Do the hoofs of his horses wake a dream
Of a trampling crowd at the covert-side,
Of a lead on the grass and a glinting stream
And Top-o'-the-Morning shortening stride?
Does the triumph leap to his shining eyes
As the wind of the vale on his cheek blows cold,
And the buffeting big brown shoulders rise
To his light heel's touch and his light hand's hold?

When the swords are sheathed and the strife is done,
And the cry of hounds is a call to men;
When the straight-necked Wiltshire foxes run
And the first flight rides on the grass again;
May Top-o'-the-Morning, sleek of hide,
Shod, and tidy of mane and tail,
Light, and fit for a man to ride,
Lead them once more in the White Horse Vale!

W.H.O.

* * * * *

Polygamy in Workington.

"Supper was served by some of the wives of some of the
members."--_Workington News_.

* * * * *