So they checked pursuit at length, and returned to toil securely:
It was useless wasting strength on a purpose baffled surely.
But the two Van Valens swore, in a patriotic rapture,
_They_ would never give it o'er till they'd either kill or capture
Jack, the Regular.
Long they hunted through the wood, long they slept upon the hillside;
In the forest sought their food, drank when thirsty at the rill-side;
No exposure counted hard—theirs was hunting border-fashion:
They grew bearded like the pard, and their chase became a passion:
Even friends esteemed them mad, said their minds were out of balance,