Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 5 · column 6 of 9 · from the scan, no model involved
whole life through. It was in the years when foxes were few; Most talked against them, even preachers, too ; This day was warm, the frost had all gone. When far in the distance he heard a fox horn— He pointed his ears and gave a big snort— Then came the barking; his waiting was short; On came the pack not very far from the lot. He started to prance, then broke into a trot. When he came to the fence, with his tail held high. He sailed over it with ease, like a bird of the sky. On across the fields he went, with leaps and bounds—* Only a tired old horse, loving the cry of hounds. To look back to that day makes my old heart bleed, The sport of our ancestors kept alive by a steed! You can shoot at your quail and cotton-tail hare, But don’t kill our foxes and a sport that is rare. Our God put them all here; He wasn’t pulling a stunt; So humans wouldn’t forget, He made a horse enjoy the “hunt”. —F.M.R.
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