And at the finish who was there? Why he who at the burst
Led the boldest and the best, in the foremost flight was first—
Our fine old hunting Squire, one of the present day.
“A beautiful chaunt!” ejaculated I, pleased with the sporting rhyme, “and one which shall have place in ‘The Life of a Foxhound.’”
Having doubtlessly made every note of value which could be drawn from his experience, Ringwood’s memoir here ends from want of material, and the earnest disposition on the part of his biographer of wishing to prove neither monotonous nor wearisome. It was deemed by that wise hound that a history or tale, when told, should, like a fox, when killed, be broken up and finished. To this, therefore, we will give an appropriate one in a ringing
Who-whoop!
THE END.