96 



I'rom Tilton "Wood to Loddington the hills are wou- 



drous steep. 

 The vale of Belvoir, too, we know, will oft ride 



wondrous deep ; 

 Fences are strong at Skeffington, and Belton seldom fails 

 To give account of sobbing sides, lost shoes, and quiver- 

 ing tails. 

 From Barkby Holt to Stapleford, from Owston Wood 



to Glen, 

 I'll think of many a glorious run we ne'er can see again. 

 I'll think how many a hunting morn I've mounted thee 



in pride. 

 How many a dark December night we've plodded side 



by side. 

 Seasons roll on, and years pass by, so life flits day by day. 

 And others, too, will bear me well, though thou art 



passed away. 

 There'll still be music in the hounds, and pleasure in 



the chase 

 When other limbs beneath me bound, and others fill 



thy place ; 

 But often shall I think of thee, and oft regret in vain 

 The favourite one, whose like I ne'er can hope to ride 



again. 



THE FOKEMOST PLIGHT. 



I am a jovial sportsman, as every man should be, 



A hunting life and a country life is jnst the life for me. 



Our ^horses and our hounds are such no other clime 



can show, 

 For 'tis their delight, in the foremost flight, with a 



flying fox to go. 



