THE MASTERS. 65 



and was borne from the church and lowered into the grave by a contingent 

 of the numerous beaglers present, the huntsman with eight couple of 

 the hounds being in attendance, in accordance with the expressed wishes 

 of their late Master. 



In closing this account of V. A. King, it must be freely admitted that 

 it very inadequately expresses the feelings of regard, reverence, and affection 

 for the Master, Colonel, and friend, developed in all those with whom he 

 came in contrct. His memory is ever green, and he will live long in the 

 hearts of all beaglers and volunteers of his county. The following verses, 

 by Mr. George Rae, of Rcdcourt, Claughton, are an eloquent tribute to 

 a worthy friend. 



VINXENT ASHFIELD KING. 



I\ MEMORIAM. 



His voice is hushed that oft like clarion rung 



Above all uproar of the ringing cheers, 

 Which hailed the wit and sturdy sense it flung, 



In trenchant rhetoric to approving ears. 



A readiness robust to give or take 



Hard knocks, political, with steadfast pluck. 



He scorned foul hitting, even for party's sake ; 

 He barbed no shafts, to rankle where they struck. 



I-"nll Iialf his prime he yielded up to nurse 

 The growing movement for our home defence, 



So far as in him lay, with brain and purse, 

 Without requital and without pretence. 



High-stomached ever with those high in place, 

 When bald routine did vex his broader sense ; 



The laurels for the foremost in the race — 

 So rightly his — did others recompense. 



But lust of honours, or of orders rare, 



Ne'er stirred his pulses with a sordid beat ; 



Old England's welfare was his single care, 

 The service high to which he bent his feet. 



The charity was his that loves to give ; 



His the right hand that never knew its left ; 

 The alms that rendered life less hard to live, 



That helped the helpless and the sore bereft. 



To propagate Christ's truth in every land. 

 To bring some brightness to the darkened brain, 



To give to all good works a helping hand — 

 The labours these which called him, not in vain. 



The genial humour and the joyous wit. 



That kept his table oft in merry roar. 

 The radiant eyes, with coming laughter lit, 



Unsparing Death, must these be nevermore ? 



