“OPENING MEET OF THE WINDSOR GARRISON DRAG-HOUNDS.――On Saturday, in miserably wet weather, this pack of draghounds commenced their hunting season…. The hounds will be hunted twice a week (every Wednesday and Saturday) during the season.”――_Morning Paper._ We’re going to have a glorious run, This murk and mizzling morn. Our Hunt inferior is to none, Except not even the Quorn. A substitute will, scent as strong As Reynard’s own, supply. Excuse the burden of my song; This day a Drag must die! _Chorus_―― With a hey, ho, chivy; Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy! Excuse the burden of my song; This day a Drag must die! Because, although a herring red May, like a fox, be tracked, The Drag is absolutely dead In point of literal fact. Yet hounds and horses after go, With huntsmen’s horns, and cry Of “Yoicks!” and shout of “Tallyho!” This day a Drag must die! _Chorus_――With a hey, ho, &c. A Drag’s as good to ride behind As ever a fox’s tail, Well drawn about, with turn and wind, O’er many a hill and dale. Fence, hedgerow, palings, turnpike gate, The rider’s pluck will try, As much as though ’twere true to state, This day a Drag must die! _Chorus_――With a hey, ho, &c. Each man as much risks life or limb As when a fox is slain; The sport is all the same to him, And we give no animal pain. Humane excitement whilst we seek, No victim in our eye; Except as now, when so to speak, This day a Drag must die! _Chorus_――With a hey, ho, &c. _Note._――WILLIAM COBBETT, in one of his charming works, tells a delightful story of the revenge he, when a young clodhopper, once took of a huntsman who had fetched him a cut of his whip; in repayment for which injury Cobbett went and trailed a red herring over the hunting-ground, and then, mounted on a hill-top commanding a view all round, stood enjoying the satisfaction of seeing the hounds thrown off the scent, and the fox-hunt turned into a drag-hunt, to his enemy’s vexation. _Punch._ November 5, 1881. ――――:o:―――― OLD KING COAL. (_Air_: “OLD KING COLE.”) I. Old King Coal was a merry old soul: “I’ll move the world,” quoth he; “My England’s high, and rich, and great, But greater she shall be!” And he call’d for the pick, and he call’d for the spade, And he call’d for his miners bold; “And it’s dig,” he said, “in the deep, deep earth; You’ll find my treasures better worth Than mines of Indian gold!” II.