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Accordingly, as one of the comic songs we had just heard with delight had said

"Each lad took his colleen her trotters to shake."

The simile may not very elegantly convey an idea of the sylph-like figures that floated about, until, the small hours of the morning increasing, we were compelled to close with "Sir Roger de Coverly," and three times three in bumpers of "negus" to our hospitable entertainers.

We gave such attention, as Barney O'Reardon says, to our four hour's sleep at Mrs. Ralph's, that we started all the fresher at a fitting time for the "meet" of our own hounds at Myshall in the morning, and the Major's bountiful breakfast.

We had at Myshall a handsome return of Wexford men, and the feasting over the governor's cover adjacent turned out a mountain fox, that in consideration for our visitors. After a push southward, towards Holly-brook, that he might gain an offing, as a sailor would have said, he wheeled up the mountain then eastward, and crossing the Scrattoe (query from the Norse, signifying wood), round which there was an artificial race-course, then by Aclare Glen, so famous for its Potteen productions, on to Kilbranish and along that ridge, one of the bastions, it might be said, of Mount Leinster, which rises over it to two thousand six hundred feet in height, then, with heels to hill he ran down to the Clody side, until we earthed him in Clonmullen. The affair was brilliant, and the ground trying beyond parallel, yet the competitive system did its wonders. A handsome sprinkling of the "Tullows," and the Islands being well in, but having all had quite enough of it, we reluctantly bid kind farewell.

On part of the hills the hounds ran mute, and the fog

66 OVER THE MOUNTAIN, AND OVER THE MOOR." 257

obliged as to ride almost on top of them, or lose them altogether, while the pace was such that the whipper's shortlegged horse, although carrying but the "feather" that cleared the car-road in last chapter, not having foot to stay with us all through, let us know his whereabout by occasionally neighing after the other horses, and ultimately joined us at the finish. Retracing our steps by Myshall, while enjoying an excellent luncheon that awaited us, we had again an opportunity of thanking the gallant Major for his courtesy and kindness, by which he so largely contributed to our day's entertainment and amusement.

We only had a rest-day, when two capital sporting friends, and an old Dragoon officer arriving, we determined to show them some variety by moving in the evening towards the Kilkenny country, the Leicestershire of Ireland, and my companion to the Newtown Barry ball, having a farm-stead and lodge en route. We availed ourselves of his kind invitation, and gathering our fittings and findings into a dogcart, made a descent upon his rural home.

That we spent an agreeable evening may be taken for granted, and it certainly was worth the extra exertion to get to Sir Nicholas Loftus's to breakfast the next morning-at the place of meeting-to be shown through his unequalled stud of thoroughbreds; then of world-wide notoriety, among which was "Hollyhock," purchased by previous contract, when broken down as a racer for Two Thousand Guineas!

To such a man, and for such a treat and breakfast, courtesy was due, and accordingly when mounted, we dwelt a little, to see some young ones Sir Nicholas had in training so lightly tread the turf.

"Greene," said Sir Nicholas, "I wish you would throw your leg across that little animal, and take him over some of those fences, it would gratify me very much indeed." And now Jo Greene (late R.M.,) to gratify him, did do the thing as few could do it-vaulting like a bit of gossamer upon the little racing saddle, although an excellent weight to ride, he seemed to grow a part of the quadruped, he floated on as it were, all round about us, and sailed over sundry fences without a stirrup, to Sir Nicholas's great delight, and to all our admiration; for, like Eman Oge, in the old Irish ballad translated by Samuel Ferguson, Esq., M.R.I.A.

"When mounted on his proud-bounding steed,
(Joseph Greene) sat a cavalier indeed,

Like the ears upon the wheat,
When winds in Autumn beat,
On the bending steed 's his seat;
And the speed

Of his courser,

Was the wind, from Barna'gee o'er Tyrawley."

At last, "Hark! into cover," were the words, and soon the woods and dales resounded with the "music of the chace;" but long before he got away, this music had its close resemblance to nnpractised ears in the baying of Sir Nicholas's beagles in their well-placed kennel; remote as that was fixed our old dragooning friend drew up outside. and with the patience that

"The sentry walks his lonely round,"

he lived in hope that every moment he would have the hunting all to himself.

Meantime, we ran round by the skirt of Brandon Mountain towards the cover-called Boreleigh, on its south side; but here

A BURNING DAY AND A BAD SCENT.

259

the sun, coming out with all its after-meridian almost May-day force, and there not being a breath of air, no hounds could hunt. Still the Governor (the late Sir John Power) was almost getting angry with old Byrne, as he said he would lose his fox; but the veteran, nothing ashamed, exclaimed, "It was not hunting that they ought to be, when providence and nature was against it, but tilling the earth, that they might find a plenty for another season.'

Byrne, was he poet enough, could have quoted Somerville as an authority, who says

"The panting chace grows warmer as he flies,
And through the net-work of the skin perspires;
Leaves a long-streaming trail behind, which by
The cooler air condensed remains, unless
By some rude storm dispersed, or rarified

By the meridian sun's intenser heat."

With such a truth, in such a place, and Mount Loftus being alive with foxes, we could do no better than try back again; where picking up onr stray Dragoon officer, we demesne hunted, without the chance of bolting Reynard, until the shades of evening made those think, who had a doubt upon it, that Byrne still was right, for by the aid of the bad scent, the fox had realised the words of one of our oldest poetsmost knowingly he

"Played his part

For whatsoever mother wit or art

Could work he put in proof; no practice sly,

No counterpart of cunning policy,

No reach, no breach that might him profit bring,

But he the same did to his purpose wring.'

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The Irish meltonians left us on their own ground, while we

* Edmond Spenser's "Ape and Fox," about A.D. 1580.

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returned to our own head-quarters; and having perhaps got a little prosy in my endeavour to realise things that, like gratitude, no matter how full our hearts may be, cannot be expressed, I shall endeavour to make amends by giving from the journal notes a versified sketch of a drive to a Kilkenny hunt meet, and an idea of a "short, sharp, and decisive run,' only premising, that like the celebrated Nimrod (Mr. Appleby), I have taken the liberty of mixing up, not three or four runs, as he states he did, but a couple of actual runs, merely to increase the incidents in the little poem, and that I believe "Giant" only carried Mr. Baillie in Leicestershire.

As a contrast to Dick Lang, and his slow, boney, old Irish hunter, introduced in the last chapter, I have endeavoured to represent

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And the kind of animal that went it at that period, which I

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