New Nimrods exclaim, "Timber-topping" is tame, And "bull-finches" simply child's play; And they don't care a jot For a gallop or trot, Though they _will_ go a-hunting to-day. There's a fox made of clockwork, they say They'll wind him and get him away; He runs with a rush On rails with his brush, So we must go and chase him to-day. We've abolished the sounds Of the horn and the hounds-- 'Tis the bicycle squeaker that squeals And the pack has been stuffed, Or sent to old Cruft, Now the huntsmen have taken to wheels! Hairy country no more we essay, Five bars, too, no longer dismay, For we stick to the roads In the latest of modes, So we'll bike after Reynard to-day! * * * * * [Illustration: THE LANGUAGE OF SPORT. "Where the----! What the----!! Who the----!!! Why the----!!!!"] * * * * * [Illustration: COMFORTING, VERY! _Sportsman (who has mounted friend on bolting mare) shouts._ "You're all right, old chap! She's never been known to refuse water, and swims like a fish!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Old Stubbles_ (_having pounded the swells_). "Aw--haw----! laugh away, but who be the roight side o' the fence, masters?"] * * * * * [Illustration: CUB HUNTING 1. "Ah, my boys," said Percy Johnson, "give me a good old hurry and scurry--Heigh O! gee whoa!--over the downs and through the brushwood after the cubs. So, early in the morning as you like. What can be more exhilarating?" 2. So, in happy anticipation of the morrow's meet, he retired.] [Illustration: 3. Later, at 4 a.m., the butler came to rouse him. "Sir!" A pause. "Sir, th' 'osses be very nigh ready!" Uncertain voice from within--"Eh? good-night! Remember to call me early in the morning!" 4. Snoring resumed _in infinitum_. Still, Percy looked rather sheepish later on, when the others pretended they had missed him on the road, and inquired whether he had found the morning as exhilarating as he had expected.] * * * * * MY LITTLE BROWN MARE (_A Song for the commencement of the Hunting Season_) She's rather too lean but her head's a large size, And she hasn't the average number of eyes; Her hind legs are not what you'd call a good pair, And she's broken both knees, has my little brown mare. You can find some amusement in counting each rib, And she bites when she's hungry like mad at her crib; When viewed from behind she seems all on the square, She's quite a Freemason--my little brown mare. Her paces are rather too fast, I suppose, For she often comes down on her fine Roman nose, And the way she takes fences makes hunting men stare, For she backs through the gaps does my little brown mare.