74 BEAUFORT HUNT: PAST AND PRESENT. 



And what of the ladies so killing and fair ? 



In their Badminton colours how lovely they look ! 

 When fun is the fastest, be sure they are there, 



By pluck or man'Buvre, by hook or by crook : 

 While each, at a gallop, finds time, as she flies, ; 



To deliver her shafts. Does she know how they hurt, 

 When shot by a pair of adorable eyes, 



As bright as her buttons, as blue as her skirt ? 



Then give me a cheer, etc. 



'Tis done ! They have got him ! He dies on the grass, 



In thirty-five minutes exact from the find ; 

 For a fox cannot hope to live longer, alas ! 



When a pack so determined are raging behind. 

 Untiring they race, undefeated they stoop. 



And they finish with blood, I am proud to remark : 

 " Whoop ! tear him, good hounds ! " says Lord Worcester ; " Who-whoop 



And we'll find you another before it gets dark ! " 



Then give me a cheer, etc. 



The Visitors' Day. 



In the Badminton Country, January 23rd, 1889. 



Dedicated to John Hargreaves, Esq., late M.F.H. 



(By kind permission of Baily's Magazine.) 



They come from the East, those gay sportsmen in pink, 

 Maiden Erlegh and Reading supplying their ranks, 



As westward they travel, to see what they think 



Of the Badminton ditches and Badminton banks ; 



Seventeen was their number in gallant array. 



At the Swalletts Grate meet, on the " Visitoi's' Day." 



Like flowers of the garden while summer still lurks, 

 Their coats were resplendent in roseate hue ; 



And the " locals " remark'd that the pinks of South Berks 

 Formed a sportsmanlike contrast to Badminton Blue 



But like flowers of the garden when autumn's away 



Were those coats at the end of the " Visitore' Day." 



In Greatwood's broad rides there are oceans of dirt, 

 Our horses' legs stuck as if held by the stocks ; 



Lord Worcester looked grave, and was heard to assert 

 That we must have got hold of a very load fox ; 



But his countenance changed from the grave to the gay 



Ere he came to the end of the " Visitors' Day." 



So we hied us to Dauntsey, the cream of the vale ; 



Two hundred and more to the withy-bed came ; 

 And those who thereafter might falter or fail 



Had only themselves or their chargers to blame — 

 The whistle resounded — 'twas " Porrard away" — 

 And we all got a start on the " Visitors' Day." 



First towards Wootton Bassett, then round on the right, 

 While Greatwood appears as the point he would make ; 



But Greatwood we missed by a field in our flight. 

 O'er rail and canal-bank our journey we take ; 



Said our fox, " They may catch me who can on the clay. 



But I'll take no advantage on ' Visitors' Day.' " 



