robert; He tried a hen-coop, he tried a tub, He tried the National Liberal Club-- A terrier barked and turned him out.
* * * * *
He tried the end of an old drain-spout.
* * * * *
It was much too small. With a bursting heart He thought of the home where he made his start; His flanks were heaving, his soul despairing, He flaired again--he was always flairing To find the best way of escape and nab it, He couldn't get out of this flairing habit; He felt at his back the fiery breath Of the Kill Gorge pack that had vowed his death; He turned once more for the shelter good Of the Wan Tun Waste and the dark yew wood, The deep yew fastness of Cowall Itchen And the scuts and heads of hens in his kitchen. The hounds grew weak and The Mail was blowing; Rother said, "Alf, this is bad going!" Past Pemberton Billing, past Kenworthy, He shook them off, he was damp and earthy; By Molton Lambert and Platting Clynes---- But I can't go on with these difficult lines.
* * * * *
The night closed down and the hunt was dead, Alfred and Rother were tucked in bed; The cold moon rose on a fox's snore And everything much as it was before.
Evoe.
* * * * *
Our Erudite Contemporaries.
"'Her feet beneath her petticoat like little mice peep in and out.'
Yes, but when Bobbie Burns wrote that the lassies of Scotland didn't wear Louis heels and extremely short skirts."--Ladies' Paper.
Any more than they did when Sir JOHN SUCKLING apostrophised the "wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie."
* * * * *
Our Sleuths.
"A Sheffield firm of solicitors have, this week, had stolen from one of the pegs in the hall an overcoat belonging to one of the principals. The solicitor concerned is of the opinion that someone removed it between his arrival at the office the other morning and going to find it in the evening, when it was missing."--Provincial Paper.
* * * * *
The Sandringham Hat.
"Many women are making surprise presents of hats to their husbands, and will take great pleasure in seeing them worn for the first time on Christmas Day."--Daily Mail.
We understand that it will be the quietest Christmas on record, many family men having decided to spend the day in the seclusion of their own homes.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WHAT I LIKE--]
[Illustration: --ABOUT SWITZERLAND IS--]
[Illustration: --THE COMPLETE CHANGE--]
[Illustration: --FROM LONDON LIFE--]
[Illustration: --AND ALL THAT--]
[Illustration: --NEEDLESS DRESSING-UP."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: Doris. "BUT, JIMMY, I THOUGHT YOU CAME TO BUY A PRESENT FOR DADDY?"
Jimmy. "YES, IT'S ALL RIGHT, SIS, I AM DOING. HE M'NOPOLISED MY ENGINE LAST CHRISTMAS; I THOUGHT HE'D LIKE ONE FOR HIMSELF THIS YEAR."]
* * * * *
THE HUMOURIST.
"Here's Alan," said Cecilia; "good."
"Really," I said, stopping and bowing slightly in several directions, "I am touched. Such a reception.... I find no words----"
"Don't be funny," said Margery cuttingly, "we shan't laugh. What we