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 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 LONDON, NEW YORK, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS;
 
 Some Experiences of an 
 
 Irish R.M. 
 
 By 
 
 E. CE. Somerville and Martin Ross 
 
 Authors of "The Real Charlotte," " An Irish Cousin," 
 "The Silver Fox," etc. etc. 
 
 With Illustrations by E. GE. Somerville 
 
 NEW IMPRESSION 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 FOURTH AVENUE & 3 OTH STREET, NEW YORK 
 
 BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 First printed 1899; reprinted 1859, 1900 (5 times), 
 
 igoi (3 times'), igoa, 1903, 1904, 1906, 1909. 
 
 New and Cheaptr Edition from frtsh type, igio. 
 
 Reprinted July 1916, November 1918.
 
 NOTE 
 
 The following stories appeared originally 
 in the pages of the Badminton Magazine, 
 and are now reprinted by the courtesy of 
 the Editor. 
 
 2O581 1
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. GREAT-UNCLE McCARTHY 
 
 II. IN THE CURRANHILTY COUNTRY ... 27 
 
 III. TRINKET'S COLT ....... 50 
 
 IV. THE WATERS OF STRIFE ..... 73 
 V. LISHEEN RACES, SECOND-HAND . . . .97 
 
 VI. PHILIPPA'S FOX-HUNT ...... 123 
 
 VII.A MISDEAL. ........ 151 
 
 VIII. THE HOLY ISLAND ....... 179 
 
 IX. THE POLICY OF THE CLOSED DOOR. . . 406 
 
 X. THE HOUSE OF FAHY ...... 230 
 
 XI. OCCASIONAL LICENSES ...... 256 
 
 XII. "OH LOVE1 OH FIRE!" . , z8i 
 
 viii
 
 GREAT-UNCLE McCARTHY 
 
 A RESIDENT Magistracy in Ireland is not an 
 f\ easy thing to come by nowadays ; neither is 
 it a very attractive job ; yet on the evening when I 
 first propounded the idea to the young lady who had 
 recently consented to become Mrs. Sinclair Yeates, 
 it seemed glittering with possibilities. There was, 
 on that occasion, a sunset, and a string band play- 
 ing "The Gondoliers," and there was also an in- 
 genuous belief in the omnipotence of a godfather 
 of Philippa's (Philippa was the young lady) who 
 had once been a member of the Government. 
 
 I was then climbing the steep ascent of the Cap- 
 tains towards my Majority. I have no fault to find 
 with Philippa's godfather ; he did all and more 
 than even Philippa had expected ; nevertheless, I 
 had attained to the dignity of mud major, and had 
 spent a good deal on postage stamps, and on rail- 
 
 A
 
 2 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 way fares to interview people of influence, before 
 L found myself in the hotel at Skebawn, opening 
 long envelopes addressed to " Major Yeates, R.M." 
 
 My most immediate concern, as any one who has 
 spent nine weeks at Mrs. Raverty's hotel will readily 
 believe, was to leave it at the earliest opportunity ; 
 but in those nine weeks I had learned, amongst 
 other painful things, a little, a very little, of the 
 methods of the artisan in the West of Ireland. 
 Finding a house had been easy enough. I had 
 had my choice of several, each with some hun- 
 dreds of acres of shooting, thoroughly poached, and 
 a considerable portion of the roof intact. I had 
 selected one ; the one that had the largest extent 
 of roof in proportion to the shooting, and had 
 been assured by my landlord that in a fortnight 
 or so it would be fit for occupation. 
 
 "There's a few little odd things to be done," he 
 said easily ; " a lick of paint here and there, and a 
 slap of plaster " 
 
 I am short-sighted ; I am also of Irish extraction ; 
 both facts that make for toleration but even I 
 thought he was understating the case. So did the 
 contractor. 
 
 At the end of three weeks the latter reported 
 progress, which mainly consisted of the facts that 
 the plumber had accused the carpenter of stealing 
 sixteen -feet of his inch-pipe to run a bell wire 
 through, and that the carpenter had replied that 
 he wished the divil might run the plumber through 
 .a. wran's quill. The plumber having reflected upon 
 the carpenter's parentage, the work of renovation
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 3 
 
 had merged in battle, and at the next Petty Ses- 
 sions I was reluctantly compelled to allot to each 
 combatant seven days, without the option of a fine. 
 
 These and kindred difficulties extended in an 
 unbroken chain through the summer months, until" 
 a certain wet and windy day in October, when, 
 with my baggage, I drove over to establish myself 
 at Shreelane. It was a tall, ugly house of three 
 storeys high, its walls faced with weather-beaten 
 slates, its windows staring, narrow, and vacant. 
 Round the house ran an area, in which grew some 
 laurustinus and holly bushes among ash heaps, and 
 nettles, and broken bottles. I stood on the steps, 
 waiting for the door to be opened, while the rain 
 sluiced upon me from a broken eaveshoot that had, 
 amongst many other things, escaped the notice of 
 my landlord. I thought of Philippa, and of her 
 plan, broached in to-day's letter, of having the hall 
 done up as a sitting-room. 
 
 The door opened, and revealed the hall. It 
 struck me that I had perhaps overestimated its 
 possibilities. Among them I had certainly not in- 
 cluded a flagged floor, sweating with damp, and 
 a reek of cabbage from the adjacent kitchen stairs. 
 A large elderly woman, with a red face, and a cap 
 worn helmet-wise on her forehead, swept me a 
 magnificent curtsey as I crossed the threshold. 
 
 "Your honour's welcome " she began, and 
 
 then every door in the house slammed in obedience 
 to the gust that drove through it. With something 
 that sounded like " Mend ye for a back door ! " Mrs. 
 Cadogan abandoned her opening speech and made
 
 4 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 for the kitchen stairs. (Improbable as it may 
 appear, my housekeeper was called Cadogan, a 
 name made locally possible by being pronounced 
 Caydogawn.) 
 
 Only those who have been through a similar 
 
 I STOOD ON THE STEPS, WAITING FOR THE DOOR 
 TO BE OPENED 
 
 experience can know what manner of afternoon I 
 spent. I am a martyr to colds in the head, and I 
 felt one coming on. I made a laager in front of 
 the dining-room fire, with a tattered leather screen
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 5 
 
 and the dinner table, and gradually, with cigarettes 
 and strong tea, baffled the smell of must and cats, 
 and fervently trusted that the rain might avert a 
 threatened visit from my landlord. I was then 
 but superficially acquainted with Mr. Florence 
 McCarthy Knox and his habits. 
 
 At about 4.30, when the room had warmed up, 
 and my cold was yielding to treatment, Mrs/ 
 Cadogan entered and informed me that " Mr. 
 Flurry " was in the yard, and would be thankful if 
 I'd go out to him, for he couldn't come in. Many 
 are the privileges of the female sex ; had I been a 
 woman I should unhesitatingly have said that I had 
 a cold in my head. Being a man, I huddled on a 
 mackintosh, and went out into the yard. 
 
 My landlord was there on horseback, and with 
 him there was a man standing at the head of a 
 stout grey animal. I recognised with despair that 
 I was about to be compelled to buy a horse. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Major," said Mr. Knox in his 
 slow, sing-song brogue ; " it's rather soon to be 
 paying you a visit, but I thought you might be in 
 a hurry to see the horse I was telling you of." 
 
 I could have laughed. As if I were ever in a 
 hurry to see a horse ! I thanked him, and suggested 
 that it was rather wet for horse-dealing. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing when you're used to it," replied 
 Mr. Knox. His gloveless hands were red and wet, 
 the rain ran down his nose, and .his covert coat was 
 soaked to a sodden brown. I thought that I did 
 not want to become used to it. My relations with 
 horses have been of a purely military character,
 
 6 Some 'Experiences of an Irish 
 
 I have endured the Sandhurst riding-school, I 
 have galloped for an impetuous general, I have 
 been steward at regimental races, but none of these 
 feats have altered my opinion that the horse, as a 
 means of locomotion, is obsolete. Nevertheless, the 
 man who accepts a resident magistracy in the south- 
 west of Ireland voluntarily retires into the prehis- 
 toric age ; to institute a stable became inevitable. 
 
 " You ought to throw a leg over him," said 
 Mr. Knox, " and you're welcome to take him over 
 a fence or two if you like. He's a nice flippant 
 jumper." 
 
 Even to my unexacting eye the grey horse did 
 not seem to promise flippancy, nor did I at all 
 desire to find that quality in him. I explained that 
 I wanted something to drive, and not to ride. 
 
 " Well, that's a fine raking horse in harness," said 
 Mr. Knox, looking at me with his serious grey eyes, 
 " and you'd drive him with a sop of hay in his 
 mouth. Bring him up here, Michael." 
 
 Michael abandoned his efforts to kick the grey 
 horse's forelegs into a becoming position, and led 
 him up to me. 
 
 I regarded him from under my ' umbrella with 
 a quite unreasonable disfavour. He had the 
 dreadful beauty of a horse in a toy-shop, as chubby, 
 as wooden, and as conscientiously dappled, but it 
 was unreasonable to urge this as an objection, and I 
 was incapable of finding any more technical draw- 
 back. Yielding to circumstance, I "threw my leg" 
 over the brute, and after pacing gravely round the 
 quadrangle that formed the yard, and jolting to my
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 7 
 
 entrance gate and back, I decided that as he had 
 neither fallen down nor kicked me off, it was worth 
 paying twenty-five pounds for him, if only to get 
 in out of the rain. 
 
 Mr. Knox accompanied me into the house and 
 had a drink. He was a fair, spare young man, 
 who looked like a stable boy among gentlemen, 
 and a gentleman among stable boys. He belonged 
 to a clan that cropped up in every grade of society 
 in the county, from Sir Valentine Knox of Castle 
 Knox down to the auctioneer Knox, who bore the 
 attractive title of Larry the Liar. So far as I could 
 judge, Florence McCarthy of that ilk occupied a 
 shifting position about midway in the tribe. I had 
 met him at dinner at Sir Valentine's, I had heard 
 of him at an illicit auction, held by Larry the Liar, 
 of brandy stolen from a wreck. They were " Black 
 Protestants," all of them, in virtue of their descent 
 from a godly soldier of Cromwell, and all were 
 prepared at any moment of the day or night to 
 sell a horse. 
 
 " You'll be apt to find this place a bit lonesome 
 after the hotel," remarked Mr. Flurry, sympa- 
 thetically, as he placed his foot in its steaming 
 boot on the hob, " But it's a fine sound house any- 
 way, and lots of rooms in it, though indeed, to 
 tell you the truth, I never was through the whole 
 of them since the time my great-uncle, Denis 
 McCarthy, died here. The dear knows I had enough 
 of it that time." He paused, and lit a cigarette 
 one of my best, and quite thrown away upon 
 him. " Those top floors, now/' he resumed, " I
 
 8 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 wouldn't make too free with them. There's some 
 of them would jump under you like a spring bed. 
 Many's the night I was in and out of those attics, 
 following my poor uncle when he had a bad turn 
 on him the horrors, y' know there were nights 
 he never stopped walking through the house. Good 
 Lord ! will I ever forget the morning he said he 
 saw the devil coming up the avenue ! * Look at 
 the two horns on him/ says he, and he out with 
 his gun and shot him, and, begad, it was his own 
 donkey ! " 
 
 Mr. Knox gave a couple of short laughs. He 
 seldom laughed, having in unusual perfection the 
 gravity of manner that is bred by horse-dealing, 
 probably from the habitual repression of all emo- 
 tion save disparagement. 
 
 The autumn evening, grey with rain, was darken- 
 ing in the tall windows, and the wind was be- 
 ginning to make bullying rushes among the shrubs 
 in the area ; a shower of soot rattled down the 
 chimney and fell on the hearthrug. 
 
 " More rain coming," said Mr. Knox, rising com- 
 posedly ; " you'll have to put a goose down these 
 chimneys some day soon, it's the only way in the 
 world to clean them. Well, I'm for the road. 
 You'll come out on the grey next week, I hope ; 
 the hounds'll be meeting here. Give a roarat him 
 coming in at his jumps." He threw his cigarette 
 into the fire and extended a hand to me. " Good- 
 bye, Major, you'll see plenty of me and my hounds 
 before you're done. There's a power of foxes in 
 the plantations here."
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 9 
 
 This was scarcely reassuring for a man who 
 hoped to shoot woodcock, and I hinted as much. " 
 
 " Oh, is it the cock ? " said Mr. Flurry ; " b'leeve 
 me, there never was a woodcock yet that minded 
 hounds, now, no more than they'd mind rabbits ! 
 The best shoots ever I had here, the hounds were 
 in it the day before." 
 
 When Mr. Knox had gone, I began to picture 
 myself going across country roaring, like a man on 
 a fire-engine, while Philippa put the goose down the 
 chimney ; but when I sat down to write to her I did 
 not feel equal to being humorous about it. I dilated 
 ponderously on my cold, my hard work, and my 
 loneliness, and eventually went to bed at ten o'clock 
 full of cold shivers and hot whisky-and-water. 
 
 After a couple of hours of feverish dozing, I 
 began to understand what had driven Great-Uncle 
 McCarthy to perambulate the house by night. Mrs. 
 Cadogan had assured me that the Pope of Rome 
 hadn't a betther bed undher him than myself ; 
 wasn't I down on the new flog mattherass the old 
 masther bought in Father Scanlan's auction ? By 
 the smell I recognised that "flog" meant flock, 
 otherwise I should have said my couch was stuffed 
 with old boots. I have seldom spent a more 
 wretched night. The rain drummed with soft 
 fingers on my window panes ; the house was full 
 of noises. I seemed to see Great-Uncle McCarthy 
 ranging the passages with Flurry at his heels ; 
 several times I thought I heard him. Whisperings 
 seemed borne on the wind through my keyhole, 
 boards creaked in the room overhead, and once
 
 io Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 I could have sworn that a hand passed, groping, 
 over the panels of my door. 1 am, I may admit, 
 a believer in ghosts ; I even take in a paper that 
 deals with their culture, but I cannot pretend that 
 on that night I looked forward to a manifestation 
 of Great-Uncle McCarthy with any enthusiasm. 
 
 The morning broke storing, and I woke to find 
 Mrs. Cadogan's understudy, a grimy nephew of 
 about eighteen, standing by my bedside, with a 
 black bottle in his hand. 
 
 "There's no bath in the house, sir," was his reply 
 to my command; "but me A'nt said, would ye 
 like a taggeen ? " 
 
 This alternative proved to be a glass of raw 
 whisky. I declined it. 
 
 I look back to that first week of housekeeping 
 at Shreelane as to a comedy excessively badly 
 staged, and striped with lurid melodrama. To- 
 wards its close I was positively home-sick for Mrs. 
 Raverty's, and I had not a single clean pair of 
 boots. I am not one of those who hold the con- 
 vention that in Ireland the rain never ceases, day 
 or night, but I must say that 'my first November 
 at Shreelane was composed of weather of which 
 my friend Flurry Knox remarked that you wouldn't 
 meet a Christian out of doors, unless it was a snipe 
 or a dispensary doctor. To this lamentable cate- 
 gory might be added a resident magistrate. Daily, 
 shrouded in mackintosh, I set forth for the Petty 
 Sessions Courts of my wide district ; daily, in the 
 inevitable atmosphere of wet frieze and perjury, 
 I listened to indictments of old women who plucked
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy n 
 
 geese alive, of publicans whose hospitality to their 
 friends broke forth uncontrollably on Sunday after- 
 noons, of " parties " who, in the language of the 
 police sergeant, were subtly defined as " not to say 
 dhrunk, but in good fighting thrim." 
 
 I got used to it all in time- I suppose one can get 
 used to anything I even became callous to the sur- 
 prises of Mrs. Cadogan's cooking. AS the weather 
 hardened and the woodcock came in, and one by 
 one I discovered and nailed up the rat holes, I 
 began to find life endurable, and even to feel some 
 remote sensation of home-coming when the grey 
 horse turned in at the gate of Shreelane. 
 
 The one feature of my establishment to which 
 I could not become inured was the pervading sub- 
 presence of some thing or things which, for my 
 own convenience, I summarised as Great-Uncle 
 McCarthy. There were nights on which I was 
 certain that I heard the inebriate shuffle of his foot 
 overhead, the touch of his 'fumbling hand against 
 the walls. There were dark times before the dawn 
 when sounds went to and fro, the moving of weights, 
 the creaking, of doors, a far-away rapping in which 
 was a workmanlike suggestion of the undertaker, a 
 rumble of wheels on the avenue. Once I was 
 impelled to the perhaps imprudent measure of 
 cross-examining Mrs. Cadogan. Mrs. Cadogan, 
 taking the preliminary precaution of crossing her- 
 self, asked me fatefully what day of the week it was. 
 
 " Friday ! " she repeated after me. " Friday ! 
 The Lord save us ! 'Twas a Friday the old masther 
 was buried ! "
 
 12 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 At this point a saucepan opportunely boiled 
 over, and Mrs. Cadogan fled with it to the scullery, 
 and was seen no more. 
 
 In the process of time I brought Great-Uncle 
 McCarthy down to a fine point. On Friday nights 
 he made coffins and drove hearses ; during the rest 
 of the week he rarely did more than patter and 
 shuffle in the attics over my head. 
 
 One night, about the middle of December, I 
 awoke, suddenly aware that some noise had fallen 
 like a heavy stone into my dreams. As I felt for 
 the matches it came again, the long, grudging groan 
 and the uncompromising bang of the cross door at 
 the head of the kitchen stairs. I told myself that 
 it was a draught that had done it, but it was a 
 'perfectly still night. Even as I listened, a sound 
 of wheels on the avenue shook the stillness. The 
 thing was getting past a joke. In a few minutes I 
 was stealthily groping my way down my own stair- 
 case, with a box of matches in my hand, enforced 
 by scientific curiosity, but none the less armed with 
 a stick. I stood in the dark at the top of the back 
 stairs and listened ; the snores of Mrs. Cadogan 
 and her nephew Peter rose tranquilly from their 
 respective lairs. I descended to the kitchen and 
 lit a candle ; there was nothing unusual there, 
 except a great portion of the Cadogan wearing 
 apparel, which was arranged at the fire, and was 
 being serenaded by two crickets. Whatever had 
 opened the door, my household was blameless. 
 
 The kitchen was not attractive, yet I felt indis- 
 posed to leave it. None the less, it appeared to be
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 13 
 
 my duty to inspect the yard. I put the candle on 
 the table and went forth into the outer darkness. 
 Not a sound was to be heard. The night was very 
 cold, and so dark, that I could scarcely distinguish 
 the roofs of the stables against the sky ; the house ' 
 loomed tall and oppressive above me ; I was 
 conscious of how lonely it stood in the dumb 
 and barren country. Spirits were certainly futile 
 creatures, childish in their manifestations, stupidly 
 content with the old machinery of raps and rumbles. 
 I thought how fine a scene might be played on 
 a stage like this ; if I were a ghost, how bluely I 
 would glimmer at the windows, how whimperingly 
 chatter in the wind. Something whirled out of the 
 darkness above me, and fell with a flop on the 
 ground, just at my feet. I jumped backwards, in 
 point of fact I made for the kitchen door, and, 
 with my hand on the latch, stood still and waited. 
 Nothing further happened ; the thing that lay there 
 did not stir. I struck a match. The moment of 
 tension turned to bathos as the light flickered on 
 nothing more fateful than a dead crow. 
 
 Dead it certainly was. I could have told that 
 without looking at it ; but why should it, at some 
 considerable period after its death, fall from the 
 clouds at my feet. But did it fall from the clouds ? 
 I struck another match, and stared up at the im- 
 penetrable face of the house. There was no hint 
 of solution in the dark windows, but I determined 
 to go up and search the rooms that gave upon the 
 yard. 
 
 How cold it was ! I can feel now the frozen
 
 14 Some "Experiences of an Irish 
 
 musty air of those attics, with their rat-eaten floors 
 and wall-papers furred with damp. I went softly 
 from one to another, feeling like a burglar in my 
 own house, and found nothing in elucidation of 
 the mystery. The windows were hermetically 
 shut, and sealed with cobwebs. There was no 
 furniture, except in the end room, where a ward- 
 robe without doors stood in a corner, empty save 
 for the solemn- presence of a monstrous tall hat. 
 I went back to bed, cursing those powers of 
 darkness that had got me out of it, and heard no 
 more. 
 
 My landlord had not failed of his promise to visit 
 my coverts with his hounds ; in fact, he fulfilled it 
 rather more conscientiously than seemed to me 
 quite Wholesome for the cock-shooting. I main- 
 tained a silence which I felt to be magnanimous 
 on the part of a man who cared nothing for hunt- 
 ing and a great deal for shooting, and wished the 
 hounds more success in the slaughter of my foxes 
 than seemed to be granted to them. I met them 
 all, one red frosty evening, as I drove down the 
 long hill to my demesne gates, Flurry at their head, 
 in his shabby pink coat and dingy breeches, the- 
 hounds trailing dejectedly behind him and his half- 
 dozen companions. 
 
