Mr. Punch in the Hunting Field Part 5

_Native_ (_with a hoa.r.s.e laugh_). "Well, ain't the Fox and c.o.c.k the same as the Brush and Comb?"

[_Vanishes into the gloaming, leaving the B. H. M. muttering those words which are not a.s.sociated with benediction, while he wearily pa.s.ses on his way._

APPROPRIATE TO THE WINTER SEASON

For sportsmen, the old song long ago popular, ent.i.tled "_There's a Good Time Coming, Boys_," if sung by a M.F.H. with a bad cold, as thus: "_There's a Good Tibe Cubbing, Boys!_"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mr. Briggs's hunting cap comes home, but that is really a thing Mrs. Briggs _can_ not, and _will_ not put up with!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mr. Briggs goes out with the Brighton Harriers. He has a capital day. The only drawback is, that he is obliged to lead his horse _up_ hill to ease him--]

[Ill.u.s.tration: and _down_ hill because he is afraid of going over his head--so that he doesn't get quite so much horse exercise as he could wish!]

AT THE HUNT BALL

(_The Sad Complaint of a Man in Black_)

O MOLLY, dear, my head, I fear, is going round and round, Your cousin isn't in the hunt, when hunting men abound; A waltz for me no more you'll keep, the girls appear to think There's a law been made in favour of the wearing of the pink.

Sure I met you in the pa.s.sage, and I took you by the hand, And says I, "How many dances, Molly, darlint, will ye stand?"

But your card was full, you said it with a most owdacious wink, And I'm "hanging" all your partners for the wearing of the pink!

You'd a waltz for Charlie Thruster, but you'd divil a one for me, Though he dances like a steam-engine, as all the world may see; 'Tis an illigant divarsion to observe the crowd divide, As he plunges down the ball-room, taking couples in his stride.

'Tis a cropper you'll be coming, but you know your business best, Still, it's bad to see you romping round with Charlie and the rest; Now you're dancing with Lord Arthur--sure, he's had enough to dhrink-- And I'm "hanging" all your partners for the wearing of the pink!

Your cruelty ashamed you'll be someday to call to mind, You'll be glad to ask my pardon, then, for being so unkind, The hunting men are first, to-night--well, let them have their whack-- You'll be glad to dance with me, someday--when all the coats are black!

But, since pink's the only colour now that fills your pretty head, Bedad, I'll have some supper, and then vanish home to bed.

'Tis the most distressful ball-room I was ever in, I think, And I'm "hanging" all your partners for the wearing of the pink!

[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. BRIGGS HAS ANOTHER DAY WITH THE HOUNDS

Mr. Briggs can't bear flying leaps, so he makes for a gap--which is immediately filled by a frantic Protectionist, who is vowing that he will pitchfork Mr. B. if he comes "galloperravering" over his fences--danged if he doant!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A DOUBTFUL INFORMANT

_Miss Connie_ (_to Gent in brook_). "Could you tell me if there is a bridge anywhere handy?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: NOT TO BE BEATEN

_Cissy._ "Why should they call the hare's tail the scut?"

_Bobby_ (_with a reputation as an authority to keep up_). "Oh--er--why you see--oh, of course, because the hare scuttles, you know, when she is hunted."]

WHY HE WAITED

"What's the matter with Jack's new horse? He won't start."

"Don't know; but they say he's been in an omnibus. Perhaps he's waiting for the bell!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PLEASURES OF HUNTING

To get a toss in a snowdrift, and, while lying half-smothered, to be sworn at for not shouting to warn the man following you.]

SO CONSOLING

_Lady_ (_whose mare has just kicked a member of the Hunt, who was following too closely_). "Oh, I'm so sorry! I do hope it didn't hurt you! She's such a gentle thing, and could only have done it in the merest play, you know."

[Ill.u.s.tration: POSITIVELY OSTENTATIOUS

_Mr. Phunkstick_ (_quite put out_). "Talk about agricultural depression, indeed! Don't believe in it! Never saw fences kept in such disgustingly good order in my life!"]

IRISH HUNTING TIPPLE

_Englishman_ (_having partaken of his friend's flask, feels as if he had swallowed melted lead_). "Terribly strong! Pure whiskey, is it not?"

_Irishman._ "Faith! not at all! It's greatly diluted with gin!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN A SHOOTING COUNTRY

_Railway Porter_ (_who has been helping lady to mount_). "I hope you'll 'ave a good day, ma'am."

_Lady Diana._ "I just hope we'll find a fox."

_Porter_ (_innocently_). "Oh, that's all right, ma'am. The fox came down by the last train!"]