n hunting of Stags, men _have_ broken their necks."
"Oh pray say no more," said a poor MEAGRE CUR,
"It grieves me to think men such dangers incur;
To mankind, I'm a friend of the genuine breed,
A friend little known, but in th' hour of need;
By this string round my neck I guide my poor master,
And true to his touch, I go slower or faster;
Oh Pity his sorrows, for he is stone blind,
And without my assistance his way could not find;
But I lead him with caution through Alleys and Streets,
And rejoice to observe the relief that he meets:
And when to our lodging at night we repair,
Of the food he's collected, he gives me a share."

[Illustration: "_Then a Spaniel advanced with a courtier-like mien_"]

Then a SPANIEL advanced, with a courtier-like mien,
His manners were gentle, his coat soft, and clean,
His nose was jet black, and his ears were so long,
They swept on the ground, as he passed through the throng,
Thus he spoke--
"We boast to mankind an attachment so pure,
That docile, and patient, their blows we endure:
We can hunt, we can quest, and what's more we can trace
A descent long ennobled by favour and grace;
For our ancestors portraits are still to be seen
With those of the _Babes_ of _King Charles_ and his _Queen_."
"You boast of your rank, Sir," the WATER-DOG cried
As he shook his rough coat, that was scarcely yet dried,
"But in sport who with me can compare?--have you seen,
Where the bush-fringed pool is mantled with green,
How I wind, thro' the reeds and the rushes, my way,
And the haunt of the Snipe, or the Mallard betray?
How, when loud sounds the Gun, aroused by the crash }
(As the fall of the victim, is marked by the splash) }
Leaping forward I bear off the prey at a dash?" }
"Tis enough--you have merit--but I think it better
To mention my claims," quoth the feather-tailed SETTER.
"The dew of the morn I with rapture inhale,
When check'd in my course, by the scent breathing gale,
In caution low crouching each gesture displays,
Where the covey lies basking, or sportively plays;
My net bearing master I watch as I creep,
Till encircled, the brood is enthralled at a sweep."
The POINTER then rose, and observ'd--"Sir, your trade is
So gentle and quiet, it might suit the ladies,
Poor things who would scream at the sound of a gun,
Which we POINTERS consider as part of the fun.
We range the wide fallows, or quarter the stubble,
While the labouring sportsman, alive to each double,
Hail