 " What luck ? " I called out, drawing rein as I 
 met them. 
 
 " None," said Mr. Flurry briefly. He did not 
 stop, neither did he remove his pipe from the 
 down-twisted corner of his mouth ; his eye at me 
 was cold and sour. The other members of the
 
 I 
 
 15 
 
 thought 
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 
 
 hunt passed me with equal hauteurs; 
 they took their ill luck very badly. 
 
 On foot, among the last of the straggling hounds, 
 cracking a carman's whip, and swearing compre- 
 hensively at them all, slouched my friend $lipper. 
 Our friendship had begun in Court, the relative 
 positions of the dock and the judgment-seat forming 
 no obstacle to its progress, and had been cemented 
 during several days' tramping after snipe. He was, 
 as usual, a little drunk, and he 
 hailed me as though I were a 
 ship. 
 
 " Ahoy, Major Yeates ! " he 
 shouted, bringing himself up 
 with a lurch against my cart ; 
 "it's hunting you should be, 
 in place of sending poor divils 
 to gaol ! " 
 
 " But I hear you had no 
 hunting," I said. 
 
 "Ye heard that, did ye?" 
 Slipper rolled upon me an eye 
 like that of a profligate pug. 
 heard no more than the thruth." 
 
 " But where are all the foxes ? " said I. 
 
 " Begor, I don't know no more than your honour. 
 And Shreelane that there used to be as many 
 foxes in it as there's crosses in a yard of check ! 
 Well, well, I'll say nothin' for it, -only that it's 
 quare ! Here, Vaynus ! Naygress ! " Slipper uttered 
 a yell, hoarse with whisk}', in adjuration of two 
 elderly ladies of the pack who had profited by our 
 
 MY FRIENT5 SLIPPER 
 
 "Well, begor, ye
 
 1 6 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 conversation to stray away into an adjacent cottage. 
 " Well, good-night, Major. Mr. Flurry's as cross 
 as briars, and he'll have me ate ! " 
 
 He set off at a surprisingly steady run, cracking 
 his whip, and whooping like a madman. I hope 
 that when I also am fifty I shall be able to run 
 like Slipper. 
 
 That frosty evening was followed by three others 
 like unto it, and a flight of woodcock came in. 
 I calculated that I could do with five guns, and I 
 despatched invitations to shoot and dine on the 
 following day to four of the local sportsmen, among 
 whom was, of course, my landlord. I remember 
 that in my letter to the latter I expressed a facetious 
 hope that my bag of cock would be more successful 
 than his of foxes had been. 
 
 The answers to my invitations were not what I 
 expected. All, without so much as a conventional 
 regret, declined my invitation ; Mr. Knox added 
 that he hoped the bag of cock would be to my 
 liking, and that I need not be "affraid" that the 
 hounds would trouble my coverts any more. Here 
 was war ! I gazed in stupefaction at the crooked 
 scrawl in which my landlord had declared it. It 
 was wholly and entirely inexplicable, and instead, 
 of going to sleep comfortably over the fire and 
 my newspaper as a gentleman should, I spent the 
 evening in irritated ponderings over this bewilder- 
 ing and exasperating change of front on the part 
 of my friendly squireens. 
 
 My shoot the next day was scarcely a success. 
 I shot the woods in company with my game-
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 17 
 
 keeper, Tim Connor, a gentleman whose duties 
 mainly consisted in limiting the poaching privileges 
 to his personal friends, and whatever my offence 
 might have been, Mr. Knox could have wished me 
 no bitterer punishment than hearing the unavailing 
 shouts of " Mark cock ! " and seeing my birds 
 winging their way from the coverts, far out of 
 shot. Tim Connor and I got ten couple between 
 us ; it might have been thirty if my neighbours 
 had not boycotted me, for what I could only 
 suppose was the slackness of their hounds. 
 
 I was dog-tired that night, having walked enough 
 for three men, and I slept the deep, insatiable 
 sleep that I had earned. It was somewhere about 
 3 A.M. that I was gradually awakened by a con- 
 tinuous knocking, interspersed with muffled calls. 
 Great - Uncle McCarthy had never before given 
 tongue, and I freed one ear from blankets to 
 listen. Then I remembered that Peter had told 
 me the sweep had promised to arrive that morning, 
 and to arrive early. Blind with sleep and fury I 
 went to the passage window, and thence desired 
 the sweep to go to the devil. It availed me little. 
 For the remainder of the night I could hear him 
 pacing round the house, trying the windows, bang- 
 ing at the doors, and calling upon Peter Cadogan 
 as the priests of Baal called upon their god. At 
 six o'clock I had fallen into a troubled doze, when 
 Mrs. Cadogan knocked at my door and imparted 
 the information that the sweep had arrived. My 
 answer need not be recorded, but in spite of it 
 the door opened, and my housekeeper, in a weird
 
 1 8 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 deshabille, effectively lighted by the orange beams 
 of her candle, entered my room. 
 
 "God forgive .me, I never seen one I'd hate as 
 much as that sweep ! " she began ; " he's these 
 three hours arrah, what, three hours ! no, but 
 all night, raising tallywack and tandem round the 
 house to get at the chimbleys." 
 
 "Well, for Heaven's sake let him get at the 
 chimneys and let me go to sleep," I answered, 
 goaded to desperation, " and you may tell him 
 from me that if I hear his voice again I'll shoot 
 him !" 
 
 Mrs. Cadogan silently left my bedside, and as 
 she closed the door she said to herself, " The Lord 
 save us ! " 
 
 Subsequent events may be briefly summarised. 
 At 7.30 I was awakened anew by a thunderous 
 sound in the chimney, and a brick crashed into 
 the fireplace, followed at a short interval by two 
 dead jackdaws and their nests. At eight, I was in- 
 formed by Peter that there was no hot water, 
 and that he wished the divil would roast the same 
 sweep. At 9.30, when I came down to breakfast, 
 there was no fire anywhere, and my coffee, made 
 in the coach-house, tasted of soot. I put on an 
 overcoat and opened my letters. About fourth or 
 fifth in the uninteresting heap came one in an 
 egregiously disguised hand. 
 
 "Sir," it began, "this is to inform you your un- 
 sportsmanlike conduct has been discovered. You 
 have been suspected this good while of shooting 
 the Shreelane foxes, it is known now you do worse,
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 19 
 
 Parties have seen your gamekeeper going regular ^ 
 to meet the Saturday early train at Salters Hill 
 Station, with your grey horse under a cart, and 
 your labels on the boxes, and we know as well as 
 your agent in Cork what it is you have in those 
 boxes. Be warned in time. Your Well wisher." 
 
 I read this through twice before its drift became 
 apparent, and I realised that I was accused of 
 improving my shooting and my finances by the 
 simple expedient of selling my foxes. That is to 
 say, I was in a worse position than if I had stolen 
 a horse, or murdered Mrs. Cadogan, or got drunk 
 three times a week in Skebawn. 
 
 For a few 7 moments I fell into wild laughter, and 
 then, aware that it was rather a bad business to 
 let a lie of this kind get a start, I sat down to 
 demolish the preposterous charge in a letter to 
 Flurry Knox. Somehow, as I selected my sen- 
 tences, it was borne in upon me that, if -the letter 
 spoke the truth, circumstantial evidence was rather 
 against me. Mere lofty repudiation would be un- 
 availing, and by my infernal facetiousness about the 
 woodcock I had effectively filled in the case against 
 myself. At all events, the first thing to do was 
 to establish a basis, and have it out with Tim 
 Connor. I rang the bell. 
 
 " Peter, is Tim Connor about the place ? " 
 
 " He is not, sir. I heard him say he was going 
 west the hill to mend the bounds fence." Peter's 
 face was covered with soot, his eyes were red, 
 and he coughed ostentatiously. " The sweep's 
 after breaking one of his brushes within in yer
 
 20 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 bedroom chimney, sir," he went on, with all the 
 satisfaction of his class in announcing domestic 
 calamity ; " he's above on the roof now, and he'd 
 be thankful to you to go up to him." 
 
 I followed him upstairs in that state of simmering 
 patience that any employer of Irish labour must 
 know and sympathise with. I climbed -the rickety 
 ladder and squeezed through the dirty trapdoor 
 involved in the ascent to the roof, and was con- 
 fronted by the hideous face of the sweep, black 
 against the frosty blue sky. He had encamped 
 with all his paraphernalia on the flat top of the 
 roof, and was good enough to rise and put his 
 pipe in his pocket on my arrival. 
 
 " Good morning, Major. That's a grand view 
 you have up here," said the sweep. He was evi- 
 dently far too well bred to talk shop. " I thravelled 
 every roof in this counthry, and there isn't one 
 where you'd get as handsome a prospect !" 
 
 Theoretically he was right, but I had not come 
 up to the roof to discuss scenery, and demanded 
 brutally why he had sent for me. The explanation 
 involved a recital of the special genius required 
 to sweep the Shreelane chimneys ; of the fact that 
 the sweep had in infancy been sent up and down 
 every one of them by Great-Uncle McCarthy ; of 
 the three ass-loads of soot that by his peculiar 
 skill he had this morning taken from the kitchen 
 chimney ; of its present purity, the draught being 
 such that it would " dhraw up a young cat with 
 it." Finally realising that I could endure no 
 more he explained that my bedroom chimney had
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 2! 
 
 got what he called " a wynd " in it, and he pro- 
 posed to climb down a little way in the stack to 
 try "would he get to come at the brush." The 
 sweep was very small, the chimney very large. I 
 stipulated that he should have a rope round his 
 waist, and despite the illegality, I let him go. He 
 went down like a monkey, digging his toes and 
 fingers into the niches made for the purpose in 
 the old chimney ; Peter held the rope. I lit a 
 cigarette and waited. 
 
 Certainly the view from the roof was worth 
 coming up to look at. It was rough, heathery 
 country on one side, with a string of little blue 
 lakes running like a turquoise necklet round the 
 base of a firry hill, and patches of pale green 
 pasture were set amidst the rocks and heather. A 
 silvery flash behind the undulations of the hills 
 told where the Atlantic lay in immense plains of 
 sunlight. I turned to survey with an owner's eye 
 my own grey woods and straggling plantations of 
 larch, and espied a man coming out of the western 
 wood. He had something on his back, and he 
 was walking very fast ; a rabbit poacher no doubt. 
 As he passed out of sight into the back avenue 
 he was beginning to run. At the same instant I 
 saw on the hill beyond my western boundaries 
 half-a-dozen horsemen scrambling by zigzag ways 
 down towards the wood. There was one red coat 
 among them ; it came first at the gap in the fence 
 that Tim Connor had gone out to mend, and 
 with the others was lost to sight in the covert, from 
 which, in another instant, came clearly through the
 
 22 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 frosty air a shout of " Gone to ground ! " Tre- 
 mendous horn blowings followed, then, all in the 
 same moment, I saw the hounds break in full cry 
 from the wood, and come stringing over the grass 
 and up the back avenue towards the yard gate. 
 Were they running a fresh fox into the stables ? 
 . I do not profess to be a hunting-man, but I 
 am an Irishman, and so, it is perhaps superfluous 
 to state, is Peter. We forgot the sweep as if he 
 had never existed, and precipitated ourselves down 
 the ladder, down the stairs, and out int the yard. 
 One side of the yard is formed by the coach-house 
 and a long stable, with a range of lofts above them, 
 planned on the heroic scale in such matters that 
 obtained in Ireland formerly. These join the 
 house at the corner by the back door. A long 
 flight of stone steps leads to the lofts, and up these, 
 as Peter and I emerged from the back door, the 
 hounds were struggling helter - skelter. Almost 
 simultaneously there was a confused clatter of 
 hoofs in the back avenue, and Flurry Knox came 
 stooping at a gallop under the archway followed 
 by three or four other riders. They flung them- 
 selves from their horses and made for the steps 
 of the loft ; more hounds pressed, yelling, on their 
 heels, the din was indescribable, and justified 
 Mrs. Cadogan's subsequent remark that " when she 
 heard the noise she thought 'twas the end of the 
 world and the divil collecting his own ! " 
 
 I jostled in the wake of the party, and found 
 myself in the loft, wading in hay, and nearly 
 deafened by the clamour that was bandied about
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 23 
 
 the high roof and walls. At the farther end of 
 the loft the hounds were raging in the hay, en- 
 couraged thereto by the whoops and screeches of 
 Flurry and his friends. High up in the gable of 
 the loft, where it joined the main wail of the house, 
 there was a small door, and I noted with a tran- 
 sient surprise that there was a long ladder leading 
 up to it. Even as it caught my eye a hound fought 
 his way out of a drift of hay and began to jump 
 at the ladder, throwing his tongue vociferously, and 
 even clambering up a few rungs in his excitement. 
 
 " There's the way he's gone ! " roared Flurry, 
 striving through hounds and hay towards the 
 ladder, " Trumpeter has him ! What's up there, 
 back of the door, Major ? I don't remember it 
 at all." 
 
 My crimes had evidently been forgotten in the 
 supremacy of the moment. While I was futilely 
 asserting that had the fox gone up the ladder he 
 could not possibly have opened the door and shut 
 it after him, even if the door led anywhere, which, 
 to the best of my belief, it did not, the door in 
 question opened, and to my amazement the sweqi 
 appeared at it. He gesticulated violently, and over 
 the tumult was heard to asseverate that there was 
 nothing above there, only a way into the flue, and 
 any one would be destroyed with the soot 
 
 " Ah, go to blazes with your soot ! " interrupted 
 Flurry, already half-way up the ladder. 
 
 I followed him, the other men pressing' up be- 
 hind me. That Trumpeter had made no mistake 
 was instantly brought home to our noses by the
 
 24 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 reek of fox that met us at the door. Instead of a 
 chimney, \ve found ourselves in a dilapidated bed- 
 room, full of, people. Tim Connor was there, the 
 sweep was there, and a squalid elderly man and 
 woman on whom I had never set eyes before. 
 There was a large open fireplace, black with the 
 soot the sweep had brought down with him, and 
 on the table stood a bottle of my own special 
 Scotch whisky. In one corner of the room was 
 a pile of broken packing-cases, and beside these 
 on the floor lay a bag in which something kicked. 
 
 Flurry, looking more uncomfortable and non- 
 plussed than I could have believed possible, listened 
 in silence to the ceaseless harangue of the elderly 
 woman. The hounds were yelling like lost spirits 
 in the loft below, but her voice pierced the uproar 
 like a bagpipe. It was an unspeakably vulgar 
 voice, yet it was not the voice of a countrywoman, 
 and there were frowzy remnants of respectability 
 about her general aspect. 
 
 "And is it you, Flurry Knox, that's calling me 
 a disgrace ! Disgrace, indeed, am I ? Me that was 
 your poor mother's own uncle's daughter, and as 
 good a McCarthy as ever stood in Shreelane ! " 
 
 What followed I could not comprehend, owing to 
 the fact that the sweep kept up a perpetual under- 
 current of explanation to me as to how he had got 
 down the wrong chimney. I noticed that his breath 
 stank of whisky Scotch, not the native variety. 
 
 Never, as long as Flurry Knox lives to blow a 
 horn, will he hear the last of the" day that he ran
 
 Great-Uncle McCarthy 25 
 
 his mother's first cousin to ground in the attic. 
 Never, while Mrs. Cadogan can hold a basting 
 spoon, will she cease to recount how, on the same 
 occasion, she plucked and roasted ten couple of 
 woodcock in one torrid hour to provide luncheon 
 for the hunt. In the glory of this achievement 
 her confederacy with the stowaways in the attic is 
 wholly slurred over, in much the same manner as 
 the startling outburst of summons for trespass, 
 brought by Tim Connor during the remainder of 
 the shooting season, obscured the unfortunate 
 episode of the bagged fox. It was, of course, zeal 
 for my -shooting that induced him to assist Mr. 
 Knox's disreputable relations in the deportation of 
 my foxes ; and I have allowed it to remain at that. 
 
 In fact, the only things not allowed to remain 
 were Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy Gannon. They, as 
 my landlord informed me, in the midst of vast 
 apologies, had been permitted to squat at Shreelane 
 until my tenancy began, and having then ostenta- 
 tiously and abusively left the house, they had, with 
 the connivance of the Cadogan s, secretly returned 
 to roost in the corner attic, to sell foxes under 
 the aegis of my name, and to make inroads on my 
 belongings. They retained connection with the 
 outer world by means of the ladder and the Iqft, 
 and with the house in general, and my whisky in 
 particular, by a door into the other attics a door 
 concealed by the wardrobe in which reposed Great- 
 Uncle McCarthy's tall hat. 
 
 It is with the greatest regret that I relinquish the 
 prospect of writing a monograph on Great-Uncle
 
 26 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 McCarthy for a Spiritualistic Journal, but with the 
 departure of his relations he ceased to manifest 
 himself, and neither the nailing up of packing-cases, 
 nor the rumble of the cart that took them to the 
 station, disturbed my sleep for the future. 
 
 I understand that the task of clearing out the 
 McCarthy Gannon's effects was of a nature that 
 necessitated two glasses of whisky per man ; and 
 if the remnants of rabbit and jackdaw disinterred 
 in the process were anything like the crow that was 
 thrown out of the window at my feet, I do not 
 grudge the restorative. 
 
 As Mrs. Cadogan remarked to the sweep, "A 
 Turk couldn't stand it."
 
 II 
 
 IN THE CURRANHILTY COUNTRY 
 
 IT is hardly credible that I should have been in- 
 duced to depart from my usual walk of life by 
 a creature so uninspiring as the grey horse that I 
 bought from Flurry Knox for ^25. 
 
 Perhaps it was the monotony of being ques- 
 tioned by every other person with whom I had five 
 minutes' conversation, as to when I was coming 
 out with the ho.unds, and being further informed 
 that in the days when Captain Browne, the late 
 Coastguard officer, had owned the grey, there was 
 not a fence between this and Mallow big enough 
 to please them. At all events, there came an 
 epoch-making day when I mounted the Quaker and 
 presented myself at a meet of Mr. Knox's hounds. 
 It is my belief that six out of every dozen people 
 who go out hunting are disagreeably conscious of 
 a nervous system, and two out of the six are in 
 what is brutally called " a blue funk." I was not 
 in a blue funk, but I was conscious not only of a 
 nervous system, but of the anatomical fact that I 
 possessed large, round legs, handsome in their way, 
 even admirable in their proper sphere, but singularly 
 ill adapted for adhering to the slippery surfaces of
 
 28 Some Experiences of an Irish ^ M. 
 
 a saddle. By a fatal intervention of Providence, 
 the sport, on this my first day in the hunting-field, 
 Was such as I could have enjoyed from a bath- 
 chair. The hunting-field was, on this occasion, a 
 relative term, implying long stretches of unfenced 
 moorland and bog, anything, in fact, save a field ; 
 the hunt itself might also have been termed a rela- 
 tive one, being mainly composed of Mr. Knox's rela- 
 tions in all degrees of cousinhood. It was a day 
 when frost and sunshine combined went to one's 
 head like iced champagne ; the distant sea looked 
 like the Mediterranean, and for four sunny hours 
 the Knox relatives and I followed nine couple of 
 hounds at a tranquil footpace along the hills, our 
 progress mildly enlivened by one or two scrambles 
 in the shape of jumps. At three o'clock I jogged 
 home, and felt within me the newborn desire to 
 brag to Peter Cadogan of the Quaker's doings, as 
 I dismounted rather stiffly in my own yard. 
 
 I little thought that the result would be that three 
 weeks later I should find myself in a railway carriage 
 at an early hour of a December morning, in com- 
 pany with Flurry Knox and four or five of his 
 clan, journeying towards an unknown town, named 
 Drumcurran, with an appropriate number of horses 
 in boxes behind us and a van full of hounds in 
 front. Mr. Knox's hounds were on their way, by 
 invitation, to have a day in the country of their 
 neighbours, the Curranhilty Harriers, and with 
 amazing fatuity I had allowed myself to be cajoled 
 into joining the party. A northerly shower was strik- 
 ing in long spikes on the glass of 'the window, the
 
 /// the Curranhilty Country 29 
 
 atmosphere of the carriage was blue with tobacco 
 smoke, and my feet, in a pair of new blucher 
 boots, had sunk into a species of Arctic sleep. 
 
