Mr, John Bennett. 327 



You small boys in whose books 



Learning finds no lovers, 

 You may burn your books, 



If you preserve the covers. 

 And now, long live the Queen, 



And may no foe unnerve her ; 

 That is, of course we mean. 



If she's a good preserver. 



But Army, Church, and Crown, 



The Commons, Peers and Pi'oxies, 

 Must certainly go down. 



If they dion't jpreserve the foxes. 

 The way to cure all woe, 



And battle fortune's shocks is. 

 By singing" Tally ho / '' 



And peeseeving of the foxes. 



MR. JOHN BENNETT. 



No more familiar name with Pytcliley, Qaorn, or Ather- 

 stone Hunts is there than that of John Bennett of 

 Marston. Now well past his seventieth year, the slim 

 form, quick eye, and a gait smacking more of the rider 

 than of the pedestrian, still proclaim the one-time elegant 

 and determined horseman ; and whether in a run or in a 

 steeple chase, the man who was near John Bennett was 

 pretty sure to be in a situation, where if he could not be 

 first past the post, he would be likely to " run into a 

 place.'' Beginning to hunt early in life, and a close 

 observer of the ways of men as well as of hounds and 

 horses, there is many a less pleasant way of passing a 

 winter evening, than to recall, with a good bottle of old 

 port, past times and old hunting heroes, with Mr. Bennett 

 as your reminder-in-chief. Talk to him of '' the Squire," 

 Lord Chesterfield, George Payne, '^ Gentleman Smith," 

 or Tailby, throwing in a few ^'^ asides '^ on racing matters; 



