THE BELVOIR COUNTRY 



Can we hope on the winner our glances to fix ? 

 From Belvoir come three and from Melton come six. 



We trust we don't own to of favour a particle 

 If we take the first glance at the famed leading article. 

 The ring to stand in seem most anxious and glad ; 

 The Earl is the rider, the owner the Lad.* 



Though last, not the least of the heroes, I ween, 

 By Barker of chestnut is lead on the scene ; 

 High mettled and handsome, with plenty of bone, 

 He looks, as he walks, that the day is his own. 



Who rides ? It is Josey, with satisfied air ; 

 Says he, as he mounts, to the others, " Beware ! 

 You may laugh if you like, but the truth you'll believe 

 When the winner I land for the Grenadier Reeve." 



The bell has been rung, they are marshalled to start, 

 And pit-a-pat beats every feminine heart ; 

 The question to cause the dear fair ones' alarm. 

 Shall the Quorn or the Belvoir to-day bear the palm ? 



The Coplow is over I The stoutest has won ; 



The light weight has been beaten, the lad has been done. 



Right loud are the cheers that resound, you'll allow, 



For the Leicestershire grass has been beat by the plough. 



Three cheers for the Colonel who brought to the post 

 The heavy- weight chestnut despised by most ; 

 To his health a full magnum of claret we'll drain, 

 And hope he may win with the Haycock again. 



In this legend the victory lay with Belvoir. In days gone 

 by there was a very celebrated meeting-place for another de- 

 scription of country. This was Three Queens, a fixture that 

 has preserved the name of a public-house which has long 

 ceased to exist. It was a favourite meet for the heath country, 

 where the sport was said to have been better in old times than 

 it is now. It is mostly light arable land, the fields divided by 

 very practicable fences that can be jumped anywhere, though 

 varied, it is true, by an occasional " stitcher." 



If, however, the sportsman be one of those who love 

 hounds more and a crowd less, he will save his stoutest 

 horses for the Lincolnshire side. The central point is 

 Folkingham, an ideal English country town, with its long 



' Colonel Henry Forester. 

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