 " Well, you got my letter about the dance at the 
 hotel to-night ? " said Flurry Knox, breaking off a 
 whispered conversation with his amateur whip, Dr. 
 Jerome Hickey, and sitting down beside me. "And 
 we're to go out with the Harriers to-day, and 
 they've a sure fox for our hounds to-morrow. I 
 tell you you'll have the best fun ever you had. - It's 
 a great country to ride. Fine honest -banks, that 
 you can come racing at anywhere you like." 
 
 Dr. Hickey, a saturnine young man, with a long 
 nose and a black torpedo beard, returned to his 
 pocket the lancet with which he had been trimming 
 his nails. 
 
 "They're like the Tipperary banks," he said; 
 " you climb down nine feet and you fall the 
 rest." 
 
 It occurred to me that the Quaker and I would 
 most probably fall all the way, but I said nothing. 
 
 41 1 hear Tomsy Flood has a good horse this 
 season," resumed Flurry. 
 
 "Then it's not the one you sold him," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " I'll take my oath it's not," said Flurry with a 
 grin. " I believe he has it in for me still over that 
 one." ' 
 
 Dr. Jerome's moustache went up under his nose 
 and showed his white teeth. 
 
 " Small blame to him ! when you sold him a 
 mare that was wrong of both her hind-legs. Do
 
 30 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 you know what he did, Major Yeates ? The mare 
 was lame going into the fair, and he took the 
 two hind-shoes off her and told poor Flood she 
 kicked them off in the box, and that was why 
 she was going tender, and he was so drunk he 
 believed him." 
 
 The conversation here deepened into trackless 
 obscurities of horse-dealing. I took out my stylo- 
 graph pen, and finished a letter to Philippa, with 
 a feeling that it would probably be my last. 
 
 The next step in the day's enjoyment consisted 
 in trotting in cavalcade through the streets of 
 Drumcurran, with another northerly shower de- 
 scending upon us, the mud splashing in my face, 
 and my feet coming torturingly to life. Every 
 man and boy in the town ran with us ; the 
 Harriers were somewhere in the tumult ahead, 
 and the Quaker began to pull and hump his back 
 ominously. I arrived at the meet considerably 
 heated, and found myself one of some thirty or 
 forty riders, who, with traps and bicycles and 
 footpeople, were jammed in a narrow, muddy 
 road. We were late, and a move was imme- 
 diately made across a series of grass fields, all 
 considerately furnished with gates. There was a 
 glacial gleam of sunshine, and people began to 
 turn down the collars of their coats. As they 
 spread over the field I observed that Mr. Knox 
 was no longer riding with old Captain Handcock, 
 the Master of the Harriers, but had attached him- 
 self to a square-shouldered young lady with effective 
 coils of dark hair and a grey habit. She was riding
 
 /;; the Curranhilty Country 31 
 
 a fidgety black mare with great decision and a 
 not disagreeable swagger. 
 
 It was at about this moment that the hounds 
 began to run, fast and silently, and every one 
 began to canter. 
 
 " This is nothing at all," said Dr. Hickey, thunder- 
 ing alongside of me on a huge young chestnut ; 
 "there might have been a hare here last week, or 
 a red herring this morning. I wouldn't care if we 
 only got what'd warm us. For the matter of that, 
 I'd as soon hunt a cat as a hare." 
 
 I was already getting quite enough to warm me. 
 The Quaker's respectable grey head had twice 
 disappeared between his forelegs in a brace of 
 most unsettling bucks, and all my experiences at 
 the riding-school at Sandhurst did not prepare me 
 for the sensation of jumping a briary wall with a 
 heavy drop into a lane so narrow that each horse 
 had to turn at right angles as he landed. I did 
 not so turn, but saved myself from entire disgrace 
 by a timely clutch at the mane. We scrambled 
 out of the lane over a pile of stones and furze 
 bushes, and at the end of the next field were con- 
 fronted by a tall, stone-faced bank. Every one, 
 always excepting myself, was riding with that 
 furious valour which is so conspicuous when neigh- 
 bouring hunts meet, and the leading half-dozen 
 charged the obstacle at steeplechase speed. I 
 caught a glimpse of the young lady in the grey 
 habit, sitting square and strong as her mare topped 
 the bank, with Flurry and the redoubtable Mr. 
 Tomsy Flood riding on either hand ; I followed in
 
 32 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 their wake, with a blind confidence in the Quaker, 
 and none at all in myself. He refused it. I sup- 
 pose it was in token of affection and gratitude that 
 I fell upon his neck j at all events, I had reason 
 to respect his judgment, as, before I had recovered 
 myself, the hounds were straggling back into the 
 field by a gap lower down. 
 
 It finally appeared that the hounds could do no 
 more with the line they had been hunting, and we 
 proceeded to jog interminably, I knew not whither. 
 During this unpleasant process Flurry Knox be- 
 stowed on me many items of information, chiefly 
 as to the pangs of jealousy he was inflicting on Mr. 
 Flood by his attentions to the lady in the grey 
 habit, Miss " Bobbie " Bennett. 
 
 "She'll have all old Handcock's money one of 
 these days she's his niece, y' know and she's a 
 good girl to ride, but she's not as young as she 
 was ten years ago. You'd be looking at a chicken 
 a long time before you thought of her 1 She might 
 take Tomsy some day if she can't do any better." 
 He stopped and looked at me with a gleam in his 
 eye. " Come on, and I'll introduce you to her 1 " 
 
 Before, however, this privilege could be mine, the 
 whole cavalcade was stopped by a series of distant 
 yells, which apparently conveyed information to 
 the hunt, though to me they only suggested a Red 
 Indian scalping his enemy. The yells travelled 
 rapidly nearer, and a young man with a scarlet 
 face and a long stick sprang upon the fence, and 
 explained that he and Patsy Lorry were after 
 chasing a hare two miles down out of the hill
 
 In the Curranhilty Country 33 
 
 above, and ne'er a dog nor a one with them but 
 themselves, and she was lying, beat out, under a 
 bush, and Patsy Lorry was minding her until the 
 hounds would come. I had a vision of the humane 
 Patsy Lorry fanning the hare with his hat, but 
 apparently nobody else found the fact unusual. 
 The hounds were hurried into the fields, the hare 
 was again spurred into action, and I was again 
 confronted with the responsibilities of the chase. 
 After the first five minutes I had discovered several 
 facts about the Quaker. If the bank was above 
 a certain height he refused it irrevocably, if it 
 accorded with his ideas he got his forelegs over 
 and ploughed through the rest of it on his stifle- 
 joints, or, if a gripe made this inexpedient, he 
 remained poised on top till the fabric crumbled 
 under his weight. In the case of walls he butted 
 them down with his knees, or squandered them 
 with his hind-legs. These operations took time, 
 and the leaders of the hunt streamed farther and 
 farther away over the crest of a hill, while the 
 Quaker pursued at the equable gallop of a horse 
 in the Bayeux Tapestry. 
 
 I began to perceive that I had been adopted as 
 a pioneer by a small band of followers, who, as 
 one of their number candidly explained, " liked to 
 have some one ahead of them to soften the banks," 
 and accordingly waited respectfully till the Quaker 
 had made the rough places smooth, and taken the 
 raw edge off the walls. They, in their turn, showed 
 me- alternative routes when the obstacle proved 
 above the Quaker's limit ; thus, in ignoble con- 
 
 c
 
 34 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 federacy, I and this offscourings of the Curranhilty 
 hunt pursued our ,way across some four miles of 
 country. When at length we parted it was with 
 extreme regret on both sides. A river crossed our 
 course, with boggy banks pitted deep with the 
 hoof-marks of our forerunners ; I suggested it to 
 the Quaker, and discovered that Nature had not 
 in vain endued him with the hindquarters of the 
 hippopotamus. I presume the others had jumped 
 it ; the Quaker, with abysmal flounderings, walked 
 through and heaved himself to safety on the farther 
 bank. It was the dividing of the ways. My friendly 
 company turned aside as one man, and I was left 
 with the world before me, and no guide save the 
 hoof-marks in the grass. These presently led me 
 to a road, on the other side of which was a bank, 
 that was at once added to the Quaker's black list. 
 The rain had again begun to fall heavily, and was 
 soaking in about my elbows ; I suddenly asked 
 myself why, in Heaven's name, I should go any 
 farther. No adequate reason occurred to me, and 
 I turned in what I believed to be the direction 
 of Drumcurran. 
 
 I rode on for possibly two or three miles with- 
 out seeing a human being, until, from the top of 
 a hill I descried a solitary lady rider. I started' 
 in pursuit. The rain kept blurring my eye-glass, 
 but it seemed to me that the rider was a schoolgirl 
 with hair hanging down her back, and that her horse 
 was a trifle lame. I pressed on to ask my way, and 
 discovered that I had been privileged to overtake 
 no less a person than Miss Bobbie Bennett,
 
 In the Curranhllty Country 35 
 
 My question as to the route led to information 
 of a varied character. Miss Bennett was going that 
 way herself ; her mare had given her what she 
 called "a toss and a half," whereby she had 
 strained her arm and the mare her shoulder, her 
 habit had been torn, and she had lost all her 
 hairpins. 
 
 " I'm an awful object," she concluded ; " my 
 hair's the plague of my life out hunting 1 I declare 
 I wish to goodness I was bald 1 " 
 
 I struggled to the level of the occasion with an 
 appropriate protest. She had really very brilliant 
 grey eyes,, and her complexion was undeniable. 
 Philippa has since explained to me that it is a 
 mere male fallacy that any woman can look well 
 with her hair down her back, but I have always 
 maintained that Miss Bobbie Bennett, with the rain 
 glistening on her dark tresses, looked uncommonly 
 well. 
 
 " I shall never get it dry for the dance to-night/' 
 she complained. 
 
 " I wish I could help you," said I. 
 
 " Perhaps you've got a hairpin or two about 
 you ! " said she, with a glance that had certainly 
 done great execution before now. 
 
 I disclaimed the possession of any such tokens, 
 but volunteered to go and look for some at a neigh- 
 bouring cottage. 
 
 The cottage door was shut, and my knockings 
 were answered by a stupefied-looking elderly man. 
 Conscious of my own absurdity, I asked him if he 
 had any hairpins.
 
 36 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " I didn't see a hare this week 1 " he responded in 
 a slow bellow. 
 
 " Hairpins 1 " I roared ; " has your wife any hair- 
 pins ? " 
 
 " She has not." Then, as an after-thought, " She's 
 dead these ten years." 
 
 At this point a young woman emerged from the 
 cottage, and, with many coy grins, plucked from 
 her own head some half-dozen hairpins, crooked, 
 and grey with age, but still hairpins, and as such 
 well worth my shilling. I returned with my spoil 
 to Miss Bennett, only to be confronted with a fresh 
 difficulty. The arm that she had strained was too 
 stiff to raise to her head. 
 
 Miss Bobbie turned her handsome eyes upon me. 
 " It's no use," she said plaintively, " I can't do it 1 " 
 
 I looked up and down the road ; there was no 
 one in sight. I offered to do it for her. , 
 
 Miss Bennett's hair was long, thick, and soft ; it 
 was also slippery with rain. I twisted it conscien- 
 tiously, as if it were a hay rope, until Miss Bennett, 
 with an irrepressible shriek, told me it would break 
 off. I coiled the rope with some success, and pro- 
 ceeded to nail it to her head with the hairpins. 
 At all the most critical points one, if not both, 
 of the horses moved ; hairpins were driven home 
 into Miss Bennett's skull, and were with difficulty 
 plucked forth again ; in fact, a more harrowing 
 performance can hardly be imagined, but Miss 
 Bennett bore it with the heroism of a. pin-cushion. 
 
 I was putting the finishing touches to the coiffure 
 when some sound made me look round, and I
 
 In the Curranhtlty Country 37 
 
 beheld at a distance of some fifty yards the entire 
 hunt approaching us at a foot-pace. I lost my 
 head, and, instead of continuing my task, I dropped 
 the last hairpin as if it were red-hot, and kicked 
 the Quaker away to the far side of the road, thus, 
 if it were possible, giving the position away a shade 
 more generously. 
 
 There were fifteen riders in the group that over- 
 took us, and fourteen of them, including the Whip, 
 were grinning from ear to ear ; the fifteenth was 
 Mr. Tomsy Flood, and he showed no sign of appre- 
 ciation. He shoved his horse past me and up to 
 Miss Bennett, his red moustache bristling, trucu- 
 lence in every outline of his heavy shoulders. His 
 green coat was muddy, and his hat had a cave in 
 it. Things had apparently gone ill with him. 
 
 Flurry's witticisms held out for about two miles 
 and a half ; I do not give them, because they were 
 not amusing, but they all dealt ultimately with the 
 animosity that I, in common with himself, should 
 henceforth have to fear from Mr. Flood. 
 
 "Oh, he's a holy terror !" he said conclusively ; 
 "he was riding the tails off the hounds to-day to 
 best me. He was near killing me twice. We had 
 some words about it, I can tell you. I very near 
 took my whip to him. Such a bull-rider of a fellow 
 I never saw I He wouldn't so much as stop to 
 catch Bobbie Bennett's horse when I picked her 
 up, he was riding so jealous. His own girl, mind 
 you ! And such a crumpler as she got too ! I 
 declare she knocked a groan out of the road when 
 she struck it 1 "
 
 38 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " She doesn't seem so much hurt ? " I said. 
 
 " Hurt ! " said Flurry, flicking casually at a hound. 
 "You couldn't hurt that one unless you took a 
 hatchet to her ! " 
 
 The rain had reached a pitch that put further 
 hunting out of the question, and we bumped home 
 at that intolerable pace known as a "hound's jog." 
 I spjsnt the remainder of the afternoon over a fire 
 in my bedroom in the Royal Hotel, Drumcurran, 
 official letters to write having mercifully provided 
 me with an excuse for seclusion, while the bar and 
 the billiard-room hummed below, and the Quaker's 
 three-cornered gallop wreaked its inevitable revenge 
 upon my person. As this process continued, and 
 I became proportionately embittered, I asked my- 
 self, not for the first time, what Philippa would 
 say when introduced to my present circle of ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 I have already mentioned that a dance was to 
 take place at the hotel, given, as far as I could 
 gather, by the leading lights of the Curranhilty 
 Hunt. A less jocund guest than the wreck who 
 at the pastoral hour of nfne crept stiffly dawn to 
 "chase the glowing hours with flying feet" could 
 hardly have been encountered. The dance was 
 held in the coffee-room, and a conspicuous object 
 outside the door was a saucer bath full of some- 
 thing that looked like flour. 
 
 " Rub your feet in that/' said Flurry ; " that's 
 French chalk I They hadn't time to do the floor, 
 so they hit on this dodge." 
 
 I complied with this encouraging direction, and
 
 In the Curranfnlty Country 39 
 
 followed him into- the room. Dancing had already 
 begun, and the first sight that met my eyes was 
 Miss Bennett, in a yellow dress, waltzing with Mr. 
 Tomsy Flood. She looked very handsome, and, 
 in spite of her accident, she was getting round the 
 sticky floor and her still more sticky partner with 
 the swing of a racing cutter. Her eye caught mine 
 immediately, and with confidence. Clearly our 
 acquaintance that, in the space of twenty minutes, 
 had blossomed tropically into hair-dressing, was 
 not to be allowed to wither. Nor was I myself 
 allowed to wither. Men, known and unknown, 
 plied me with partners, till my shirt cuff was black 
 with names, and the number of dances stretched 
 away into the blue distance of to-morrow morning. 
 The music was supplied by the organist of the 
 church, who played with religious unction and at 
 the pace of a processional hymn. I put forth into 
 the me!6e with a junior Bennett, inferior in calibre 
 to Miss Bobbie, but a strong goer, and, I fear, 
 made but a sorry debut in the eyes of Drumcurran. 
 At every other moment I bumped into the unfore- 
 seen orbits of those who reversed, and of those 
 who walked their partners backwards down the 
 room with faces of ineffable supremacy. Being un- 
 skilled in these intricacies of an elder civilisation, the 
 younger Miss Bennett fared but ingloriously at my 
 hands ; the music pounded interminably on, until the 
 heel of Mr. Flood put a period to our sufferings. 
 
 " The nasty dirty filthy brute 1 " shrieked the 
 younger Miss Bennett in a single breath ; " he's 
 torn the gown off my back ! "
 
 40 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 She whirled me to the cloak-room ; we parted, 
 mutually unregretted, at its door, and by, I fear, 
 common consent, evaded our second dance to- 
 gether. 
 
 Many, many times during the evening I asked 
 myself why I did not go to bed. Perhaps it was 
 the remembrance that my bed was situated some 
 ten feet above the piano in a direct line ; but, 
 whatever was the reason, the night wore on and 
 found me still working my way down my shirt 
 cuff. I sat out as much as possible, and found 
 my partners to be, as a body, pretty, talkative, 
 and ill dressed, and during the evening I had 
 many and varied opportunities of observing the 
 rapid progress of Mr. Knox's flirtation with Miss 
 Bobbie Bennett. From No. 4 to No. 8 they were 
 invisible ; that they were behind a screen in the 
 commercial - room might be inferred from Mr. 
 Flood's thunder - cloud presence in the passage 
 outside. 
 
 At No. 9 the young lady emerged for one of her 
 dances with me ; it was 'a barn dance, and particu- 
 larly trying to my momently stiffening muscles ; 
 but Miss Bobbie, whether in dancing or sitting out, 
 went in for " the rigour of the game." She was in 
 as hard condition as one of her uncle's hounds, 
 and for a full fifteen minutes I capered and swooped 
 beside her, larding the lean earth as I went, and 
 replying but spasmodically to her even flow of 
 conversation. 
 
 "That'll take the stiffness out of you 1" she ex- 
 claimed, as the organist slowed down reverentially
 
 In the Curranhilty Country 41 
 
 to a conclusion. " I had a bet with Flurry Knox 
 
 MR. FLOOD'S THUNDER-CLOUD PRESBNCB 
 
 over that dance. He said you weren't up to my 
 weight at the pace I "
 
 42 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 I led her forth to the refreshment table, and was 
 watching with awe her fearless consumption of 
 claret cup that I would not have touched for a 
 sovereign, when Flurry, with a partner on his arm, 
 strolled past us. 
 
 " Well, you won the gloves, Miss Bobbie 1 " he 
 said. " Don't you wish you may get them/. " 
 
 " Gloves without the g, Mr. Knox ! " replied 
 Miss Bennett, in a voice loud enough to reach 
 the end of the passage, where Mr. Thomas Flood 
 was burying his nose in a very brown whisky- 
 and-soda. 
 
 " Your hair's coming down ! " retorted Flurry. 
 " Ask Major Yeates 1 if he can spare you a few 
 hairpins ! " 
 
 Swifter than lightning Miss Bennett hurled a 
 macaroon at her retreating foe, missed him, and 
 subsided laughing on to a sofa. I mopped my brow 
 and took my seat beside her, wondering how much 
 longer I could live up to the social exigencies of 
 Drumcurran. 
 
 Miss Bennett, however, proved excellent com- 
 pany. She told me artfully, and inch by inch, all 
 that Mr. Flood had said to her on the subject of 
 my hair-dressing ; she admitted that she had, as a 
 punishment, cut him out of three dances and given 
 them to Flurry Knox. When I remarked that in 
 fairness they should have been given to me, she 
 darted a very attractive glance at -me, and perti- 
 nently observed that I had not asked for them, 
 
 As steals the dawn into a fevered room, 
 
 And says " Be of good cheer, the day is born !"
 
 In the Curranhilty Country 43 
 
 so did the rumour of supper pass among the 
 chaperons, male and female. It was obviously due 
 to a sense of the fitness of things that Mrs. Bennett 
 was apportioned to me, and I found myself in the 
 gratifying position of heading with' her the proces- 
 sion to supper. My impressions of Mrs. Bennett 
 are few but salient. She wore an apple-green satin 
 dress and filled it tightly ; wisely mistrusting the 
 hotel supper, she had imported sandwiches and 
 cake in a pocket-handkerchief, and, warmed by 
 two glasses of sherry, she made me the recipient 
 of the remarkable confidence that she had but two 
 back teeth in her head, but, thank God, they met. 
 When, with the other starving men, I fell upon the 
 remains of the feast, I regretted that I had declined 
 her offer of a sandwich. 
 
 Of the remainder of the evening I am unable to 
 give a detailed account. Let it not for one instant 
 be imagined that I had looked upon the wine of the 
 Royal Hotel when it was red, or, indeed, any other 
 colour ; as a matter of fact, I had espied an incon- 
 spicuous corner in the entrance hall, and there I 
 first smoked a cigarette, and subsequently sank into 
 uneasy sleep. Through my dreams I was aware of 
 the measured pounding of the piano, of the clatter 
 of glasses at the bar, of wheels in the street, and 
 then, more clearly, of Flurry's voice assuring Miss 
 Bennett that if she'd only wait for another dance 
 he'd get the R.M. out of bed to do her hair for her 
 then again oblivion. 
 
