But now I come to thy shrine, O lovely _Septembria_, thou fairest nymyh in Diana’s train, with rolling blue eyes as sharp and as true as those of a signal lieutenant; I come to court thee again, and may thy path be even paved with the skulls of partridges. Again I come to dine with thee on the leveret’s back or pheasant’s wings. We’ve wildboars’ bladders for wine bottles, ramshorns for corkscrews, bugles for funnels, gunpowder for snuff, smoke for tobacco, woodcock’s bills for toothpicks, and shot for sugar plums! I dare not proceed to tell you now many brace of birds Ponto and I bag the first day of shooting, as the long bow, instead of the fowling piece, might be called my weapon. But enough rodomontading. I now come to _October_. Pheasants by all that’s volatile! And then, after them, I go to my tailor and order two suits--scarlet for master Reynard, and a bottlegreen jacket for the harriers, top-boots, white corderoy inexpressibles, and a velvet cap. Then when the covers ring again with the hallowed music of harriers, I begin skylarking the gates and setting into wind to follow the foxhounds in _November_. When _The dusky night rides down the sky, And ushers in the morn, The Hounds all make a jovial cry, And the Huntsman winds his horn._ With three days in the week chace, and pretty little interludes of hunting with beagles, or of snipe shooting, I manage to get through _December_ to the year’s end. My snug Winter evenings are spent in getting ready my guns, smacking new hunting whips, or trying on new boots, while my old hall furnishes ample store of trophies, stags’ horns hunted by my great grandfather, cross bows, guns, brushes won on rivals of Pegasus, and all sorts of odd oldfashioned whips, horns, and accoutrements, hanging up all round, which remind me of those days of yore when I remember the old squire and his sporting chaplain casting home on spent horses all bespattered from the chase, before I had ridden any thing but my rocking horse. There then have I rational amusement all the year round. And much and sincerely do I praise thee, O Diana! greatest Diana of the Ephesians! at thy feet will I repose my old and weatherbeaten carcass at last and invoke thy tutelary protection for my old age, thou who art _Hunting_, _Shooting_, and _Fishing_ personified, the true DIVA TRIFORMIS of Antiquity. Imminens Villæ tua Pinus esto, Quam per exactos ego lætus annos, Verris obliquum meditantis ictum, Sanguine donem. I have the honour to remain, Yours ever, JACK LARKING. * * * * * AN ADDRESS TO THE MOON, _To a_ “proper new” _tune_. ORIGINAL.