168 The Hunting Field With Horse and Hound 



side. This was the first tiling I had seen that looked like home. 

 I expected, of course, to take it, but held back, being in a 

 strange country. Not a man went for that timber. 



"What's the matter with that fence?" I asked a fellow 

 rider, who had never turned a hair at the sight of the brook. 



"You are welcome to it," said he; "I own to flunking that 

 sort." 



I should not like to say that a four-foot fence of timber 

 stopped the Quorn hunt. I think I must be mistaken. 



A mile or more further on the hounds ran into their fox 

 and a hundred sportsmen, of the most fashionable pack of 

 hounds in England, chanted his funeral dirge with a whoop. 



'Twos a very quick find: I went streaming axvaii. 

 That day with the Quorn, on "Bichard the Bay." 

 He did all the hunting, I'd no time to look; 

 He took me along over hull-finch and brook. 



Two horses went in with a terrible splash. 

 But Bichard would have it and went with a dash. 

 How can I portray my feelings that day? 

 On that marvellous hunter, "Bichard the Bay!" 



Many thanks to the Colonel, may he live long and well. 

 And the story of Bichard, to his grandchildren tell. 

 As long as I live 'tis my pleasure to say 

 That first among hunters comes "Bichard the Bay." 