 At some later period I was dropping down a 
 chasm on the Quaker's back, and landing with a
 
 44 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 shock ; I was twisting his mane into a chignon, 
 when he turned round his head and caught my 
 arm in his teeth. I awoke with 4he dew of terror 
 on my forehead, to find Miss Bennett leaning over 
 me in a scarlet cloak with a hood over her head, 
 and shaking me by my coat sleeve. 
 
 " Major Yeates," she began at once in a hurried 
 whisper, " I want you to find Flurry Knox, and tell 
 him there's a plan to feed his hounds at six o'clock 
 this morning so as to spoil their hunting 1 " 
 
 " How do you know ? " I asked, jumping up. 
 
 " My little brother told me. He came in with us 
 to-night to see the dance, and he was hanging 
 round in the stables, and he heard one of the men 
 telling another there was a dead mule in an out- 
 house in Bride's -Alley, all cut up ready to give to 
 Mr. Knox's hounds." 
 
 " But why shouldn't they get it ? " I asked in 
 sleepy stupidity. 
 
 " Is it fill tljem up with an old mule just before 
 they're going out hunting ? " flashed Miss Bennett. 
 " Hurry and tell Mr. Knox ; don't let Tomsy Flood 
 see you telling him or any one else." 
 
 " Oh, then it's Mr. Flood's game ? " I said, grasp- 
 ing the situation at length. 
 
 " It is," said Miss Bennett, suddenly turning 
 scarlet ; " he's a disgrace ! I'm ashamed of him ! 
 I'm done with him ! " 
 
 I resisted a strong disposition to shake Miss 
 Bennett by the hand. 
 
 " I can't wait," she continued. " I made my 
 mother drive back a mile she doesn't know a
 
 In the Curranhilty Country 45 
 
 thing about it I said I'd left my purse in the 
 cloak-room. Good-night ! Don't tell a soul but 
 Flurry 1 " 
 
 She was off, and upon my incapable shoulders 
 rested the responsibility of the enterprise. 
 
 It was past four o'clock, and the last bars of the 
 last waltz were being played. At the bar a knot 
 of men, with Flurry in their midst, were tossing 
 " Odd man out " for a bottle of champagne. 
 Flurry was not in the least drunk, a circumstance 
 worthy of remark in his present company, and 
 I got him out into the hall and unfolded my 
 tidings. The light of battle lit in his eye as he 
 listened. 
 
 " I knew by Tomsy he was shaping for mischief," 
 he said coolly ; " he's taken as much liquor as'd 
 stiffen a tinker, and he's only half-drunk this 
 minute. Hold on till I get Jerome Hickey and 
 Charlie Knox they're sober ; I'll be back in a 
 minute." 
 
 I was not present at the council of war thus 
 hurriedly convened ; I was merely informed when 
 they returned that we were all to " hurry on." 
 My best evening pumps have never recovered the 
 subsequent proceedings. They, with my swelled 
 and aching feet inside them, were raced down one 
 filthy lane after another, until, somewhere on the 
 outskirts of Drumcurran, Flurry pushed open the 
 gate of a yard and went in. It was nearly five 
 o'clock on that raw December morning ; low down 
 in the sky a hazy moon shed a diffused light ; all 
 the surrounding houses were still and dark. At
 
 46 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 our footsteps an angry bark or two came from 
 inside the stable. 
 
 " Whisht 1 " said Flurry, " I'll say a word to them 
 before I open the door." 
 
 At his voice a chorus of hysterical welcome 
 arose ; without more delay he flung open the 
 stable door, and instantly we were all knee-deep 
 in a rush of hounds. There was not a moment 
 lost. Flurry started at a quick run out of the yard 
 with the whole pack pattering at his heels. Charley 
 Knox vanished ; Dr. Hickey and I followed the 
 hounds, splashing into puddles and hobbling over 
 patches of broken stones, till we left the town 
 behind and hedges arose on either hand. 
 
 " Here's the house ! " said Flurry, stopping short 
 
 at a low entrance gate ; " many's th time I've been 
 
 "here when his father had it ; it'll be a queer thing if 
 
 I can't find a window I can manage, and the old 
 
 cook he has is as deaf as the dead." 
 
 He and Doctor Hickey went in at the gate 
 with the hounds \ I hesitated ignobly in the 
 mud. 
 
 "This isn't an R.M.'s job," said Flurry in a 
 whisper, closing the gate in my face ; " you'd best 
 keep clear of house-breaking." 
 
 I accepted his advice, but I may admit that 
 before I turned for home a sash was gently 
 raised, a light had sprung up in one of the lower 
 windows, and I heard Flurry's voice saying, " Over, 
 over, over ! " to his hounds. 
 
 There seemed to me to be no interval at all 
 between these events and the moment when I
 
 In the Curranhilty Country 47 
 
 woke in bright sunlight to find Dr. Hickey standing 
 by my bedside in a red coat with a tall glass in 
 his hand. 
 
 " It's nine o'clock," he said. " I'm just after 
 waking Flurry Knox. There wasn't one stirring 
 in the hotel till I went down and pulled the 
 ' boots ' from under the kitchen table ! It's well 
 for us the meet's in the town ; and, by-the-bye, 
 your grey horse has four legs on him the size of 
 bolsters this morning ; he won't be fit to go out, 
 I'm afraid. Drink this anyway, you're in the want 
 of it." 
 
 Dr. Hickey's eyelids were rather pink, but his 
 hand was as steady as a rock. The whisky-and- 
 soda was singularly untempting. 
 
 " What happened last night ? " I asked eagerly as 
 I gulped it. 
 
 " Oh, it all went off very nicely, thank you," said 
 Hickey, twisting his black beard to a point. " We 
 benched as many of the hounds in Flood's bed as'd 
 fit, and we shut the lot into the room. We had 
 them just comfortable when we heard his latchkey 
 below at the door." He broke off and began to 
 snigger. 
 
 " Well ? " I said, sitting bolt upright. 
 
 " Well, he got in at last, and he lit a candle 
 then. That took him five minutes. He was pretty 
 tight. We were looking at him over the banisters 
 until he started to come up, and according as he 
 came up, we went on up the top flight. He stood 
 admiring his candle for a while on the landing, and 
 we wondered he didn't hear the hounds snuffing
 
 48 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 under the door. He opened it then, and ; on the 
 minute, three of them bolted out between his legs." 
 Dr. Hickey again paused to indulge in Mephisto- 
 phelian laughter. " Well, you know," he went on, 
 " when a man in poor Tomsy's condition sees six 
 dogs jumping out of his bed he's apt to make a 
 wrong diagnosis. He gave a roar, and pitched the 
 candlestick at them, and ran for his life downstairs, 
 and all the hounds after hihi. ' Gone away 1 ' 
 screeches that devil Flurry, pelting downstairs on 
 top of them in the dark. I believe I screeched 
 too." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " I gasped, " I was well out of 
 that ! " 
 
 " Well, you were," admitted the Doctor. " How- 
 ever, Tomsy bested them in the dark, and he got 
 to ground in the pantry. I heard the cups and 
 saucers go as he slammed the door on the hounds' 
 noses, and the minute he was in Flurry turned 
 the key on him. 'They're real dogs, Tomsy, my 
 buck ! ' says Flurry, just to quiet him ; and there 
 we left him." 
 
 " Was he hurt ? " I asked, conscious of the 
 triviality of the question. 
 
 " Well, he lost his brush," replied Dr. Hickey. 
 " Old Merrylegs tore the coat-tails off him ; we got 
 them on the floor when we struck a light ; Flurry 
 has them to nail on his kennel door. Charley 
 Knox had a pleasant time too," he went on, " with 
 the man that brought the barrow-load of meat to 
 the stable. We picked out the tastiest bits and 
 arranged them round Flood's breakfast table for
 
 In the Curranhilty Country 49 
 
 him. They smelt very nice. Well, I'm delaying 
 you with my talking" 
 
 Flurry's hounds had the run of the season that 
 day. I saw it admirably throughout from Miss 
 Bennett's pony cart. She drove extremely well, 
 in spite of her strained arm.
 
 HI 
 TRINKET'S COLT 
 
 IT was petty sessions day in Skebawn, a cold, 
 grey day of February. A case of trespass .had 
 dragged its burden of cross summonses and cross 
 swearing far into the afternoon, and when I left 
 the bench my head was singing from the bellow- 
 ings of the attorneys, and the smell of their clients 
 was heavy upon my palate. 
 
 The streets still testified to the fact that it was 
 market day, and I evaded with difficulty the_ sinuous 
 course of carts full of soddenly screwed people, 
 and steered an equally devious one for myself 
 among the groups anchored round the doors of 
 the public-houses. Skebawn possesses, among its 
 legion of public-houses, one establishment which 
 timorously, and almost imperceptibly, proffers tea 
 to the thirsty. I turned in there, as was my 
 custom on court days, and found the little dingy 
 den, known as the Ladies' Coffee- Room, in the 
 occupancy of my friend Mr. Florence McCarthy 
 Knox, who was drinking strong tea and eating buns 
 with serious simplicity. It was a first and quite 
 unexpected glimpse of that domesticity that has 
 now become a marked feature in his character, 
 
 5
 
 Trinket's Colt 51 
 
 "You're the very man I wanted to see," I said 
 as I sat down beside him at the oilcloth-covered 
 table ; " a man I know in England who is not 
 much of a judge of character has asked me to buy 
 him a four-year-old down here, and as I should 
 
 DRINKING STRONG TEA AND EATING BUNS WITH 
 SERIOUS SIMPLICITY 
 
 rather be stuck by a friend than a dealer, I wish 
 you'd take over the job." 
 
 Flurry poured himself out another cup of tea, 
 and dropped three lumps of sugar into it in 
 silence.
 
 52 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Finally he said, "There isn't a four-year-old in 
 this country that I'd be seen dead with at a pig 
 fair." 
 
 This was discouraging, from the premier autho- 
 rity on horse-flesh in the district. 
 
 " But it isn't six weeks since you told me you 
 had the finest filly in your stables that was ever 
 foaled in the County Cork/' I protested ; " what's 
 wrong with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, is it that filly ? " said Mr. Knox with a 
 lenient smile ; " she's gone these three weeks from 
 me. I swapped her and 6 for a three-year-old 
 Ironmonger colt, and after that I swapped the 
 colt and .19 for that Bandon horse I rode last 
 week at your place, and after that again I sold 
 the Bandon horse for .75 to old Welply, and I 
 had to give him back a couple of sovereigns luck- 
 money. You see I did pretty well with the filly 
 after all." 
 
 " Yes, yes -oh rather," I assented, as one dizzily 
 accepts the propositions of a bimetallist ; " and 
 you don't know of anything else ? " 
 
 The room in which we were seated was closely 
 screened from the shop by a door with a muslin - 
 curtained window in it ; several of the panes were 
 broken, and at this juncture two voices that had 
 for some time carried on a discussion forced them- 
 selves upon our attention. 
 
 " Begging your pardon for contradicting you, 
 ma'am," said the voice of Mrs. McDonald, pro- 
 prietress of the tea-shop, and a leading light in 
 Skebawn Dissenting circles, shrilly tremulous with
 
 Trinket's Colt 53 
 
 indignation, " if the servants I recommend you 
 won't stop with you, it's no fault of mine. If 
 respectable young girls are set picking grass out 
 of your gravel, in place of their proper work, 
 certainly they will give warning ! " 
 
 The voice that replied struck me as being a 
 notable one, well-bred and imperious. 
 
 " When I take a barefooted slut out of a cabin, 
 I don't expect her to dictate to me what her duties 
 are ! " 
 
 Flurry jerked up his chin in a noiseless laugh. 
 " It's my grandmother ! " he whispered. " I bet you 
 Mrs. McDonald don't get much change out of her ! " 
 
 " If I set her to clean the pig-sty I expect her 
 to obey me," continued the voice in accents that 
 would have made me clean forty pig-sties had she 
 desired me to do so. 
 
 " Very well, ma'am," retorted Mrs. McDonald, 
 " if that's the way you treat your servants, you 
 needn't come here again looking for them. I con- 
 sider your conduct is neither that of a lady nor a 
 Christian I " 
 
 " Don't you, indeed ? " replied Flurry's grand- 
 mother. " Well, your opinion doesn't greatly dis- 
 tress me, for, to tell you the truth, I don't think 
 you're much of a judge." 
 
 " Didn't I tell you she'd score ? " murmured 
 Flurry, who was by this time applying his eye to 
 a hole in the muslin curtain. " She's off," he went 
 on, returning to his tea. " She's a great character I 
 She's eighty-three if she's a day, and she's as sound 
 on her legs as a three-year-old ! Did you see that
 
 54 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 old shandrydan of hers in the street a while ago, 
 and a fellow on the box with a red beard on him 
 like Robinson Crusoe ? That old mare that was 
 on the near side Trinket her name is is mighty t 
 near clean bred. I can tell you her foals are worth 
 a bit of money." 
 
 I had heard of old Mrs. Knox of Aussolas ; in- 
 deed, I had seldom dined out in the neighbourhood 
 without hearing some new story of her and her 
 remarkable manage, but it had not yet been my 
 privilege to meet her. 
 
 " Well, now," went on Flurry in his slow v.oice, 
 " I'll tell you a thing that's just come into my head. 
 My grandmother promised me a foal of Trinket's 
 the day I was one-and-twenty, and that's five years 
 ago, and deuce a one I've got from her yet. You 
 never were at Aussolas ? No, you were not. Well, 
 I tell you the place there is like a circus with 
 horses. She has a couple of score of them running 
 wild in the woods, like deer." 
 
 " Oh, come," I said, " I'm a bit of a liar myself 
 
 " Well, she has a dozen of them anyhow, rattling 
 good colts too, some of them, but they might as 
 well be donkeys for all- the good they are to me 
 or any one. It's not once in three years she sells 
 one, and there she has them walking after her for 
 bits of sugar, like a lot of dirty lapdogs," ended 
 Flurry with disgust. 
 
 " Well, what's your plan ? Do you want me to 
 make her a bid for one of the lapdogs ? " 
 
 " I was thinking," replied Flurry, with great de- 
 liberation, " that my birthday's this week, and maybe
 
 Trinket's Colt 5$ 
 
 I could work a four-year-old colt of Trinket's she 
 has out of her in honour of the occasion." 
 
 "And sell your grandmother's birthday present 
 tome?" 
 
 "Just that, I suppose," answered Flurry with a 
 slow wink. 
 
 A few days afterwards a letter from Mr. Knox 
 informed me that he had " squared the old lady, 
 and it would be all right about the colt." He 
 further told me that Mrs. Knox had been good 
 enough to offer me, with him, a day's snipe shoot- 
 ing on the celebrated Aussolas bogs, and he pro- 
 posed to drive me there the following Monday, 
 if convenient. Most people found it convenient 
 to shoot the Aussolas snipe bog when they got the 
 chance. Eight o'clock on the following Monday 
 morning saw Flurry, myself, and a groom packed 
 into a dogcart, with portmanteaus, gun-cases, and 
 two rampant red setters. 
 
 It was a long drive, twelve miles at least, and a 
 very cold one. We passed through long tracts 
 of pasture country, fraught, for Flurry, with 
 memories of runs, which were recorded for me, 
 fence by fence, in every one of which the biggest 
 clog-fox in the country had gone to ground, with 
 not two feet measured accurately on the handle 
 of the whip between him and the leading hound ; 
 through bogs that imperceptibly melted into lakes, 
 and finally down and down into a valley, where 
 the fir-trees of Aussolas clustered darkly round a 
 glittering lake, and all but hid* the grey roofs and 
 pointed gables of Aussolas Castle.
 
 56 Some Experiences of an Irish c f(.M. 
 
 " There's a nice stretch of a demesne for you," 
 remarked Flurry, pointing downwards with the 
 whip, " and one little old woman holding it all in 
 the heel of her fist. Well able to hold it she is, 
 too, and always was, and she'll live twenty years 
 yet, if it's only to spite the whole lot of us, and 
 when all's said and done goodness knows how 
 she'll leave it ! " 
 
 "It strikes me you were lucky to keep her up to 
 her promise about the colt," I said. 
 
 Flurry administered a composing kick to the 
 ceaseless strivings of the red setters under the seat. 
 
 " I used to be rather a pet with her," he said, 
 after a pause ; " but mind you, I haven't got him 
 yet, and if she gets any notion I want to sell him 
 I'll never get him, so say nothing about the business 
 to her." 
 
 The tall gates of Aussolas shrieked on their 
 hinges as they admitted us, and shut with a clang 
 behind us, in the faces of an old mare and a couple 
 of young horses, who, foiled in their break for the 
 excitements of the outer world, turned and galloped 
 defiantly on either side of us. Flurry's admirable 
 cob hammered on, regardless of all things save his 
 duty. 
 
 " He's the only one I have that I'd trust myself 
 here with," said his master, flicking him approvingly 
 with the whip ; "there are plenty of people afraid 
 to come here at all, and when my grandmother 
 goes out driving she has a boy on the box with a 
 basket Jull of stones to peg at them. Talk of the 
 dickens, here she is herself ! "
 
 Trinket's Colt 57 
 
 A short, upright old woman was approaching, 
 preceded by a white woolly dog with sore eyes 
 and a bark like a tin trumpet ; we both got out 
 of the trap and advanced to meet the lady of the 
 manor. 
 
 I may summarise her attire by saying that she 
 looked as if she had robbed a scarecrow ; her face 
 was small and incongruously refined, the skinny 
 hand that she extended to me had the grubby tan 
 that bespoke the professional gardener, and was 
 decorated with a magnificent diamond ring. On 
 her head was a massive purple velvet bonnet. 
 
 " I am very glad to meet you, Major Yeates," she 
 said with an old-fashioned precision of utterance ; 
 "your grandfather was a dancing partner of mine 
 in old days at the Castle, when he was a handsome 
 young aide-de-camp there, and I was you may 
 judge for yourself what I was." 
 
 She ended with a startling little hoot of laughter, 
 and I was aware that she quite realised the world's 
 opinion of her, and was indifferent to it. 
 
 Our way to the bogs took us across Mrs. Knox's 
 home farm, and through a large field in which 
 several young horses were grazing. 
 
 "There now, that's my fellow," said Flurry, 
 pointing to a fine-looking colt, " the chestnut with 
 the white diamond on his forehead. He'll run 
 into three figures before he's done, but we'll not 
 tell that to the old lady ! " 
 
 The famous Aussolas bogs were as full of snipe 
 as usual, and a good deal fuller of water than any 
 bogs I had ever shot before. I was on my day,
 
 5 8 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 and Flurry was not, and as he is ordinarily an 
 infinitely better snipe shot than I, I felt at peace 
 with the world and all men as we walked back, wet 
 through, at five o'clock. 
 
 The sunset had waned, and a big white moon 
 was making the eastern tower of Aussolas look like 
 a thing in a fairy tale or a play when we arrived 
 at the hall door. An individual, whom I recog- 
 nised as the Robinson Crusoe coachman, admitted 
 us to a hall, the like of which one does not often 
 see. The walls were panelled , with dark oak up 
 to the gallery that ran round three sides of it, the 
 balusters of the wide staircase were heavily carved, 
 and blackened portraits of Flurry's ancestors on 
 the spindle side stared sourly down on their de- 
 scendant as he tramped upstairs with the bog 
 mould on his hobnailed boots. 
 
 We had just changed into dry clothes when 
 Robinson Crusoe shoved his red beard round the 
 corner of the door, with the information that the 
 mistress said we were to stay for dinner. My heart 
 sank. It was then barely half-past five. I said 
 something about having no evening clothes and 
 having to get home early. 
 
 "Sure the dinner'll be in another half-hour," said 
 Robinson Crusoe, joining hospitably in the con- 
 versation ; "and as for evening clothes God 
 
 bless ye ! " 
 
 The door closed behind him. 
 
 " Never mind," said Flurry, " I dare say you'll be 
 glad enough to eat another dinner by the time you 
 get home." He laughed. " Poor Slipper !" he added
 
 Trinket's Colt |9 
 
 inconseqtiently, and only laughed again when I 
 asked for an explanation. 
 
 . Old Mrs. Knox received us in the library, where 
 she was seated by a roaring turf fire, which lit the 
 room a good deal more effectively than the pair of 
 candles that stood beside her in tall silver candle- 
 sticks. Ceaseless and implacable growls from under 
 her chair indicated the presence of the woolly dog. 
 She talked with confounding culture of the books 
 that rose all round her to the ceiling ; - her evening 
 dress was accomplished by means of an additional 
 white shawl, rather dirtier than its congeners ; as I 
 took her into dinner she quoted Virgil to me, and 
 in the same breath screeched an objurgation at a 
 being whose matted head rose suddenly into view 
 from behind an ancient Chinese screen, as I have 
 seen the head of a Zulu woman peer over a bush. 
 
