A woodcock,--this month is the time,-- Right and left I’ve made ready my lock for, With well-loaded double, But spite of my trouble, Neither barrel can I find a cock for! A rabbit I should not despise, But they lurk in their burrows so lowly; This day’s the eleventh, It is not the seventh, But they seem to be keeping it hole-y. [Illustration: CANVASSING A BURROW--“COME TO THE POLE.”] For a mallard I’ve waded the marsh, And haunted each pool, and each lake--oh! Mine is not the luck, To obtain thee, O Duck, Or to doom thee, O Drake, like a Draco! For a field-fare I’ve fared far a-field, Large or small I am never to sack bird, Not a thrush is so kind As to fly, and I find I may whistle myself for a black-bird! I am angry, I’m hungry, I’m dry, Disappointed, and sullen, and goaded, And so weary an elf, I am sick of myself, And with Number one seem overloaded. As well one might beat round St. Paul’s, And look out for a cock or a hen there; I have search’d round and round All the Baronet’s ground, But Sir Christopher hasn’t a wren there! [Illustration: A DOUBLE BARREL.] Joyce may talk of his excellent caps, But for nightcaps they set me desiring, And it’s really too bad, Not a shot I have had With Hall’s Powder, renown’d for “quick firing.” If this is what people call sport, Oh! of sporting I can’t have a high sense. And there still remains one More mischance on my gun-- “Fined for shooting without any license.” [Illustration: PALMAM QUI MERUIT FERAT.] THE SCHOOLMASTER’S MOTTO. “The Admiral compelled them all to strike.”--LIFE OF NELSON. Hush! silence in School--not a noise! You shall soon see there’s nothing to jeer at, Master Marsh, most audacious of boys! Come!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!” So this morn in the midst of the Psalm, The Miss Siffkins’s school you must leer at, You’re complained of--Sir! hold out your palm,-- There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!” You wilful young rebel, and dunce! This offence all your sins shall appear at, You shall have a good caning at once-- There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!” You are backward, you know, in each verb, And your pronouns you are not more clear at, But you’re forward enough to disturb,-- There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!” You said Master Twigg stole the plums, When the orchard he never was near at, I’ll not punish wrong fingers or thumbs,-- There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!” You make Master Taylor your butt, And this morning his face you threw beer at, And you struck him--do _you_ like a cut? There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”