We love a good motto, and one like Mr. Hood's speaks volumes:
"HUNTS ROASTED"--
Next comes an advertisement of the author's endeavour to record a yearly
revel (the Epping Hunt,) already fast hastening to decay. Mr. Hood is
_serious_, as the following epistle will show:--
"It was penned by an underling at the Wells, a person more accustomed to
riding than writing."
"Sir,--About the Hunt. In anser to your Innqueries, their as been a
great falling off laterally, so much so this year that there was nobody
allmost. We did a mear nothing provisionally, hardly a Bottle extra,
wich is a proof in Pint. In short our Hunt may be sad to be in the last
Stag of a Decline.
"I am, Sir,
"With respects from
"Your humble Servant,
"BARTHOLOMEW RUTT."
Then begins the tale.
John Huggins was as bold a man
As trade did ever know,
A warehouse good he had, that stood
Hard by the church of Bow.
There people bought Dutch cheeses round,
And single Glos'ter flat,--
And English butter in a lump,
And Irish--in a _pat_.
Six days a week beheld him stand,
His business next his heart,
At _counter_ with his apron tied
About his _counter-part_.
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