 Dinner was as incongruous as everything else. 
 Detestable soup in a splendid old silver tureen that 
 was nearly as dark in hue as Robinson Crusoe's 
 thumb ; a perfect salmon, perfectly cooked, on a 
 chipped kitchen dish ; such cut glass as is not 
 easy to find nowadays ; sherry that, as Flurry 
 subsequently remarked, would burn the shell off 
 an egg ; and a bottle of port, draped in immemorial 
 cobwebs, wan with age, and probably priceless. 
 Throughout the vicissitudes of the meal Mrs. Knox's 
 conversation flowed on undismayed, directed some- 
 times at me she had installed me in the position 
 of friend of her youth, and talked to me as if I 
 were my own* grandfather sometimes at Crusoe, 
 with whom she had several heated arguments, and
 
 60 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 sometimes she would make a statement of remark- 
 able frankness on the subject of her horse-farming 
 affairs to Flurry, who/ very much on his best 
 behaviour, agreed with all she said, and risked 
 no original remark. As I listened to them both, 
 I remembered with infinite amusement how he 
 had told me once that "a pet name she had for 
 him was ' Tony Lumpkin,' and no one but 
 herself knew what she meant by it." U seemed 
 strange that she made no allusion to Trinket's 
 colt or to Flurry's birthday, but, mindful of my 
 instructions, I held my peace. 
 
 As, at about half-past eight, we drove away in 
 the moonlight, Flurry congratulated me solemnly 
 on my success with his grandmother. He was 
 good enough to tell me that she would -marry me 
 to-morrow if I asked her, and he wished I would, 
 even if it was only to see what a nice grandson 
 he'd be for me. A sympathetic giggle behind me 
 told me that Michael, on the back seat, had heard 
 and relished the jest. 
 
 We had left the gates of Aussolas about half a 
 mile behind when, at the corner of a by-road, 
 Flurry pulled up. A short squat figure arose from 
 the black shadow of a furze bush and came out 
 into the moonlight, swinging its arms like a cab- 
 man and cursing audibly. 
 
 "Oh murdher, oh murdher, Misther Flurry ! 
 What kept ye at all ? 'Twould perish the crows 
 to be waiting here the way I am these two 
 hours " 
 
 "Ah, shut your mouth, Slipper!" said Flurry,
 
 Trinket's Colt 61 
 
 who, to my surprise, had turned back the rug and 
 was taking off his driving coat, " I couldn't help it. 
 Come on, Yeates, we've got to get out here." 
 
 " What for ? " I asked, in not unnatural be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 " It's all right. I'll tell you as we go along," 
 replied my companion, who was already turning 
 to follow Slipper up the by-road. " Take the trap 
 on, Michael, and wait at the River's Cross." He 
 waited for me to come up with him, and then put 
 his hand on my arm. " You see, Major, this is the 
 way it is. My grandmother's given me that colt 
 right enough, but if I waited for her to send him 
 over to me I'd never see a hair of his tail. So I 
 just thought that as we were over here we might 
 as well take him back with us, and maybe you'll 
 give us a help with him ; he'll not be altogether 
 too handy for a first go off." 
 
 I was staggered. An infant in arms could 
 scarcely have failed to discern the fishiness of the 
 transaction, and I begged Mr. Knox not to put 
 himself to this trouble on my account, as I had 
 no doubt I could find a horse for my friend else- 
 where. Mr. Knox assured me that it was no 
 trouble at all, quite the contrary, and that, since 
 his grandmother had given him the colt, he saw 
 no reason why he should not take him when he 
 wanted him ; also, that if I didn't want him he'd 
 be glad enough to keep him himself ; and finally, 
 that I wasn't the chap to go back on a friend, but 
 I was welcome to drive back to Shreelane with 
 Michael this minute if I liked.
 
 62 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Of course I yielded in the end. I told Flurry 
 I should lose my job over the business, and he 
 said I could then marry his grandmother, and 
 the discussion was abruptly closed by the necessity 
 of following Slipper over a locked five-barred 
 gate. 
 
 Our pioneer took us over about half a mile of 
 country, knocking down stone gaps where prac- 
 ticable and scrambling over tall banks in the de- 
 ceptive moonlight. We found ourselves at length 
 in a field with a shed in one corner of it ; in a 
 dim group of farm buildings a little way off a 
 light was shining. 
 
 " Wait here," said Flurry to me in a whisper ; 
 " the less noise the better. It's an open shed, and 
 we'll just slip in and coax him out." 
 
 Slipper unwound from his waist a halter, and 
 my colleagues glided like spectres into the shadow 
 of the shed, leaving me to meditate on my duties 
 as Resident Magistrate, and on the questions that 
 would be asked in the House by our local member 
 when Slipper had given away the adventure in 
 his cups. 
 
 In less than a minute three shadows emerged 
 from the shed, where two had gone in. They had 
 got the colt. 
 
 " He came out as quiet as a calf when he 
 winded the sugar," said Flurry ; " it was well for 
 me I filled my pockets from grandmamma's sugar 
 basin." 
 
 He and Slipper had a rope from each side of 
 the colt's head ; they took him quickly across a
 
 Trinket's Colt 63 
 
 field towards a gate. The colt stepped daintily 
 between them over the moonlit grass ; he snorted 
 occasionally, but appeared on the whole amenable. 
 
 The trouble began later, and was due, as trouble 
 often is, to the beguilements of a short cut. Against 
 the maturer judgment of Slipper, Flurry insisted 
 on following a route that he assured us he knew 
 as well as his own pocket, and the consequence 
 was that in about five minutes I found myself 
 standing on top of a bank hanging on to a rope, 
 on the other end of which the colt dangled and 
 danced, while Flurry, with the other rope, lay 
 prone in the ditch, and Slipper administered to 
 the bewildered colt's hindquarters such chastise- 
 ment as could be ventured on. 
 
 I have no space to narrate in detail the atrocious 
 difficulties and disasters of the short cut. How 
 the colt set to work to buck, and went away across 
 a field, dragging the faithful Slipper, literally ventre- 
 a-terre, after him, while I picked myself in ignominy 
 out of a briar patch, and Flurry cursed himself 
 black in the face. How we were attacked by 
 ferocious cur dogs, and I lost my eyeglass ; and 
 how, as we neared the River's Cross, Flurry espied 
 the" police patrol on the road, and we all hid 
 behind a rick of turf, while I realised in fulness 
 what an exceptional ass I was, to have been be- 
 guiled into an enterprise that involved hiding with 
 Slipper from the Royal Irish Constabulary. 
 
 Let it suffice to say that Trinket's infernal 
 offspring was finally handed over on the high- 
 road to Michael and Slipper, and Flurry drove
 
 64 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 me home in a state of mental and physical over- 
 throw. 
 
 I saw nothing of my friend Mr. Knox for the 
 next couple of days, by the end of which time I 
 had worked up a high polish on my misgivings, 
 and had determined to tell him that under no 
 circumstances would I have anything to say to 
 his grandmother's birthday present. It was like 
 my usual luck that, instead of writing a note to 
 this effect, I thought it would be good for my 
 liver to walk across the hills to Tory Cottage and 
 tell Flurry so in person. 
 
 It was a bright, blustery morning, after a muggy 
 day. The feeling of spring was in the air, the 
 daffodils were already in bud, and crocuses showed 
 purple in the grass on either side of the avenue. 
 It was only a couple of miles to Tory Cottage 
 by the way across the hills ; I walked fast, and 
 it was barely twelve o'clock when I saw its pink 
 walls and clumps of evergreens below me. As I 
 looked down at it the chiming of Flurry's hounds 
 in the kennels came to me on the wind ; I stood 
 still to listen, and could almost have sworn that 
 I was hearing again the clash of Magdalen bells, 
 hard at work on May morning. 
 
 The path that I was following led downwards 
 through a larch plantation to Flurry's back gate. 
 Hot wafts from some hideous caldron at the 
 other side of a wall apprised me of the vicinity 
 of the kennels and their cuisine, and the fir-trees 
 round were hung with gruesome and unknown 
 joints. I thanked Heaven that I was not a master
 
 Trinket's Colt 65 
 
 ot hounds, and passed on as quickly as might be 
 to the hall door. 
 
 ! rang two or three times without response ; then 
 the door opened a couple of inches and was in- 
 stantly slammed in my face. I heard the hurried 
 paddling of bare feet on oilcloth, and a voice, 
 " Hurry, Bridgie, hurry ! There's quality at the 
 door!" 
 
 Bridgie, holding a dirty cap on with one hand, 
 presently arrived and informed me that she be- 
 lieved Mr. Knox was out about the place. She 
 seemed perturbed, and she cast scared glances 
 down the drive while speaking to me. 
 
 I knew enough of Flurry's habits to shape a 
 tolerably direct course for his whereabouts. He 
 was, as I had expected, in the training paddock, 
 a field behind the stable-yard, in which he had 
 put up practice jumps for his horses. It was a 
 good-sized field with clumps of furze in it, and 
 Flurry was standing near one of these with his 
 hands in his pockets, singularly unoccupied. I 
 supposed that he was prospecting for a place to 
 put up another jump. He did not see me coming, 
 and turned with a start as I spoke to him. There 
 was a queer expression of mingled guilt and what 
 I can only describe as divilment in his grey eyes 
 as he greeted me. In my dealings with Flurry 
 Knox, I have since formed the habit of sitting 
 tight, in a general way, when I see that ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Well, who's coming next, I wonder ! " he said, 
 as he shook hands with me ; " it's not ten minutes 
 

 
 66 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 since I had two of your d d peelers here 
 searching the whole place for my grandmother's 
 colt!" 
 
 " What ! " I exclaimed, feeling cold all down 
 my back ; " do you mean the police have got 
 hold of it?" 
 
 "They haven't got hold of the colt anyway," 
 said Flurry, looking sideways at me from under 
 the peak of his cap, with the glint of the sun 
 in his eye. " I got *word in time before they 
 came." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " I demanded ; " where 
 is he'? For Heaven's sake don't tell me you've 
 sent the brute over to my place ! " 
 
 " It's a good job for you I didn't," replied Flurry, 
 "as the police are on their way to Shreelane this 
 minute to consult you about it. You ! " He gave 
 utterance to one of his short diabolical fits of 
 laughter. " He's where they'll not find him, any- 
 how. Ho ! ho ! It's the funniest hand I ever 
 played ! " 
 
 " Oh yes, it's devilish funny, I've no doubt," 
 I retorted, beginning to lose my temper, as is the 
 manner of many people when they are frightened ; 
 " but I give you fair warning that if Mrs. Knox 
 asks me any questions about it, I shall tell her 
 the whole story." 
 
 "All. right," responded Flurry; "and when you 
 do, don't forget to tell her 'how you flogged the 
 colt out on to the road over her own bounds 
 ditch." - 
 
 " Very well," I said hotly, " I may as well go
 
 Trinket's Colt 67 
 
 home and send in my papers. They'll break me 
 over this " 
 
 "Ah, hold on, Major," said Flurry soothingly, 
 " it'll be all right. No one knows anything. It's 
 only on spec the old lady sent the bobbies here. 
 If you'll keep quiet it'll all blow over." 
 
 "I don't care," I said, struggling hopelessly in 
 the toils ; " if I meet your grandmother, and she 
 asks me about it, I shall tell her all I know." 
 
 " Please God you'll not meet her ! After all, 
 it's not once in a blue moon that she '""began 
 Flurry. Even as he said the words his face 
 changed. " Holy fly ! " he ejaculated, " isn't that 
 her dog coming into the field ? Look at her 
 bonnet over the wall 1 Hide, hide for your life ! " 
 He caught me by the shoulder and shoved me 
 down among the furze bushes before I realised 
 what had happened. 
 
 " Get in there ! I'll talk to her." 
 
 I may as well confess that- at the mere sight 
 of Mrs. Knox's purple bonnet my heart had 
 turned to water. In that moment I knew what 
 it would be like to tell her how I, having eaten 
 her salmon, and capped her 'quotations, and drunk 
 her best port, had gone forth and helped to steal 
 her horse. I abandoned my dignity, my sense- 
 of honour ; I took the furze prickles to my breast 
 and wallowed in them. 
 
 Mrs. Knox had advanced with vengeful speed ; 
 already she was in high altercation with Flurry 
 at no great distance from where I lay ; varying 
 sounds of battle reached me, and I gathered
 
 68 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 that Flurry was not to put it mildly shrinking 
 from that economy of truth that the situation 
 required. 
 
 "Js it that curby, long- backed brute ? You 
 promised him to me long ago, but I wouldn't 
 be bothered with him ! " 
 
 The old lady uttered a laugh of shrill derision. 
 " Is it likely I'd promise you my best colt ? And 
 still more, is it likely that you'd refuse him if 
 I did?" 
 
 " Very well, ma'am." Flurry's voice was admir- 
 ably indignant. "Then I suppose I'm a liar and 
 a thief." 
 
 "I'd be more obliged to you for the informa- 
 tion if I hadn't known it before," responded his 
 grandmother with lightning speed ; " if you swore 
 to me on a stack of Bibles you knew nothing 
 about my colt I wouldn't believe you 1 I shall 
 go straight to Major Yeates and ask his advice. 
 I believe him to be a gentleman, in spite of the 
 company he keeps 1 " 
 
 I writhed deeper into the furze bushes, and 
 thereby discovered a sandy rabbit run, along' which 
 I crawled, with my cap well over my eyes, and 
 the furze needles stabbing me through my stock- 
 ings. The ground shelved a little, promising pro- 
 founder concealment, but the bushes were very 
 thick, and I laid hold of the bare stem of one 
 to help my progress. It lifted out of the ground 
 in my hand, revealing a freshly-cut stump. Some- 
 thing snorted, not a yard away ; I glared through 
 the opening, and was confronted by the long,
 
 Trinket's Colt 69 
 
 horrified face of Mrs. Knox's colt, mysteriously 
 on a level with my own. 
 
 Even without the white diamond on his fore- 
 head I should have divined the truth ; but how 
 in the name ot wonder had Flurry persuaded 
 him to couch like a woodcock in the heart of a 
 furze brake ? For a full minute I lay as still 
 as death for fear of frightening him, while the 
 voices of Flurry and his grandmother raged on 
 alarmingly close to me. The colt snorted, and 
 blew long breaths through his wide nostrils, 
 but he did not move. I crawled an inch or two 
 nearer, and after a few seconds of cautious 
 peering I grasped the position. They had buried 
 him. 
 
 A small sandpit among the furze had been 
 utilised as a grave ; they had filled him in 
 up to his withers with sand, and a few furze 
 bushes, artistically disposed round the pit, had 
 done the rest. As the depth of Flurry's guile 
 was revealed, laughter came upon me like a 
 flood ; I gurgled and shook apoplectically, and 
 the colt gazed at me with serious surprise, until 
 a sudden outburst of barking close to my elbow 
 administered a fresh shock to my tottering nerves. 
 
 Mrs. Knox's woolly dog had tracked me into 
 the furze, and was now baying the colt and me 
 with mingled terror and indignation. I addressed 
 him in a whisper, with perfidious endearments, 
 advancing a crafty hand towards him the while, 
 made a snatch for the back of his neck, missed 
 it badly, and got him by the ragged fleece of his
 
 yo Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 hind-quarters as he tried to flee. If I had flayed 
 him alive he could hardly have uttered a more 
 
 &$&$ 
 
 I ADVANCED A CRAFTY HAND 
 
 deafening series of yells, but, like a fool, instead 
 of letting him go, I dragged him towards me, and 
 tried to stifle the noise by holding his muzzle.
 
 Trinket's Colt 71 
 
 The tussle lasted engrossingly for a few seconds, 
 and then the climax of the nightmare arrived. 
 
 Mrs. Knox's voice, close behind me, said, " Let 
 go my dog this instant, sir ! Who are you " 
 
 Her voice faded away, and I knew that she 
 also had seen the colt's head. 
 
 I positively felt sorry for her. At her age there 
 was no knowing what effect the shock might have 
 on her. I scrambled to my feet and confronted 
 her. 
 
 " Major Yeates ! " she said. There was a deathly 
 pause, "Will you kindly tell me," said Mrs. Knox 
 slowly, " am I in Bedlam, or are you ? And what 
 is that?" 
 
 She pointed to the colt, and that unfortunate 
 animal, recognising the voice of his mistress, 
 uttered a hoarse and lamentable whinny. Mrs. 
 Knox felt around her for support, found only 
 furze prickles, gazed speechlessly at me, and then, 
 to her eternal honour, fell into wild cackles of 
 laughter. 
 
 So, I may say, did Flurry and I. I embarked 
 on my explanation and broke down ; Flurry 
 followed suit and broke down too. Overwhelming 
 laughter held us all three, disintegrating our very 
 souls. Mrs. Knox pulled herself together first. 
 
 " I acquit you, Major Yeates, I acquit you, 
 though appearances are against you. It's clear 
 enough to me you've fallen among thieves." She 
 stopped and glowered at Flurry. . Her purple 
 bonnet was over one eye. " I'll thank you, sir," 
 she said, "to dig out that horse before I leave
 
 72 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 this place. And when you've dug him out you 
 may keep him. I'll be no receiver of stolen 
 goods ! " 
 
 She broke off and shook her fist at him. "Up n 
 my conscience, Tony, I'd give a guinea to have 
 thought of it myself i "
 
 n/ 
 
 THE WATERS OF STRIFE 
 
 I KNEW Bat Callaghan's face long before I was 
 able to put a name to it. There was seldom 
 a court day in Skebawn that I was not aware of 
 his level brows and superfluously intense expres- 
 sion somewhere among the knot of corner-boys 
 who patronised the weekly sittings of the bench 
 of magistrates. His social position appeared to 
 fluctuate : I have seen him driving a car ; he 
 sometimes held my horse for me that is to say, 
 he sat on the counter of a public-house while the 
 Quaker slumbered in the gutter ; and, on one 
 occasion, he retired, at my bidding, to Cork gaol, 
 there to meditate upon the inadvisability of defend- 
 ing a friend from the attentions of the police with 
 the tailboard of a cart. 
 
 He next obtained prominence in my regard at 
 a regatta held under the auspices of "The Sons 
 of Liberty," a local football club that justified its 
 title by the patriot green of its jerseys and its 
 free interpretation of the rules of the garQe. The 
 announcement of my name on the posters as a 
 patron a privilege acquired at the cost of a re- 
 luctant half-sovereign made it incumbent on me 
 
 73
 
 74 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 to put in an appearance, even though the festival 
 coincided with my Petty Sessions day at Skebawn ; 
 and at some five of the clock on a brilliant 
 September afternoon I found myself driving down 
 the stony road that dropped in zigzags to the 
 borders of the lake on which the races were to 
 come off. 
 
 I believe that the selection of Lough Lonen as 
 the scene of the regatta was not unconnected with 
 the fact that the secretary of the club owned a 
 public-house at the cross roads at one end of it ; 
 none the less, the president of the Royal Academy 
 could scarcely have chosen more picturesque sur- 
 roundings. A mountain towered steeply up from 
 the lake's edge, dark with the sad green of beech- 
 trees in September ; fir woods followed the curve 
 of the shore/ and leaned far over the answering 
 darkness of the water ; and above the trees rose 
 the toppling steepnesses of the hill, painted with 
 a purple glow of heather. The lake was about a 
 mile long, and, tumbling from its farther end, a 
 fierce and narrow river fled away west to the sea, 
 some four or five miles off. 
 
 I had not seen a boat race since I was at Oxford, 
 and the words still called up before my eyes a 
 vision of smart parasols, 'of gorgeous barges, of 
 snowy-clad youths, and of low slim outriggers, 
 winged with the level flight of oars, slitting the 
 water to the sway of the line of flat backs. Cer- 
 tainly undreamed-of possibilities in aquatics were 
 revealed to me as I reined in the Quaker on the 
 outskirts of the crowd, and saw below me the
 
 The Waters of Strife 75 
 
 festival of the Sons of Liberty in full swing. Boats 
 of all shapes and sizes, outrageously overladen, 
 moved about the lake, with oars flourishing to the 
 strains of concertinas. Black swarms of people 
 seethed along the water's edge, congesting here 
 and there round the dingy tents and stalls of green 
 apples ; and the club's celebrated brass band, en- 
 throned in a wagonette, arid stimulated by the 
 presence of a 
 barrel of porter 
 on the box-seat, 
 was belching 
 forth "The Boys 
 of Wexford," 
 under the guid- 
 ance of a disre- 
 putable ex-militia 
 drummer, in a 
 series of crashing 
 discords. 
 
