Loud clanging, and thy harsher voice obey. * * Here on this verdant spot, where Nature kind With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes; Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead Affords the wandering hares a rich repast, Throw off thy ready pack. See where they spread. And range around, and dash the glittering dew! If some staunch hound, with his authentic voice, Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe Attend his call, then with one mutual cry The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along! But quick they back recoil, and wisely check Their eager haste; then o'er the fallow'd ground How leisurely they work, and many a pause Th' harmonious concert breaks; till more assur'd, With joy redoubled, the low valleys ring. What artful labyrinths perplex their way! Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants, she doubts With horror seiz'd! The withered grass that clings Now gently put her off; see how direct To her known mew she flies! Here, huntsman, bring (But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds, And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop, And seem to plow the ground! then all at once, With greedy nostrils, snuff the fuming steam That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose From the dark caverns of the blustering god, They burst away and sweep the dewy lawn. Hope gives them wings, while she's spurred on by fear. Snorting they breathe; their shining hoofs scarce print The grass embruis'd; with emulation fir'd, They strain to lead the field, top the barr'd gate, O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush O'er their arch'd necks; with steady hands, by turns, Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey. Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks Above the humble copse aspiring rise, What glorious triumphs burst in every gale The changing horns, swell their sweet-winding notes; And climbs th' adjacent hill; the plowman leaves Desert th' unpeopled village, and wild crowds The foe she flies. Let cavilers deny That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something more, 'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires Beyond the short extent of human thought. But hold! I see her from her covert break; Intent she listens, with one ear erect, Pondering, and doubtful what new course to take, See how they toss, with animated rage Recovering all they lost! That eager haste Some doubling wile foreshows. Ah! yet once more Her well-known haunts, where once she rang'd secure, Her inward weakness. See how black she looks! WILLIAM SOMERVILLE, 1692-1742. A HUNTER'S MATIN. Up, comrades, up! the morn's awake The curlew's wing hath swept the lake, Up, comrades, up! the mead-lark's note While the hum-bird sips from the harebell's cup, Up, comrades, up! our shallops grate And our stalwart hounds impatient wait CHABLES FENNO HOFFMAN, A SPORTSMAN OF OLDEN TIME. I shall conclude this account of the officers of the forest with the singular character of one of them who lived in the times of James I. and Charles I. * The name of this memorable sportsman-for in that character alone was he conspicuous-was Henry Hastings. He was second son to the Earl of Huntingdon, and inherited a good estate in Dorsetshire from his mother. He was one of the keepers of New Forest, and resided in his lodge there during a part of every hunting-season. But his principal residence was at Woodlands, in Dorsetshire, where he had a capital mansion. One of his nearest neighbors was Anthony Cooper, afterward Earl of Shaftesbury. Two men could not be more opposite in their dispositions and pursuits. They seldom saw each other, and their occasional meetings were still more disagreeable to both, from their opposite sentiments in politics. Lord Shaftesbury, who was the younger man, was the survivor; and the following account of Mr. Hastings, which I have somewhat abridged, is said to have been the production of his pen. If Mr. Hastings had been the survivor, and had lived to have seen Lord Shaftesbury one of the infamous ministers of Charles II., he might, with interest, have returned the compliment. Mr. Hastings was low of stature, but strong and active; of a ruddy complexion, with flaxen hair. His clothes were always of green cloth. His house was of the old fashion, in the midst of a large park, well stocked with deer, rabbits, and fish-ponds. He had a long, narrow bowling-green in it, and used to play with round sand-bowls. Here, too, he had a banqueting-room built, like a stand, in a large tree. He kept all sorts of hounds that ran buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger; and had hawks of all kinds, both long and short winged. His great hall was commonly strewed with marrow-bones, and full of hawk-perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers; the upper end of it was hung with fox-skins of this and the last year's killing. Here and there a polecat was intermixed, and hunters' poles in great abundance. The parlor was a large room, completely furnished in the same style. On a broad hearth, paved with brick, lay some of the choicest terriers, hounds, and spaniels. One or two of the great chairs had litters of cats in them, which were not to be disturbed. Of these, three or four always attended him at dinner, and a little white wand lay by his trencher to defend it if they were too troublesome. In the windows-which were very largelay his arrows, cross-bows, and other accoutrements. The corners of the room were filled with his best hunting and hawking poles. His oyster-table stood at the lower end of the room, which was in constant use twice a day, all the year round, for he never failed to eat oysters, both |