THE SPORTING PARSON. 



The pick of the county ! the pride of the Hunt ! 

 The man who is always the first in the front ! 

 A gentleman always — a gentleman born ; 

 A nailer to follow the hound and the horn ! 



A clergyman, too ; and the best of his kind, 



Not easy to match, and not easy to find. 



The money he has, he in charity spends : 



The poor are his comrades, the needy his friends. 



Some say that a woman has marked with despair 

 The face that is always so manly and fair. 

 But still, as he's leading the best of the van. 

 He rides like a sportsman, and stays like a man. 



His eye on the pack that so few can discern, 



The embers of memory silently burn. 



How well I remember that notable day 



He cut out the work on the thoroughbred bay ! 



How Rakish was hunting and speaking alone, 



Till Rosie chimed in with her silvery tone ! 



How keenly the beauties all flew to the cry. 



And flung themselves forward — the scent was breast-high. 



