70 HUNTING RECOLLECTIONS. 



There's a father and son from where " Love " grows 



so** True," 

 Both fond of the sport — we want Hke them a few — 

 The father has seen some sport in his day, 

 And loves to talk over the runs o'er the clay. 

 What a workman the son is ! and fond of a hound — 

 He knows most of their names, of that I'll be bound. 



A long man from Writtle goes boldly to hounds, 

 To his humour and chaff there are no sort of bounds ; 

 He always dispenses with spurs and with whip. 

 And seems to care little or nought for a ** pip." 



Oh ! Tabor of Baddow, I envy you daily, 

 That rattling black horse that carries you gaily ; 

 How you love if you can, to find some stiff rails 

 To pound the field over — your horse never fails. 



The barracks at Warley, too, give us some men, 



Who to beat, is a difficult task, that I ken ; 



The " 56th " Captain, on a brave little bay, 



And the "North Lincoln" Captain, you can't beat I say. 



Here's another good sportsman we're all glad to greet. 

 He hails from near Brentwood, they call it Brook Street, 

 For a young 'un that wants a little good schooling, 

 Ask him to ride him — he's not given to fooling. 



What day is it? Saturday. Surely I see 



The father of the Hunt come out for a spree ; 



He's a son of David — a rare good old sort — 



And for years and for years has been fond of the sport. 



All alert for the fun from Springfield comes one, 

 And with him a lady who loves a good run ; 

 He knows a good horse, and, in spite of his weight, 

 Is able to guide his companion quite straight. 



Here's a "Welter" from Warley, on a good sturdy 



black. 

 No one more enjoys a good day with the pack. 

 Years ago with " The Essex " he often was out. 

 Now he swears by ** The Union," of that there's no 



doubt. 



