APPENDIX. 355 



No Essex sportsman there but felt 



How sad it was to see, 

 Compelled to view our fun from wheels, 



A once undaunted three. 



Arkwright our former Master, 



Who, whether well or ill. 

 Long with unselfish kindness 



Kept on the country still ; 

 And Secretary Foster 



For courtesy renowned. 

 Take all the Hunts in England 



Where can his match be found ? 

 Would that these two, with Dawson, 



Could lead our van to day ! 

 Right from Row Wood to Garnetts 



Could show us all the way ! 

 What joy after such horsemen 



To scurry o'er the plain ! 

 Your bard behind their horses 



How glad to toil in vain. 



Now at a cheer from Bailey, 



What eagerness pervades ! 

 The striving pack, hound after hound. 

 Straining to reach the covert's bound, 



Jealous as love-sick maids. 

 The horn recalls their footsteps 

 Ranging too far and free. 

 As through Man Wood they busy spread 

 With waving stern and lowered head. 

 And to the spot their way they thread 



Where sit the Ridleys three. 



