Ride out he would, and hunt he would,
Nor dreamt of ending ill;
Mayhap with Dr. Ridout's fee,
And Surgeon Hunter's bill.

So he drew on his Sunday boots,
Of lustre superfine ;

The liquid black they wore that day
Was Warren-ted to shine.

His yellow buckskins fitted close,
As once upon a stag;

Thus well equipped, he gayly skipped,
At once, upon his nag.

But first to him that held the rein
A crown he nimbly flung;
For holding of the horse?-why, no-
For holding of his tongue.

To say the horse was Huggins' own
Would only be a brag;

His neighbor Fig and he went halves,
Like Centaurs, in a nag.

And he that day had got the gray,

Unknown to brother cit;

The horse he knew would never tell,
Although it was a tit.

A well-bred horse he was, I wis,

As he began to show,

By quickly "rearing up within
The way he ought to go."

And so he jogged to Tot'n'am Cross,
An ancient town well known,
Where Edward wept for Eleanor
In mortar and in stone.

A royal game of fox and goose,
To play on such a loss
Wherever she set down her orts,
Thereby he put a cross.

Now Huggins had a crony here,
That lived beside the way;
One that had promised sure to be

His comrade for the day.

Whereas the man had changed his mind

Meanwhile upon the case! And meaning not to hunt at all, Had gone to Enfield Chase!

For why, his spouse had made him vow

To let a game alone,

Where folks that ride a bit of blood

May break a bit of bone.

Now, be his wife a plague for life!

A coward sure is he!"

Then Huggins turned his horse's head,

And crossed the bridge of Lea.

Thence slowly on through Laytonstone,
Past many a Quaker's box-
No friends to hunters after deer,
Though followers of a Fox.

And many a score behind-before-
The self-same route inclined;
And minded all to march one way,
Made one great march of mind.

Gentle and simple, he and she,

And swell, and blood, and prig;
And some had carts, and some a chaise,
According to their gig.

Some long-eared jacks, some knacker's hacks

(However odd it sounds),

Let out that day to hunt, instead
Of going to the hounds!

And some had horses of their own,
And some were forced to job it:
And some, while they inclined to Hunt,
Betook themselves to Cob-it.

All sorts of vehicles and vans,
Bad, middling, and the smart;
Here rolled along the gay barouche,
And there a dirty cart!

And lo! a cart that held a squad
Of costermonger line;

With one poor hack, like Pegasus,

That slaved for all the Nine !

Yet marvel not at any load

That any horse might drag;

When all, that morn, at once were drawn Together by a stag.

Now when they saw John Huggins go
At such a sober pace;

"Hallo!” cried they; "come, trot away, You'll never see the chase !"

But John, as grave as any judge,
Made answer quite as blunt;
"It will be time enough to trot,
When I begin to hunt!"

And so he paced to Woodford Wells,
Where many a horseman met,
And letting go the reins, of course,
Prepared for heavy wet.

And lo! within the crowded door,
Stood Rounding, jovial elf;
Here shall the Muse frame no excuse,
But frame the man himself.

A snow-white head, a merry eye,
A cheek of jolly blush ;

A claret tint laid on by health,
With master reynard's brush;

A hearty frame, a courteous bow,
The prince he learned it from;
His age about three-score and ten,
And there you have Old Tom.

In merriest key I trow was he,
So many guests to boast;
So certain congregations meet,
And elevate the host.

"Now welcome, lads," quoth he, "and prads,

You're all in glorious luck :

Old Robin has a run to-day,

A noted forest buck.

Fair Mead's the place, where Bob and Tom,

So off they scampered, man and horse,
As time and temper pressed-
But Huggins, hitching on a tree,
Branched off from all the rest.

Howbeit he tumbled down in time
To join with Tom and Bob,
All in Fair Mead, which held that day
Its own fair meed of mob.

Idlers to wit- no Guardians some,

Of Tattlers in a squeeze;
Ramblers in heavy carts and vans,
Spectators, up in trees.

Butchers on backs of butchers' hacks,

That shambled to and fro !

Bakers intent upon a buck,

Neglectful of the dough!