The huntsman had gathered his pack and gone;
The last late hoof had echoed away;
The horn was twanging a long way on
For the only hound that was still astray.
While, heedless of all but the work in hand,
Up through the brake where the brambles twine,
Crying his joy to the drowsy land
Javelin drove on a burning line.
The air was sharp with a touch of frost;
The moon came up like a wheel of gold;
The wall at the end of the woods he crossed
And flung away on the open wold.
And long as I listened beside the stile
The larches echoed that eerie sound,
Steady and tireless, mile on mile,
The hunting cry of a single hound.
W.H.O.
* * * * *
"FAMILIES SUPPLIED."
"Village General Stores Wanted for dis. soldier: also widow and
daughter; price no object if genuine."--_Daily Paper._
* * * * *
"H.B. Playford is 6 feet 5 inches, or thereabouts, in height, has a
fabulous reach, and weighs 13-1/2 stone. He rowed No. 8 in the Jesus
four, beaten by Leander at Henley."--_Times._
A fabulous reach indeed! So fabulous that it made the four look as long as
an eight.
* * * * *
THE AMALGAMATED SOCIETY OF PASSENGERS.
"I've hit on something at last," cried Charles exultantly, throwing himself
down on my second-best armchair.
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