characteristics of his classic features, but in temperament and habit he
bore a singular resemblance to the king of all the falcons. Who more
delighted in striking down the partridge or the wild duck? What more
assiduous destroyer of ground game and vermin ever existed than Tom
Peregrine? There never was a man so happily named and so eminently
fitted to fulfil the destinies of a gamekeeper.

Who loves to trap the wily stoat?
Who loves the plover's piping note?
Who loves to wring the weasel's throat?
Tom Peregrine.

What time the wintry woods we walk,
No need have we of lure or hawk;
Have we not Tom to _tower_ and talk?
Tom Peregrine?

When to the withybed we spy,
A hungry hern or mallard fly,
"Bedad! we'll bag un by and by,"
Tom Peregrine.

"Creep _up wind_, sir, without a sound,
And bide thy time neath yonder 'mound,'
Then knock un over on the ground,"
Tom Peregrine.

And so one might go on _ad infinitum_.

A more amusing companion or keener fisherman never stepped. He had all