SQUIRE FORESTER AND TOM 

 MOODY. 



Of the two names thus placed in juxtaposition, one is 

 still familiar in our mouths as a household word — the 

 other is unknown, except to the very few who have 

 preserved the legends and traditions of the hunting- 

 field. 



Squire Forester, the fine old English sportsman and 

 Master of Hounds, is forgotten. Tom Moody, the beer- 

 loving dare-devil whipper-in, is immortalised. And yet, 

 if merit were any claim to renown, the positions of the 

 two should have been reversed ; for, both as a man 

 and a sportsman, the master was incomparably superior 

 to the servant. But Tom Moody had a much surer 

 passport to fame than worth. It was his good fortune 

 to fall in the way of a vates sacer who sang his praises 

 and gave undying glory to his name. Charles Dibdin's 

 famous song has kept the memory of Tom Moody green, 

 and will keep it green for ever. 'Tis a rare gift these 

 poets have — the gift of conferring an immortality of 

 shame or honour, but they sometimes use it rather 

 recklessly and indiscriminately. Still, though Tom 

 Moody perhaps hardly deserved the celebrity the great 

 song-writer has secured him, I think sportsmen, at 

 any rate, will admit that if the Muse of Poesy had never 

 found a' less worthy object for commemoration than 