 Almost as I 
 arrived a pistol- 
 shot set the 
 echoes clattering 
 round the lake, 
 
 and three boats burst out abreast from the throng 
 into the open water. Two of the crews were 
 in shirt-sleeves, the third wore the green jerseys 
 of the football club ; the boats were of the heavy 
 sea-going build, and pulled six oars apiece, oars 
 of which the looms were scarcely narrower 
 than the blades, and were, of the two, but a 
 
 THE BANDMASTER OF "THE SONS 
 OF LIBERTY"
 
 7 6 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 shade heavier. None the less the rowers started 
 dauntlessly at thirty-five strokes a minute, quicken- 
 ing up, incredible as it may seem, as they 
 rounded the mark boat in the first lap of the 
 two-mile course. The rowing was, in general 
 style, more akin to the action of beating up eggs 
 with a fork than to any other form of athletic 
 exercise : but in its unorthodox way it kicked the 
 heavy boats along at a surprising pace. The oars 
 squeaked and grunted against the thole-pins, the 
 coxswains kept up an unceasing flow of oratory, 
 and superfluous little boys in punts contrived to 
 intervene at all the more critical turning-points of 
 the race, only evading the flail of the oncoming 
 oars by performing prodigies of "waggling" with 
 a single oar at the stern. I took out my watch 
 and counted the strokes when they were passing 
 the mark boat for the second time ; they were 
 pulling a fraction over forty ; one of the shirt- 
 sleeved crews was obviously in trouble, the other, 
 with humped backs and jerking oars, was holding 
 its own against the green jerseys amid the blended 
 yells of friends and foes. When for the last time 
 they rounded the green flag there were but two 
 boats in the race, and the foul that had been 
 imminent throughout was at length achieved with 
 a rattle of oars and a storm of curses. They were 
 clear again in a moment, the shirt-sleeved crew 
 getting away with a distinct lead, and it was at 
 about this juncture that I became aware that the 
 coxswains had abandoned their long-handled tillers, 
 and were standing over their respective "strokes,"
 
 * The Waters of Strife 77 
 
 shoving frantically at their oars, and maintaining 
 the while a ceaseless bawl of encouragement and 
 defiance. It looked like a foregone conclusion 
 for the leaders, and the war of cheers rose to 
 frenzy. The word "cheering," indeed, is but an 
 euphuism, and in no way expresses the serrated 
 yell, composed of epithets, advice, and impre- 
 cations, that was flung like a live thing at the 
 oncoming boats. The green jerseys answered to 
 this stimulant with a wild spurt that drove the 
 bow of their boat within a measurable distance of 
 their opponents' stroke oar. In another second 
 a thoroughly successful foul would have been 
 effected, but the cox of the leading boat proved 
 himself equal to the emergency by unshipping 
 his tiller, and with it dealing " bow " of the green 
 jerseys such a blow over the head as effectually dis- 
 missed him from the sphere of practical politics. 
 
 A great roar of laughter greeted this feat of 
 arms, and a voice at my dogcart's wheel pierced 
 the clamour 
 
 " More power to ye, Larry, me owld darlin' ! " 
 I looked down and saw Bat Callaghan, with 
 shining eyes, and a face white with excitement, 
 poising himself on one foot on the box of my 
 wheel in order to get a better view of the race. 
 Almost before I had time to recognise him, a man 
 in a green jersey caught him round the legs and 
 jerked him down. Callaghan fell into the throng, 
 recovered himself in an instant, and rushed, white 
 and dangerous, at his assailant. The Son of Liberty 
 was no less ready for the fray, and what is known
 
 78 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 in Ireland as 
 "the father and 
 mother of a 
 row" was im- 
 minent. Al- 
 ready, however, 
 one of those un- 
 equalled judges 
 of the moral 
 temperature of 
 a crowd, a ser- 
 geant of the 
 R.I.C., had 
 quietly inter- 
 posed his bulky 
 person between 
 the comba- 
 tants, and the 
 coming trouble 
 was averted. 
 
 Elsewhere 
 battle was rag- 
 ing. The race 
 was over, and 
 the commit- 
 tee boat was 
 hemmed in by 
 the rival crews, 
 supplemented 
 by craft of all 
 kinds. The "ob- 
 jection " was 
 
 *"MORE POWER TO YE, LARRY, ME OWLD 0ARLIN' ! " being lodged,
 
 The Waters of Strife 79 
 
 and in its turn objected to, and I can only liken 
 the process to the screaming warfare of seagulls 
 round a piece of carrion. The tumult was still 
 at its height when out of its very heart two four- 
 oared boats broke forth, and a pistol shot pro- 
 claimed that another race had begun, the public 
 interest in which was specially keen, owing to the 
 fact that the rowers were stalwart country girls, 
 who made up in energy what they lacked in 
 skill. It was a short race, once round the mark 
 boat only, and, like a successful farce, it "went 
 with a roar " from start to finish. Foul after foul, 
 each followed by a healing interval of calm, 
 during which the crews, who had all caught crabs, 
 were recovering themselves and their oars, marked 
 its progress ; and when the two boats, locked 
 in an inextricable embrace, at length passed the 
 winning flag, and the crews, oblivious of judges 
 and public, fell to untrammelled personal abuse 
 and to doing up their hair, I decided that I 
 had seen the best of the fun, and prepared to 
 go home. 
 
 It was, as it ^happened, the last race of the day, 
 and nothing remained in the way of excitement 
 save the greased pole with the pig slung in a bag 
 at the end of it. My final impression of the Lough 
 Lonen Regatta was of Callaghan's lithe figure, 
 sleek and dripping, against the yellow sky, as he 
 poised on the swaying pole with the broken gold 
 of the water beneath him. 
 
 Limited as was my experience of the South-west 
 of Ireland, I was in no way surprised to hear on
 
 8o Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 the following afternoon from Peter Cadogan that 
 there had been "sthrokes" the night before, when 
 the boys were going home from the regatta, and 
 that the police were searching for one Jimmy 
 Foley. 
 
 "What do they want him for ?" I asked. 
 
 " Sure it's according as a man that was bringing 
 a car of bogwood was tellin' me, sir," answered 
 Peter, pursuing his occupation of washing the 
 dogcart with unabated industry ; " they say Jimmy's 
 wife went roaring to the police, saying she could 
 get no account of her husband." 
 
 "I suppose he's beaten some fellow and is 
 hiding," I suggested. 
 
 " Well, that might be, sir," asserted Peter respect- 
 fully. He plied his mop vigorously in intricate 
 places about the springs, which would, I knew, have 
 never been explored save for my presence. 
 
 " It's what John Hennessy was saying, that he 
 was hard set to get his horse past Cluin Cross, the 
 way the blood was sthrewn about the road," re- 
 sumed Peter ; " sure they were fighting like wasps 
 in it half the night." 
 
 " Who were fighting?" 
 
 " I couldn't say, indeed, sir. Some o' thim low 
 rakish lads from the town, I suppose," replied Peter 
 with virtuous respectability. 
 
 When Peter Cadogan was quietly and intel- 
 ligently candid, to pursue an inquiry was seldom 
 of much avail. 
 
 Next day in Skebawn I met little Murray, the 
 district inspector, very alert and smart in his rifle-
 
 The Waters of Strife 8 1 
 
 green uniform, going forth to collect evidence 
 about the fight. He told me that the police were 
 pretty certain that one of the Sons of Liberty, 
 named Foley, had been murdered, but, as usual, 
 the difficulty was to get any one to give informa- 
 tion ; all that was known was that he was gone, 
 and that his wife had identified his cap, which had 
 been found, drenched with blood, by the roadside. 
 Murray gave it as his opinion that the whole busi- 
 ness had arisen out of the row over the disputed 
 race, and that there must have been a dozen people 
 looking on when the murder was done ; but so far 
 no evidence was forthcoming, and after a day and 
 a night ol search the police had not been able to 
 find the body. 
 
 " No," said Flurry Knox, who had joined us, 
 "and if it was any of those mountainy men did 
 away with him you might scrape Ireland with a 
 small-tooth comb and you'll not get him 1 " 
 
 That evening I smoked an after-dinner cigarette 
 out of doors in the mild starlight, strolling about 
 the rudimentary paths of what would, I hoped, 
 some day be Phjlippa's garden. The bats came 
 stooping at the red end of my cigarette, and from 
 the covert behind the house I heard once or twice 
 the delicate bark of a fox. Civilisation seemed a 
 thousand miles off, as far away as the falling star 
 that had just drawn a line of pale fire half-way 
 down the northern sky. I had been nearly a 
 year at Shreelane House by myself now, and the 
 time seemed very long to me. It was slow work 
 putting by money, even under the austerities of 
 
 F
 
 82 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Mrs-. Cadogan's regime, and though I had warned 
 Philippa I meant to marry her after Christmas, 
 there were moments, and this was one of them, 
 when it seemed an idle threat. 
 
 " Pether 1 " the strident voice of Mrs. Cadogan 
 intruded upon my meditations. " Go tell the 
 Major his coffee is waitin' on him ! " 
 
 I went gloomily into the house, and, with a re- 
 signation born of adversity, swallowed the mixture 
 of chicory and liquorice which my housekeeper 
 possessed the secret of distilling from the best 
 and most expensive coffee. My theory about it 
 was that it added to the illusion that I had dined, 
 and moreover, that it kept me awake, and I gene- 
 rally had a good deal of writing to do after dinner. 
 
 Having swallowed it I went downstairs and out 
 past the kitchen regions to my office, a hideous 
 whitewashed room, in which I interviewed police- 
 men, and took affidavits, and did most of my 
 official writing. It had a door that opened into 
 the yard, and a window that looked out in the 
 other direction, among lanky laurels and scrubby 
 hollies, where lay the cats' main thoroughfare 
 from the scullery window to the rabbit holes 
 in the wood. I had a good deal of work to do, 
 and the time passed quickly. It was Friday night, 
 and from the kitchen at the end of the passage 
 came the gabbling murmur, in two alternate keys, 
 that I had learned to recognise as the recital of a 
 litany by my housekeeper and her nephew Peter. 
 This performance was followed by some of those 
 dreary and heart-rending yawns that are, I think,
 
 The Waters of Strife 83 
 
 peculiar to Irish kitchens, then such of the cats 
 as had returned from the chase were loudly shep- 
 herded into the back scullery, the kitchen door 
 shut with a ,slam, and my retainers .retired to 
 repose. 
 
 It was nearly half-an-hour afterwards when I 
 finished the notes I had been making on an 
 adjourned case of " stroke-hauling " salmon in the 
 Lonen River. I leaned back in my chair and 
 lighted a cigarette preparatory to turning in ; my 
 thoughts had again wandered' on a sentimental 
 journey across the Irish Channel, when I heard a 
 slight stir of some kind outside the open window. 
 In the wilds of Ireland no one troubles themselves 
 about burglars ; " more cats," I thought, " I must 
 shut the window before I go to bed." 
 
 Almost immediately there followed a faint tap 
 on the window, and then a voice said in a hoarse 
 and hurried whisper, " Them that wants Jim Foley, 
 let them look in the river ! " 
 
 If I had kept my head I should have sat still and 
 encouraged a further confidence, but unfortunately 
 I acted on the impulse of the natural man, and 
 was at the window in a jump, knocking down my 
 chair, and making noise enough to scare a far 
 less shy bird than an Irish informer. Of course 
 there was no one there. I listened, with every 
 nerve as taut as a violin string. It was quite dark ; 
 there was just breeze enough to make a rustling 
 in the evergreens, so s that a man might brush 
 through them without being heard ; and while I 
 debated on a plan of action there came from
 
 84 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 beyond the shrubbery the jar and twang of a 
 loose strand of wire in the paling by the wood. 
 My informant, whoever he might be, had vanished 
 into the darkness from which he had come as 
 irrecoverably as had the falling star that had 
 written its brief message across the sky, and gone 
 out again into infinity. 
 
 I got up very early next morning and drove 
 to Skebawn to see Murray, and offer him my 
 mysterious information for what it was worth. 
 Personally I did not think it worth much, and was 
 disposed to regard it as a red herring drawn across 
 the trail. Murray, however, was not in a mood 
 to despise anything that had a suggestion to make, 
 having been out till nine o'clock the night before 
 without being able to find any clue to the hiding- 
 place of James Foley. 
 
 "The river's a good mile from the place where 
 the fight was," he said, straddling his compasses 
 over the Ordnance Survey map, "and there's no 
 sort of a road they could have taken him along, 
 but a tip like this is always worth trying. I re- 
 member in the Land League time how a man 
 came one Saturday night to my window and told 
 me there were holes drilled in the chapel door 
 to shoot a boycotted man through while he was 
 at mass. The holes were there right enough, and 
 you may be quite sure that chap found excellent 
 reasons .for having family prayers at home next 
 day ! " 
 
 I had sessions to attend on the extreme out- 
 skirts of my district, and could not wait, as Murray
 
 The Waters of Strife 85 
 
 suggested, to see the thing out. I did not get 
 home till the following day, and when I arrived 
 I found a letter from Murray awaiting me. 
 
 "Your pal was right. We found Foley's body 
 in the river, knocking about against the posts of 
 the weir. The head was wrapped in his own 
 green jersey, and had been smashed in by a stone. 
 We suspect a fellow named Bat Callaghan, who 
 has bolted, but there were a lot of them in it. 
 Possibly it was Callaghan himself who gave you 
 the tip ; you never can tell how superstition is 
 going to take them next. The inquest will be 
 held to-morrow." 
 
 The coroner's jury took a cautious view of the 
 cause of the catastrophe, and brought in a verdict of 
 "death by misadventure," and I presently found it 
 to be my duty to call a magisterial inquiry to further 
 investigate the matter. A few days before this 
 was to take place, I was engaged in the delicate 
 task of displaying to my landlord, Mr. Flurry 
 Knox, the defects of the pantry sink, when Mrs. 
 Cadogan advanced upon us with the information 
 that . the Widow Callaghan from Cluin would be 
 thankful to speak to me, and had brought me 
 a present of "a fine young goose." 
 
 "Is she come over here looking for Bat?" said 
 Flurry, withdrawing his arm and the longest kitchen- 
 ladle from the pipe that he had been probing ; " she 
 knows you're handy at hiding your friends, Mary ; 
 maybe it's he that's stopping the drain ! " 
 
 Mrs. Cadogan turned her large red face upon 
 her late employer.
 
 86 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " God knows I wish yerself was stuck in it, Master 
 Flurry, the way ye'd hear Pether cursin' the full 
 o' the house when he's striving to wash the things 
 in that unnatural little trough." 
 
 "Are you sure it's Peter does all the cursing?" re- 
 torted Flurry. "I hear Father Scanlan has it in for 
 you this long time for not going to confession." 
 
 "And how can I walk two miles to the chapel 
 with God's burden on me feet?" demanded Mrs. 
 Cadogan in purple indignation ; " the Blessed 
 Virgin and Docthor Hickey knows well the hard- 
 ship -I gets from them. If it wasn't for a pair of 
 the Major's boots he gave me, I'd be hard set 
 to thravel the house itself ! " 
 
 The contest might have been continued indefi- 
 nitely, had I not struck up the swords with a 
 request that Mrs. Callaghan might be sent round 
 to the hall door. There we found a tall, grey- 
 haired countrywoman waiting for us at the foot 
 of the steps, in the hooded blue cloak that is 
 peculiar to the south of Ireland ; from the fact 
 that she clutched a pocket-handkerchief in her 
 right hand I augured a stormy interview, but 
 nothing could have been more self -restrained and 
 even imposing than the reverence with which she 
 greeted Flurry and me. 
 
 "Good-morning to your honours," she began, 
 with a dignified and extremely imminent snuffle. 
 " I ask your pardon for troubling you, Major 
 Yeates, but I haven't a one in the counthry to 
 give me an adwice, and I have no confidence only 
 in your honour's experiments."
 
 The Waters of Strife 87 
 
 " Experience, she means," prompted Flurry. 
 " Didn't you get advice enough out of Mr. Murray 
 yesterday?" he went on aloud. "I heard he was 
 at Cluin to see you." 
 
 "And if he was itself, it's little adwantage any 
 one'd get out of that little whipper-shnapper of 
 a shnap - dhragon I " responded Mrs. Callaghan 
 tartly ; " he was with me for a half-hour giving 
 me every big rock of English till I had a reel in 
 me head. I declare to ye, Mr. Flurry, after he 
 had gone out o' the house, ye wouldn't throw three 
 farthings for me ! " 
 
 The pocket-handkerchief was here utilised, after 
 which, with a heavy groan, Mrs. Callaghan again 
 took up her parable. 
 
 " I towid him first and last I'd lose me life if 
 I had to go into the coort, and if I did itself sure 
 th' attorneys could rip no more out o' me than 
 what he did himself." 
 
 " Did you tell him where was Bat ? " inquired 
 Flurry casually. 
 
 At this Mrs. Callaghan immediately dissolved 
 into tears. 
 
 "Is it Bat?" she howled. "If the twelve 
 Apostles came down from heaven asking me 
 where was Bat, I could give them no satisfaction. 
 The divil a know I know what's happened him. 
 He came home with me sober and good-natured 
 from the rogatta, and the next morning he axed 
 a fresh egg for his breakfast, and God forgive me, 
 I wouldn't break the score I was taking to the 
 hotel, and with that he slapped the cup o' tay into
 
 88 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 the fire and went out the door, and I never got a 
 word of him since, good nor bad. God knows 
 'tis I got throuble with that poor boy, and he 
 the only one I have to look to in the world 1 " 
 
 I cut the matter short by asking her what she 
 wanted me to do for her, and sifted out from 
 amongst much extraneous detail the fact that she 
 relied upon my renowned wisdom and clemency 
 to preserve her from being called as a witness at 
 the coming inquiry. The gift of the goose served 
 its intended purpose of embarrassing my position, 
 but in spite of it I broke to the Widow Callaghan 
 my inability to help her. She did not, of course, 
 believe me, but she was too well-bred to say 
 so. In Ireland one becomes accustomed to this 
 attitude. 
 
 As it turned out, however, Bat Callaghan 's 
 mother had nothing to fear from the inquiry. 
 She was by turns deaf, imbecile, garrulously 
 candid, and furiously abusive of Murray's principal 
 witness, a frightened lad of seventeen, who had 
 sworn to having seen Bat Callaghan and Jimmy 
 Foley " shaping at one another to fight," at an 
 hour when, according to Mrs. Callaghan, Bat 
 was " lying sthretched on the beddeen with a 
 sick shtomach " in consequence of the malignant 
 character of the porter supplied by the last 
 witness's father. It all ended, as such cases so 
 often do in Ireland, in complete moral certainty 
 in the minds of all concerned as to the guilt of 
 the accused, and entire impotence on the part 
 of the law to prove it. A warrant was issued
 
 The Waters of Strife 89 
 
 for the arrest of Bartholomew Callaghan ; and 
 the clans of Callaghan and Foley fought rather 
 more bloodily than usual, as occasion served ; 
 and at intervals during the next few months 
 Murray used to ask me if my friend the murderer 
 had dropped in lately, to which I was wont to 
 reply with condolences on the failure of the R.I.C. 
 to find the Widow Callaghan's only son for her ; 
 and that was about all that came of it. 
 
 Events with which the present story has no 
 concern took me to England towards the end of 
 the following March. It so happened that my 
 
 old regiment, the th Fusiliers, was quartered 
 
 at Whincastle, within a couple of hours by rail of 
 Philippa'-s home, where I -was staying, and, since 
 my wedding was now within measurable distance, 
 my former brothers-in-arms invited me over to 
 dine and sleep, and to receive a valedictory silver 
 claret jug that they were magnanimous enough to 
 bestow upon a backslider. I enjoyed the dinner 
 as much as any man can enjoy his dinner when he 
 knows he has to make a speech at the end of it ; 
 through much and varied conversation I strove, 
 like a nervous mother who cannot trust her off- 
 spring out of her sight, to keep before my mind's 
 eye the opening sentences that I had composed in 
 the train ; I felt that if I could only "getaway" 
 satisfactorily I might trust the Ayala ('89) to do 
 the rest, and of that fount of inspiration there was 
 no lack. As it turned out, I got away all right, 
 though the sight of the double line of expectant 
 faces and red mess jackets nearly scattered those
 
 90 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 precious opening sentences, and I am afraid that 
 so far as the various subsequent points went that 
 I had intended to make, I stayed away ; however, 
 neither Demosthenes, nor a Nationalist member 
 at,, a Cork election, could have been listened to 
 with more gratifying attention, and I sat down, hot 
 and happy, to be confronted with my own flushed 
 visage, hideously reflected in the glittering paunch 
 of the claret jug. 
 
