354 THE ESSEX FOXHOUNDS. 



Where wave the tell-tale willow trees, 



By Roden's treacherous banks, 

 His frowning bearskin laid aside 



To join our guiltless' ranks. 



There Usborne rides without a whip 



And with unarmed heel. 

 There pleasantly smiles Major Tower — 



Here jauntily sits Beale, 

 Thrice welcome noble sportsman ! 



Back to thy native hill ! 

 No more o'er Afric's burning sands. 

 Pursue wild beasts in heathen lands, 

 But hunt at home, and in thine ear 

 May tally ho's ! for many a year 



Resound from Monkhams still. 



See Marsh straight from the green-room 



His cheery face close shorn. 

 And Mrs. A., whose hundred slaves 



Sigh hopelessly love-lorn. 

 And Deacon equally an fait 



In quite another line, 

 To wile away the summer hours 

 At match-making- he tried his powers 

 On that famed heath where distant towers 



Old Ely's stately shrine. 



I wis in all that crowded throng 



There was no heart so dead, 

 But beat with a quick throb of pain 



'Neath coat of black or red, 



' Image of war without its guilt. — "The Chace," by Somerville. 

 ■-■ Mr. Deacon won matches at Newmarket with his horses " Chevely " and 

 " Comical." 



