BE AV FORT HUNT: PAST AND PRESENT. 77 



" I know you're all my eye, 



" I'll cut you down, and hang you up, 



" Aye ! hang you up to dry. 



" Yes ! funking wretch ! I know you, 



" How you shudder at a rail, 



" How you shun the bristling bullfinch, 



" And at a Brook turn tail." 



But he who was not wont to brook 



A hasty word or angry look, 



Now, with a meek submissive face, 



Yielded the trophies of the chase. 



Without a blow resigned his sway, 



And Miles, triumphant, leads the way ; 



Thenceforth from gates and brooks he shrunk. 



Thenceforth by all was called a funk ; 



Such is the fate of human glory. 



Such the sad sequel to my story. 



I cannot tell the year of grace, 



In which these things were taking place ; 



But this I know, a portly Squire 



Now bruises over Leicestershire ; 



Whom Sutton loveth to commend. 



His guide, philosopher, and friend ; 



And none with him dispute the right 



To lead the field from morn to night. 



But though among the thrusting train, 



You seek for Gilmour's face in vain ; 



Wait till the second horsemen pass, 



You see a form — 'tis his, alas ! 



The heavy-weight who funks the stiles, 



And trembles at the name of Miles. 



Such is the lot of mortal man. 

 Where (iilmom- ended. Miles began ; 

 And Miles in turn must yield his sway. 

 For every dog will have his day. 

 1852. W. H. Bromley. 



The Great Wood Run. 



The celebrated Great Wood Run with the Badminton Hounds 

 took place on Ash Wednesday, February 22nd, 1871, and was thus 

 commemorated in verse by Mr. P. Kington Oliphant, who wrote 

 under the nom de plume of " Dannyman." 



Come, pull off your boots — 'tis no time for a nap, 

 Let us measure the run on the Ordinance map ; 

 Much sport have we seen since {,\w frost, but this last day 

 Proves the joke that Ash-Wediu'sil.iy's a regular " Past " day. 

 Our meet Swallett's Gate, and .it (ireatwood the draw. 

 For the stoutest of foxes the Vale ever saw ; 

 In the corner we mov'd him, he's gone in a minute. 

 Here's a chance for the riders who mean to be in it ; 

 And, Heber, («) remember, you make our hearts glad 

 When you whistle, and we can como to you my lad. 

 Headed back near the brook, through Greatwood once more. 

 He returns to the cover that's called Ueservoir : 



(a) Heber Long, whipper in. 