 Once safely over the presentation, the evening 
 mellowed into frivolity, and it was pretty late be- 
 fore I found myself settled down to whist, at 
 sixpenny points, in the ancient familiar way, while 
 most of the others fell to playing pool in the 
 billiard-room next door. I have played whist from 
 my youth up j with the preternatural seriousness 
 of a subaltern, with the self-assurance of a senior 
 captain, with the privileged irascibility of a major ; 
 and my eighteen months of abstinence at Shreelane 
 had only whetted my appetite for what I consider 
 the best of games. After the long lonely even- 
 ings there, with rats for company, and, for re- 
 " taxation, a " deck " of that specially demoniacal 
 American variety of patience known as " Fooly 
 Ann," it was wondrous agreeable to sit again 
 among my fellows, and " lay the longs " on a 
 severely scientific rubber of whist, as though Mrs. 
 Cadogan and the Skebawn Bench of Magistrates 
 had never existed. 
 
 We were in the first game of the second rubber, 
 and I was holding a very nice playing hand ; I 
 had early in the game moved forth my trumps
 
 The Waters of Strife 91 
 
 to battle, and I was now in the ineffable position 
 of scoring with the small cards of my long suit. 
 The cards fell and fell in silence, and Ballantyne, 
 my partner, raked in the tricks like a machine. 
 The concentrated quiet of the game was suddenly 
 arrested by a sharp, unmistakable sound from the 
 barrack yard outside, the snap of a Lee-Metford 
 rifle. 
 
 " What was that ? " exclaimed Moffat, the senior 
 major. 
 
 Before he had finished speaking there was a 
 second shot. 
 
 " By Jove, those were rifle-shots ! Perhaps I'd 
 better go and see what's up," said Ballantyne, who 
 was captain of the week, throwing down his cards 
 and making a bolt for the door. 
 
 He had hardly got out of the room when the 
 first long high note of the " assembly " sang out, 
 sudden and clear. We all sprang to our feet, and 
 as the bugle-call went shrilly on, the other men 
 came pouring in from the billiard-room, and stam- 
 peded to their quarters to get their swords. At 
 the same moment the mess sergeant appeared at 
 the outer door with a face as white as his shirt- 
 front. 
 
 " The sentry on the magazine guard has been 
 shot, sir ! " he said excitedly to Moffat. "They say 
 he's dead 1 " 
 
 We were all out in the barrack square in an 
 instant ; it was clear moonlight, and the square 
 was already alive with hurrying figures cramming 
 on clothes and caps as they ran to fall in. I was
 
 92 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 a free agent these times, and I followed the mess 
 sergeant across the square towards the distant 
 corner where the magazine stands. As we doubled 
 round the end of the men's quarters, we nearly ran 
 into a small party of men who were advancing 
 slowly and heavily in our direction. 
 
 " 'Ere he is, sir !" said the mess sergeant, stopping 
 himself abruptly. 
 
 They were carrying the sentry to the hospital. 
 His busby had fallen off ; the moon shone mildly 
 on his pale, convulsed face, and foam and strange 
 inhuman sounds came from his lips. His head 
 was rolling from side to side on the arm of one 
 of the men who was carrying him ; as it turned 
 towards me I was struck by something disturbingly 
 familiar in the face, and I wondered if he had been 
 in my old company. 
 
 " What's his name, sergeant ? " I said to the mess 
 sergeant. 
 
 " Private Harris, sir," replied the sergeant ; " he's 
 only lately come up from the depot, and this was 
 his first time on sentry by himself." 
 
 I went back to the mess, and in process of time 
 the others straggled in, thirsting for whiskies-and- 
 sodas, and full of such information as there was to 
 give. Private Harris was not wounded ; both the 
 shots had been fired by him, as was testified by 
 the state of his rifle and the fact that two of the 
 cartridges were missing from the packet in his 
 pouch. 
 
 " I hear he was a queer, sulky sort of chap 
 always," said Tomkinson, the subaltern of the day,
 
 The Waters of Strife 93 
 
 " but if he was having a try at suicide he made a 
 bally bad fist of it." 
 
 " He made as good a fist of it as you did of 
 putting on your sword, Tommy," remarked Ballan- 
 tyne, indicating a dangling white strap of webbing, 
 that hung down like a tail below Mr. Tomkinson's 
 mess jacket. " Nerves, obviously, in both cases 1 " 
 
 The exquisite satisfaction afforded by this dis- 
 covery to Mr. Tomkinson's brother officers found 
 its natural outlet in /a bear -fight that threatened to 
 become more or less general, and in the course 
 of which I slid away unostentatiously to -bed in 
 Ballantyne's quarters, and took the precaution of 
 barricading my door. 
 
 Next morning, when I got down to breakfast, 
 I found Ballantyne and two or three others in the 
 mess room, and my first inquiry was for Private 
 Harris. 
 
 " Oh, the poor chap's dead," saicf Ballantyne ; 
 " it's a very queer business altogether. I think he 
 must have been wrong in the top storey. The 
 doctor was with him when he came to out of the 
 fit, or whatever it was, and O'Reilly that's the 
 doctor y' know, Irish of course, and, by the way, 
 poor Harris was an Irishman too says that he 
 could only jibber at first, but then he got better, 
 and he got out of him that when he had been on 
 sentry-g'o for about half-an-hour, he happened to 
 look up at the angle of the barrack wall near where 
 it joins the magazine tower, and saw a face looking 
 at him over it. He challenged and got no answer, 
 but the face just stuck there staring at him ; he
 
 94 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 challenged again, and then, as O'Reilly said, he 
 4 just oop with his royfle and blamed at it.' " Ballan- 
 tyne was not above the common English delusion 
 that he could imitate an Irish brogue. 
 
 " Well, what happened then ? " 
 
 "Well, according to the poor devil's own story, 
 the face just kept on looking at him and he had 
 another shot at it, and 'My God Almighty/ he 
 said to O'Reilly, 'it was there always I* While he 
 was saying that to O'Reilly he began to chuck 
 another fit; and apparently went on chucking them 
 till he died a couple of hours ago." 
 
 "One 'result of it is," said another man, "that 
 they couldn't get a man to go on sentry there 
 alone last night. I expect we shall have to double 
 the sentries there every night as long as we're 
 here." 
 
 "Silly asses 1" remarked Tomkinson, but- he 
 said it without conviction. 
 
 After breakfast we w r ent out to look at the wall 
 by the magazine. It was about eleven feet high, 
 with a coped top, and they told me there was a 
 deep and wide dry ditch on the outside. A ladder 
 was brought, and we examined the angle of the 
 wall at which Harris said the face had appeared. 
 He had made a beautiful shot, one of his bullets 
 having flicked a piece off the ridge of the coping 
 exactly at the corner. 
 
 " It's not the kind o shot a man would make 
 if he had been drinking," said Moffat, regretfully 
 abandoning his first simple hypothesis ; " he must 
 have been mad."
 
 The Waters of Strife 95 
 
 " I wish I could find out who his people are/' 
 said Brownlow, the adjutant, who had joined us ; 
 "they found in his box a letter to him from his 
 mother, but we can't make out the name of the 
 place. By Jove, Yeates, you're an Irishman, per- 
 haps you can help us." 
 
 He handed me a letter in a dirty envelope. 
 There was no address given, the contents were 
 very short, and I may be forgiven if I transcribe 
 them : 
 
 "My dear Son, I hope you are well as this 
 leaves me at present, thanks be to God for it. I 
 am very much unaisy about the cow. She swelled 
 up this morning, she ran in andnvas frauding and 
 I did not do but to run up for torn sweeney in 
 the minute. We are thinking it is too much lairels 
 or an eirub she took. I do not know what I will 
 do with her. God help one that's alone with 
 himself I had not a days luck since ye went away. 
 I am thinkin' them that wants ye is tired lookin' 
 for ye. And so I remain, 
 
 "YOUR FOND MOTHER." 
 
 "Well, you don't get much of a leacf from the 
 cow, do you ? And what the deuce is an eirub ? " 
 said Brownlow. 
 
 " It's another way of spelling herb," I said, 
 turning over the envelope abstractedly. The post- 
 mark was almost obliterated, but it struck me it 
 might be construed into the word Skebawn. 
 
 "Look here," I said suddenly, "let me see
 
 96 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Harris. It's just possible I may know something 
 about him." 
 
 , The sentry's body had been laid in the dead- 
 house near the hospital, and Brownlow fetched 
 the key. It was a grim little whitewashed build- 
 ing, without windows, save a small one of lancet 
 shape, high up in one gable, through which a 
 streak of April sunlight fell sharp and slender on 
 the whitewashed wall. The long figure of the 
 sentry lay sheeted on a stone slab, and Brownlow, 
 with his cap in his hand, gently uncovered the 
 face. 
 
 I leaned over and looked at it at the heavy 
 brows, the short nose, the small moustache lying 
 black above the pale mouth, the deep-set eyes 
 sealed in appalling peacefulness. There rose be- 
 fore me the wild dark face of the young man 
 who had hung on my wheel and yelled encourage- 
 ment to the winning coxswain at the Lough Lonen 
 Regatta. 
 
 " I know him," I said, "his name is Callaghan."
 
 V 
 
 LISHEEN RACES, SECOND-HAND 
 
 IT may or may not be agreeable to have attained 
 the age of thirty-eight, but, judging from old 
 photographs, the privilege of being nineteen has 
 also its drawbacks. I turned over page after page 
 of an ancient book in which were enshrined por- 
 traits of the friends of my youth, singly, in David 
 and Jonathan couples, and in groups in which I, 
 as it seemed to my mature and possibly jaundiced 
 perception, always contrived to look the most im- 
 measurable young bounder of the lot. Our faces 
 were fat, and yet I cannot remember ever having 
 been considered fat in my life ; we indulged in 
 low-necked shirts, in " Jemima " ties with diagonal 
 stripes ; we wore coats that seemed three sizes 
 too small, and trousers that were three sizes too 
 big ; we also wore small whiskers. 
 
 I stopped at last at one of the David and 
 Jonathan memorial portraits. Yes, here was the 
 object of my researches ; this .stout and earnestly 
 romantic youth was Leigh Kelway, and that fatuous 
 and chubby young person seated on the arm of 
 his chair was myself. Leigh Kelway was a young 
 man ardently believed in by a large circle of 
 
 97
 
 98 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 admirers, headed by himself and seconded by 
 me, and for some time after I had left Magdalen 
 for Sandhurst, I maintained a correspondence 
 with him on large and abstract subjects. This 
 phase of our friendship did not survive; I went 
 soldiering to India, and Leigh Kelway took honours 
 and moved suitably on into politics, as is the 
 duty of an earnest young Radical with useful 
 family connections and an independent income. 
 Since then I had at intervals seen in the papers 
 the name of the Honourable Basil Leigh Kelway 
 mentioned as a speaker at elections, as a writer 
 of thoughtful articles in the reviews, but we had * 
 never met, and nothing could have been less ex- 
 pected by me than the letter, written from Mrs. 
 Raverty's Hotel, Skebawn, in which he told me he 
 was making a tour in Ireland with Lord Waterbury, 
 to whom he was private secretary. Lord Water- 
 bury was at present having a few days' fishing 
 near Killarney, and he himself, not being a fisher- 
 man, was collecting statistics for his chief on 
 various points connected with the Liquor Ques- 
 tion in Ireland. He had heard that I was in 
 the neighbourhood, and .was kind enough to add 
 that it would give him much pleasure to meet me 
 again. 
 
 With a stir of the old enthusiasm I wrote begging 
 him to be my guest for as long as it suited him, 
 and the following afternoon he arrived at Shree- 
 lane. The stout young friend of my youth had 
 changed considerably. His important nose and 
 slightly prominent teeth remained, but his wavy
 
 Li sheen 'Races, Second-Hand 99 
 
 hair had withdrawn intellectually from his temples ; 
 his eyes had acquired a statesmanlike absence of 
 expression, and his neck had grown long and bird- 
 like. It was his first visit to Ireland, as he lost 
 no time in telling me, and he and his chief had 
 already collected much valuable information on 
 the subject to which they had dedicated the 
 Easter recess. He further informed me that he 
 thought of popularising the subject in a novel, and 
 therefore intended to, as he put it, "master the 
 brogue " before his return. 
 
 During the next few days I did my best for Leigh 
 Kelway. I turned him loose on Father Scan Ian ; 
 I showed him Mohona, our champion village, that 
 boasts fifteen public-houses out of twenty buildings 
 of sorts and a railway station ; I took him to hear 
 the prosecution of a publican for selling drink 
 on a Sunday, which gave him an opportunity of 
 studying perjury as a fine art, and of hearing a 
 lady, oh whom police suspicion justly rested, pro- 
 foundly summed up by the sergeant as " a woman 
 who had th' appairance of having knocked at a 
 back door." 
 
 The net result of these experiences has not yet 
 been given to the world by Leigh Kelway. For 
 my own part, I had at the end of three days arrived 
 at the conclusion that his society, when combined 
 with a note-book and a thirst for statistics, was 
 not what I used to find it at Oxford. I therefore 
 welcomed a suggestion from Mr. Flurry Knox 
 that we should accompany him to some typical 
 country races, got up by the farmers at a place
 
 ioo Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 called Lisheen, some twelve miles away. It was 
 the worst road in the district, the races of the 
 most grossly unorthodox character ; in fact, it was 
 the very place for Leigh Kelway to collect impres- 
 sions of Irish life, and in any case it was a blessed 
 opportunity of disposing of him for the day. 
 
 In my guest's attire next morning I discerned 
 an unbending from the role of cabinet minister 
 towards that of sportsman ; the outlines of the 
 note-book might be traced in his breast pocket, 
 but traversing it was the strap of a pair of field- 
 glasses, and his light grey suit was smart enough 
 for Goodwood. 
 
 Flurry was to drive us to the races at one 
 o'clock, and we walked to Tory Cottage by the 
 short cut over the hill, in the sunny beauty 
 of an April morning. Up to the present the 
 weather had kept me in a more or less apologetic 
 condition ; any one who has entertained a guest in 
 the country knows the unjust weight of responsi- 
 bility that rests on the shoulders of the host in 
 the matter of " climate, and Leigh Kelway, after 
 two drenchings, had become sarcastically resigned 
 to what I felt he regarded as my mismanagement. 
 
 Flurry took us into the house for a drink and 
 a biscuit, to keep us going, as he said, till " we 
 lifted some luncheon out of the Castle Knox 
 people at the races," and it was while we were 
 thus engaged that the first disaster of the day 
 occurred. The dining-room door was open, so 
 also was the window of the little staircase just 
 outside it, and through the window travelled
 
 Lisheen Ifaces, Second-Hand 101 
 
 sounds that tqld of the close proximity of the 
 stable-yard ; the clattering of hoofs on cobble 
 stones, and voices uplifted in loud conversation. 
 Suddenly from this region there arose a screech 
 of the laughter peculiar to kitchen flirtation, 
 followed by the clank of a bucket, the plunging 
 of a horse, and then an uproar of wheels and 
 galloping hoofs. An instant afterwards Flurry's- 
 chestnut cob, in a dogcart, dashed at full gallop 
 into view, with the reins streaming behind him,, 
 and two men in hot pursuit. Almost before I 
 had time to realise what had happened, Flurry 
 jumped through the half-opened window of the 
 dining-room like a clown at a pantomime, and 
 joined in the chase ; but the cob was resolved to 
 make the most of his chance, and went away 
 down the drive and out of sight at a pace that 
 distanced every one save the kennel terrier, who 
 sped in shrieking ecstasy beside him. 
 
 "Oh merciful hour!" exclaimed a female voice 
 behind me. Leigh Kelway and I were by this 
 time watching the progress of events from the 
 gravel, in company with the remainder of Flurry's 
 household. " The horse is desthroyed ! Wasn't 
 that the quare start he took ! And all in the 
 world I done was to slap a bucket of wather at 
 Michael out the windy, and 'twas himself got it 
 in place of Michael ! " 
 
 "Ye'll never ate another bit, Bridgie Dunnigan," 
 replied the cook, with the exulting pessimism of 
 her kind. "The Master'll have your life 1 " 
 
 Both speakers shouted at the top of their voices,
 
 102 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 probably because in spirit they still followed afar 
 the flight of the cob. 
 
 Leigh Kelway looked serious as we walked on 
 down the drive. I almost dared to hope that a 
 note on the degrading oppression of Irish retainers 
 was shaping itself. Before we reached the bend 
 of the drive the rescue party was returning with 
 the fugitive, all, with the exception of the kennel 
 terrier, looking extremely gloomy. The cob had 
 been confronted by a wooden gate, which he 
 had unhesitatingly taken in his stride, landing on 
 his head on the farther side with the gate and 
 the cart on top of him, and had arisen with a 
 lame foreleg, a cut on his nose, and several 
 other minor wounds. 
 
 "You'd think the brute had been fighting the 
 cats, with all the scratches and scrapes he has 
 on him 1 " said Flurry, casting a vengeful eye at 
 Michael, "and one shaft's broken and so is the 
 dashboard. I haven't another horse in the place ; 
 they're all out at grass, and so there's an end of 
 the races 1 " 
 
 We all three stood blankly on the hall-door 
 steps and watched the wreck of the trap being 
 trundled up the avenue. 
 
 " I'm very sorry you're done out of your sport," 
 said Flurry to Leigh Kelway, in tones of deplorable 
 sincerity ; " perhaps, as there's nothing else to 
 do, you'd like to see the hounds ? " 
 
 I felt for Flurry, but of the two I felt more for 
 Leigh Kelway as he accepted this alleviation. He 
 disliked dogs, and held the newest views on
 
 Lisheen Ifaces, Second-Hand 103 
 
 sanitation, and 4 knew what Flurry's kennels 
 could smell like. I was lighting a precautionary 
 cigarette, when we caught sight of an old man 
 riding up the drive. Flurry stopped short. 
 
 " Hold on a minute," he said ; " here's an old 
 chap that often brings me horses for the kennels ; 
 I must see what he wants." 
 
 The man dismounted and approached Mr. Knox, 
 hat in hand, towing after him a gaunt and ancient 
 black mare with a big knee. 
 
 " Well, Barrett," began Flurry, surveying the 
 mare with his hands in his pockets, " I'm not giving 
 the hounds meat this month, or only very little." 
 
 "Ah, Master Flurry," answered Barrett, "it's 
 you that's pleasant 1 Is it give the like o' this 
 one for the dogs to ate ! She's a vallyble strong 
 young mare, no more than shixteen years of age, 
 and ye'd sooner be lookin' at her goin' under a 
 side-car than eatin' your dinner." 
 
 "There isn't as much meat on her as 'd fatten 
 a jackdaw," said Flurry, clinking the silver in his 
 pockets as he searched for a matchbox. " What 
 are you asking for her ? " 
 
 The old man drew cautiously up to him. 
 
 "Master Flurry," he said solemnly, "I'll sell her 
 to your honour for five pounds, and she'll be worth 
 ten after you give her a month's grass." 
 
 Flurry lit his cigarette ; then he said impertur- 
 bably, " I'll give you seven shillings for her." 
 
 Old Barrett put on his hat in silence, and in 
 silence buttoned his coat and took hold of the 
 stirrup leather. Flurry remained immovable.
 
 IO4 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " Master Flurry," said old Barrett suddenly, with 
 tears in his voice, "you must-make it eight, sir ! " 
 
 " Michael ! " called out Flurry with apparent 
 irrelevance, "run up to your father's and ask him 
 would he lend me a loan of his side-car." 
 
 Half-an-hour later we were, improbable as it 
 may seem, on our way to Lisheen races. We 
 were seated upon an outside-car of immemorial 
 age, whose joints seemed to open and close again 
 as it swung in and out of the ruts; whose tattered 
 cushions stank of rats and mildew, whose wheels 
 staggered and rocked like the legs of a drunken 
 man. Between the shafts jogged the latest addi- 
 tion to the kennel larder, the eight-shilling mare. 
 Flurry sat on one side, and kept her going at a 
 rate of not less than four miles an hour ; Leigh 
 Kelway and I held on to the other. 
 
 "She'll get us as far as Lynch's anyway," said 
 Flurry, abandoning his first contention that she 
 could do the whole distance, as he pulled her on 
 to her legs after her fifteenth stumble, "and he'll 
 lend us some sort of a horse, if it was only a 
 mule." 
 
 " Do you notice that these cushions are very 
 damp ? " said Leigh Kelway to me, in a hollow 
 undertone. 
 
 " Small blame to them if they are ! " replied 
 Flurry. " I've no doubt but they were out under 
 the rain all day yesterday at Mrs. Hurly's funeral." 
 
 Leigh Kelway made no reply, but he took his 
 note-book out of his pocket and sat on it. 
 
