“Now this world you must own’s a strange compound of fate, (A kind of tee-to-turn resembling of late) Where hope promised joy _there_ will sorrow be found, And the vessel best trimm’d is oft soonest aground. “I’ve come in for my share of ‘Take-up’ and ‘Put-down,’ And that rogue, Disappointment, oft makes me look brown, And then (you may sneer and look wise if you will) From those old pair of boots I can comfort distil. “I but cast my eyes on them and old Willey Hall Is before me again, with its ivy-crown’d wall, Its brook of soft murmurs—its rook-laden trees, The gilt vane on its dovecot swung round by the breeze. “I see its old owner descend from the door, I feel his warm grasp as I felt it of yore; Whilst old servants crowd round—as they once us’d to do, And their old smiles of welcome beam on me anew. “I am in the old bedroom that looks on the lawn, The old cock is crowing to herald the dawn; There! old Jerry is rapping, and hark how he hoots, ‘’Tis past five o’clock, Tom, and here are your boots.’ “I am in the old homestead, and here comes ‘old Jack,’ And old Stephens has help’d Master George to his back; Whilst old _Childers_, old _Pilot_, and little _Blue-boar_ Lead the merry-tongued hounds through the old kennel door. “I’m by the old wood, and I hear the old cry— ‘Od’s rat ye dogs—wind him! Hi! Nimble, lad, hi!’ I see the old fox steal away through the gap, Whilst old Jack cheers the hounds with his old velvet cap. “I’m seated again by my old grandad’s chair, Around me old friends and before me old fare; Every guest is a sportsman, and scarlet his suit, And each leg ’neath the table is cas’d in a boot. “I hear the old toasts and the old songs again, ‘_Old Maiden_’—‘_Tom Moody_’—‘_Poor Jack_’—‘_Honest Ben_;’ I drink the old wine, and I hear the old call— ‘Clean glasses, fresh bottles, and _pipes_ for us all.’” CHAPTER XII. SUCCESS OF THE SONG. Dibdin’s Song—Dibdin and the Squire good fellows well met—Moody a Character after Dibdin’s own heart—The Squire’s Gift—Incledon—The Shropshire Fox-hunters on the Stage at Drury Lane. THE reader will have perceived that George Forester and Charles Dibdin were good fellows well met, and that no two men were ever better fitted to appreciate each other. Like the popular monarch of the time, each prided himself upon being a Briton; each admired every new distinguishing trait of nationality, and gloried in any special development of national pluck and daring. No one more than Mr. Forester was ready to endorse that charming bit of history Dibdin gave of his native land in his song of “The snug little Island,” or would join more heartily in the chorus:— “Search the globe round, none can be found So happy as this little island.” [Picture: A meet at Hangster’s gate]