 We arrived at Lynch's at a little past three, and
 
 Lisheen *I(aces^ Second-Hand 105 
 
 were there confronted by the next disappointment 
 of this disastrous day. The door of Lynch's farm- 
 house was locked, and nothing replied to our 
 knocking except a puppy, who barked hysterically 
 from within. 
 
 " All gone to the races/' said Flurry philosophi- 
 cally, picking his way round the manure heap. 
 " No matter, here's the filly in the shed here. I 
 know he's had her under a car." 
 
 An agitating ten minutes ensued, during which 
 Leigh Kelway and I got the eight-shilling mare 
 out of the shafts and the harness, and Flurry, with 
 our inefficient help, crammed the young mare into 
 them. As Flurry had stated that she had been 
 driven before, I was bound to believe him, but the 
 difficulty of getting the bit into her mouth was 
 remarkable, and so also was the crab-like manner 
 in which she sidled out of the yard, with Flurry 
 and myself at her head, and Leigh Kelway hanging 
 on to the back of the car to keep it from jamming 
 in the gateway. 
 
 " Sit up on the car now," said Flurry when we 
 got out on to the road ; " I'll lead her on a bit. 
 She's been ploughed anyway ; one side of her 
 mouth's as tough as a gad ! " 
 
 Leigh Kelway threw away the wisp of grass with 
 which he had been cleaning his hands, and mopped 
 his intellectual forehead ; he was very silent. We 
 both mounted the car, and Flurry, with the reins 
 in his hand, walked beside the filly, who, with her 
 tail clasped in, moved onward in a succession of 
 short jerks.
 
 io6 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " Oh, she's all right ! " said Flurry, beginning to 
 run, and dragging the filly into a trot ; " once she 
 gets started" Here the filly spied a pig in a 
 neighbouring .field, and despite the fact that she 
 had probably eaten out of the same trough with it, 
 she gave a violent side spring, and broke into a 
 gallop. 
 
 " Now we're off ! " shouted Flurry, making a 
 jump at the car and clambering on ; " if the traces 
 hold we'll do ! " 
 
 The English language is powerless to suggest the 
 view-halloo with which Mr. Knox ended his speech, 
 or to do more than indicate the rigid anxiety of 
 Leigh Kelway's face as he regained his balance 
 after the preliminary jerk, and clutched the back 
 rail. It must be said for Lynch's filly that she did 
 not kick ; she merely fled, like a dog with a kettle 
 tied to its tail, from the pursuing rattle and jingle 
 behind her, with the shafts buffeting her dusty 
 sides as the car swung to and fro. Whenever she 
 showed any signs of slackening, Flurry loosed 
 another yell at her that renewed her panic, and 
 thus we precariously covered another two or three 
 miles of our journey. 
 
 Had it not been fdr a large stone lying on the 
 road, and had the filly not chosen to swerve so 
 as to bring the wheel on top of it, I dare say we 
 might have got to the races ; but by an unfortu- 
 nate coincidence both these things occurred, and 
 when we recovered from the consequent shock, 
 the tire of one of the wheels had come off, and 
 was trundling with cumbrous gaiety into the ditch.
 
 Lis/ieen ^Races^ Second-Hand 107 
 
 Flurry stopped the filly and began to laugh ; Leigh 
 Kelway said something startlingly unparliamentary 
 under his breath. 
 
 "Well, it might be worse/' Flurry said con- 
 solingly as he lifted the tire on to the car ; " we're 
 not half a mile from a forge." 
 
 We walked that half-mile in funereal procession 
 behind the car ; the glory had departed from the 
 weather, and an ugly wall of cloud was rising up 
 out of the west to meet the sun ; the hills had 
 darkened and lost colour, and the white bog cotton 
 shivered in a cold wind that smelt of rain. 
 
 By a miracle the smith was not at the races, 
 owing, as he explained, to his having " the tooth- 
 aches," the two facts combined producing in him 
 a morosity only equalled by that of Leigh Kelway. 
 The smith's sole comment on the situation was 
 to unharness the filly, and drag her into the forge, 
 where he tied her up. He then proceeded to 
 whistle viciously on his fingers in the direction of 
 a cottage, and to command, in tones of thunder, 
 some unseen creature to bring over a couple of 
 baskets of turf. The turf arrived in process of 
 time, on a woman's back, and was arranged in a 
 circle in a yard at the back of the forge. The tire 
 was bedded in it, and the turf was with difficulty 
 kindled at different points. 
 
 "Ye'll not get to the races this day," said the 
 smith, yielding to a sardonic satisfaction ; " the 
 turf's wet, and I haven't one to do a hand's turn 
 for me." He laid the wheel on the ground and 
 lit his pipe.
 
 io8 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Leigh Kelway looked pallidly about him over 
 the spacious empty landscape of brown mountain 
 slopes patched with golden furze and seamed with 
 grey walls ; I wondered if he were as hungry as 
 I. We sat on stones opposite the smouldering 
 ring of turf and smoked, and Flurry beguiled the 
 smith into grim and calumnious confidences about 
 every horse in the country. After about an hour, 
 during which the turf "went out three times, and 
 the weather became more and more threatening, 
 a girl with a red petticoat over her head appeared 
 at the gate of the yard, and said to the smith : 
 
 " The horse is gone away from ye." 
 
 " Where ? " exclaimed Flurry, springing to his 
 feet. 
 
 " I met him walking wesht the road there below, 
 and when I thought to turn him he commenced to 
 gallop." 
 
 " Pulled her head out of the headstall," said 
 Flurry, after a rapid survey of the forge. " She's 
 near home by now." 
 
 It was at this moment that the rain began ; the 
 situation could scarcely have been better stage- 
 managed. After reviewing the position, Flurry and 
 I decided that the only thing to do was to walk 
 to a public-house a couple .of miles farther on, feed 
 there if possible, hire a car, and go home. 
 
 It was an uphill walk, with mild generous rain- 
 drops striking thicker and thicker on our faces ; 
 no one talked, and the grey clouds crowded up 
 from behind the hills like billows of steam. Leigh 
 Kelway bore it all with egregious resignation. I
 
 Lisheen <r ^aces^ Second-Hand 109 
 
 cannot pretend that I was at heart sympathetic, 
 but by virtue of being his host I felt responsible 
 for the breakdown, for his light suit, for everything, 
 and divined his sentiment of horror at the first sight 
 of the public-house. 
 
 It was a long, low cottage, with a line of dripping 
 elm-trees overshadowing it ; empty cars and carts 
 round its door, and a babel from within made it 
 evident that the racegoers were pursuing a gradual 
 homeward route. The shop was crammed with 
 steaming countrymen, whose loud brawling voices, 
 all talking together, roused my English friend to 
 his first remark since we had left the forge. 
 
 "Surely, Yeates, we are not going into that 
 place?" he said severely; "those men are all 
 drunk." 
 
 "Ah, nothing to signify 1" said Flurry, plunging 
 in and driving his way through the throng like a- 
 plough. " Here, Mary Kate ! " he called to the 
 girl behind the counter, " fell your mother we want 
 some tea and bread and butter in the room inside." 
 
 The smell of bad tobacco and spilt porter was 
 choking ; we worked our way through it after him 
 towards the end of the shop, intersecting at every 
 hand discussions about the races. 
 
 "Tom was very nice. He spared his horse all 
 along, and then he put into him " "Well, at 
 Goggin's corner the third horse was before the 
 second, but he was goin' wake in himself." " I 
 tell ye the mare had the hind leg fasht in the fore." 
 "Clancy was dipping in the saddle." "Twas a 
 dam nice race whatever "
 
 no Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 We gained the inner room at last, a cheerless 
 apartment, adorned with sacred pictures, a sewing- 
 machine, and an array of supplementary tumblers 
 and wineglasses ; but, at all events, we had it so 
 far to ourselves. At intervals during the next half- 
 hour Mary Kate burst in with cups and plates, 
 cast them on the table and disappeared, but of 
 food there was no sign. After a further period 
 of starvation and of listening to the noise in the 
 shop, Flurry made a sortie, and, after lengthy and 
 unknown adventures, reappeared carrying a huge 
 brown teapot, and driving before him Mary Kate 
 with the remainder of the repast. The bread tasted 
 of mice, the butter of turf-smoke, the tea of brown 
 paper, but we had got past the critical stage. I 
 had entered upon my third round of bread and 
 butter when the door was flung open, and my 
 valued acquaintance, Slipper, slightly advanced in 
 liquor, presented himself to our gaze. His bandy 
 legs sprawled consequentially, his nose was redder 
 than a coal of fire, his prominent eyes rolled 
 crookedly upon us, and his left hand swept behind 
 him the attempt of Mary Kate to frustrate his 
 entrance. 
 
 " Good-evening to my vinerable friend, Mr. Flurry 
 Knox ! " he began, in the voice of a town crier, 
 "and to the Honourable Major Yeates, and the 
 English gintleman ! " 
 
 This impressive opening immediately attracted 
 an audience from the shop, and the doorway filled 
 with grinning faces as Slipper advanced farther 
 into the room.
 
 Lisheen 'Races, Second-Hand in 
 
 "Why weren't ye at the races, Mr. Flurry?" he 
 went on, his roving eye taking a grip of us all ai 
 the same time ; " sure the Miss Bennetts and all 
 the ladies was asking where were ye." 
 
 " It'd take some time to tell them that," said 
 Flurry, with his mouth full ; " but what about the 
 races, Slipper ? Had you good sport ? " 
 
 " Sport is it ? Divil so pleasant an afternoon 
 ever you seen," replied Slipper. He leaned against 
 a side table, and all the glasses on it jingled. " Does 
 your honour know O'Driscoll?" he went on irre- 
 levantly. " Sure you do. He was in your honour's 
 stable. It's what we were all sayin' ; it was a great 
 pity your honour was not there, for the likin' you 
 had to Driscoll." 
 
 " That's thrue," said a voice at the door. 
 
 "There wasn't one in the Barony but was 
 gethered in it, through and fro," continued > Slipper, 
 with a quelling glance at the interrupter ; " and 
 there was tints for sellin' porthef, and whisky as 
 pliable as new milk, and boys goin' round the 
 tints outside, feeling for heads with the big ends 
 of their blackthorns, and all kinds of recreations,, 
 and the Sons of Liberty's piffler and dhrum band 
 from Skebawn ; though faith ! there was more of 
 thim runnin' to look at the races than what was 
 playin' in it ; not to mintion different occasions 
 that the bandmasther was atin' his lunch within in 
 the whisky tint." 
 
 " But what about Driscoll ? " said Flurry. 
 
 " Sure it's about him I'm tellin' ye," replied 
 Slipper, with the practised orator's w T atchful eye
 
 ii2 Some Experiences of an Irish ^.M. 
 
 on his growing audience. " 'Twas within in the 
 same whisky tint meself was, with the bandmasther 
 and a few of the lads, an' we buyin' a ha'porth o' 
 crackers, when I seen me brave Driscoll landin' 
 into the tint, and a pair o' thim long boots on 
 him ; him that hadn't a shoe nor a stocking to 
 his foot when your honour had him picking grass 
 out o' the stones behind in your yard. 'Well,' 
 says I to meself, ' we'll knock some spoort out of 
 Driscoll ! ' 
 
 " ' Come here to me, acushla 1 ' says I to him ; 
 ' I suppose it's some way wake in the legs y'are/ 
 says I, 'an' the docthor put them on ye the way 
 the people wouldn't thrample ye ! ' 
 
 " ' May the divil choke ye ! ' says he, pleasant 
 enough, but I knew by the blush he had he was 
 vexed. 
 
 " ' Then I suppose 'tis a left-tenant colonel y'are,' 
 says I ; ' yer mother must be proud out o' ye 1 ' 
 says I, ' an' maybe ye'll lend her a loan o' thim 
 waders when she's rinsin' yer bauneen in the river!' 
 says I. 
 
 " ' There'll be work out o' this ! ' says he, lookin' 
 at me both sour and bitther. 
 
 "'Well indeed, I was thinkin' you were blue 
 moulded for want of a batin',' says I. He was 
 for fightin' us then, but afther we had him paci- 
 ficated with about a quarther of a naggin o' sperrits, 
 he told us he was goin' ridin' in a race. 
 
 "'An' what'll ye ride ?' says I. 
 
 " ' Owld Bocock's mare,' says he. 
 
 "'Knipes!' says I, sayin' a great curse; 'is it
 
 Lisheen '^aces^ Second-Hand 113 
 
 that little staggeen from the mountains ; sure she's 
 somethin' about the one age with meself,' says I. 
 ' Many's the time Jamesy Geoghegan and meself 
 used to be dhrivin' her to Macroom with pigs an' 
 all soorts/ says I ; ' an' is it leppin' stone walls ye 
 want her to go now ? ' 
 
 "'Faith, there's walls and every vari'ty of ob- 
 stackle in it/ says he. 
 
 " ' It'll be the best o' your play, so,' says I, ' to 
 leg it away home out o' this.' 
 
 " ' An' who'll ride her, so ? ' says he. 
 
 "' Let the divil ride her,' says I." 
 
 Leigh Kelway, who had been leaning back 
 seemingly half asleep, obeyed the hypnotism of 
 Slipper's gaze, and opened his eyes. 
 
 " That w r as now all the conversation that passed 
 between himself and meself," resumed Slipper, 
 "and there was no great delay afther that till 
 they said there was a race startin' and the 
 dickens a one at all was goin' to ride only 
 two, Driscoll, and one Clancy. With tha.t then 
 I seen Mr. Kinahane, the Petty Sessions clerk, 
 goin' round clearin' the coorse, an' I gethered 
 a few o' the neighbours, an' we walked the fields 
 hither and over till we seen the most of th' 
 obstackles. 
 
 " ' Stand aisy now by the plantation,' says I ; ' if 
 they get to come as far as this, believe me ye'll see 
 spoort/ says I, 'an' 'twill be a convanient spot co 
 encourage the mare if she's anyway wake in her- 
 self,' says I, cuttin' somethin' about five foot of an 
 ash sapling out o' the plantation. 
 
 H
 
 ii4 S me Experiences of an Irish ^.M. 
 
 " ' That's yer sort ! ' says owld Bocock, that was 
 thravellin' the racecoorse, peggin' a bit o' paper 
 down with a thorn in front of every lep, the 
 
 " ' LET THE DIV1L RIDE HER,' SAYS I " 
 
 way Driscoll 'd know the handiest place to face 
 her at it. 
 
 "Well, I hadn't barely thrimmed the ash plant"
 
 Lishecn < 3$aces, Second-Hand ^115 
 
 " Have you any jam, Mary Kate ? " interrupted 
 Flurry, whose meal had been in no way interfered 
 with by either the story or the highly-scented 
 crowd who had come to listen to it. 
 
 MR. KINAHANE, THE PETTY SESSIONS CLERK, COIN* ROUN'D 
 CLEARIN' THE COORSE 
 
 "We have no jam, only thraycle, sir," replied 
 the invisible Mary Kate. 
 
 " I hadn't the switch barely thrimmed," repeated 
 Slipper firmly, " when I heard the people screechin', 
 an' I seen Driscoll an' Clancy comin' on, leppin* 
 all before them, an' owld Bocock's mare bellusin* 
 an' powdherin' along, an' bedad ! whatever
 
 n6 Some 'Experiences of an Irish 
 
 stackle wouldn't throw her down, faith, she'd throw 
 it down, an' there's the thraffic they had in it. 
 
 " ' I declare to me sowl/ says I, ' if they continue 
 on this way there's a great chance some one o' 
 thim '11 win/ says I. 
 
 " ' Ye lie ! ' says the bandmasther, bein' a thrifle 
 fulsome after his luncheon. 
 
 " ' I do not/ says I, ' in regard of seein' how 
 soople them two boys is. Ye might observe/ says 
 
 "WHATEVER OBSTACKLE WOULDN'T THROW HER DOWN, 
 FAITH, SHE'D THROW IT DOWN" 
 
 I, ' that if they have no convanient way to sit on 
 the saddle, they'll ride the neck o' the horse till 
 such time as they gets an occasion to lave it/ 
 says I. 
 
 " ' Arrah, shut yer mouth 1 ' says the bandmasther ; 
 'they're puckin' out this way now, an' may the 
 divil admire me 1 ' says he, ' but Clancy has the 
 other bet out, and the divil such leatherin' and
 
 Lisheen %$aces, Second-Hand 117 
 
 beltin' of owld Bocock's mare ever you seen as 
 what's in it ! ' says he. 
 
 "Well, when I seen them comin' to me, and 
 Driscoll about the length of the plantation behind 
 Clancy, I let a couple of bawls. 
 
 "'Skelp her, ye big brute!' says I. /What 
 good's in ye that 
 ye aren't able to 
 skelp her ? ' " 
 
 The yell and the 
 histrionic flourish 
 of -his stick with 
 which Slipper de- 
 livered this inci- 
 dent brought 
 down the house. 
 Leigh Kelway 
 was sufficiently 
 moved to ask me 
 in an undertone 
 if " skelp " was a 
 local term. 
 
 "Well, Mr. 
 Flurry, and gin- 
 tlemen," recom- 
 menced Slipper, 
 
 " I declare to ye when owld Bocock's mare heard 
 thim roars she sthretched out her neck like a 
 gandher, and when she passed me out she give a 
 couple of grunts, and looked at me as ugly as a 
 Christian. 
 
 " ' Hah ! ' says I, givin' her a couple o' dhraws 
 
 SKELP HER, YE BIG BRUTE ! ' SAYS I "
 
 1 1 8 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 o' th' ash plant across the butt o' the tail, the way 
 I wouldn't blind her ; t I'll make ye grunt ! ' says 
 I, ' I'll nourish ye ! ' 
 
 " I knew well she was very frightful of th' ash 
 plant since the winter Tommeen Sullivan had her 
 under a sidecar. But now, in place of havin' any 
 obligations to me, ye'd be surprised if ye heard the 
 blaspheemious expressions of that young boy that 
 was ridin' her ; and whether it was over-anxious 
 he was, turnin' around the way I'd hear him cursin',- 
 or whether it was some slither or slide came to 
 owld Bocock's mare, I dunno, but she was bet up 
 agin the last obstackle 'but two, and before ye 
 could say * Schnipes,' she was standin' on her two 
 ears beyond in th' other field I I declare to ye, 
 on the vartue of me oath, she stood that way till 
 she reconnoithered what side would Driscoll fall, 
 an' she turned about then and rolled on him as 
 cosy as if he was meadow grass ! " 
 
 Slipper stopped short ; the people in the door- 
 way groaned appreciatively ; Mary Kate murmured 
 The Lord save us ! " 
 
 " The blood was dhruv out through his nose and 
 ears," continued Slipper, with a voice that indicated 
 the cream of the narration, "and you'd hear his 
 bones crackin' on the ground ! You'd have pitied 
 the poor boy." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " said Leigh Kelway, sitting up 
 very straight in his chair. 
 
 ^ Was he hurt, Slipper ? " asked Flurry casually. 
 
 " Hurt is it ? " echoed Slipper in high scorn ; 
 "killed on the spot 1" He paused to relish the
 
 Lisheen ^aces^ Second-Hand 119 
 
 effect of the denouement on Leigh Kelway. " Oh, 
 divil so pleasant an afthernoon ever you seen ; and 
 indeed, Mr. Flurry, it's what we were all sayin', 
 it was a great pity your honour was not there for 
 the likin' you had for Driscoll." 
 
 As he spoke the last word there was an outburst 
 of singing and cheering from a car-load of people 
 who had just pulled up at the door. Flurry 
 listened, leaned back in his chair, and began to 
 laugh. 
 
 " It scarcely strikes one as a comic incident," said 
 Leigh Kelway, very coldly to me ; " in fact, it seems 
 to me that the police ought - " 
 
 " Show me Slipper ! " bawled a voice in the shop ; 
 " show me that dirty little undherlooper till I have 
 his blood ! Hadn't I the race won only for he 
 souring the mare on me ! What's that you say ? 
 I tell ye he did ! He left seven slaps on her with 
 the handle of a hay-rake - " 
 
 There was in the room in which we were sitting 
 a second door, leading to the back yard, a door 
 consecrated to the unobtrusive visits of so-called 
 "Sunday travellers." Through it Slipper faded away 
 like a dream, and, simultaneously, a tall young man, 
 with a face like a red-hot potato tied up in a 
 bandage, squeezed his way from the shop into the 
 room. 
 
 " Well, Driscoll," said Flurry, "since it wasn't the 
 teeth of the rake he left on the mare, you needn't 
 be talking 1 " 
 
 Leigh Kelway looked from one to the other with 
 a wilder expression in his eye than I had thought it
 
 120 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 capable of. I read in it a resolve to abandon 
 Ireland to her fate. 
 
 At eight o'clock we were still waiting for the car 
 that we had been assured should be ours directly it 
 returned from the races. At half-past eight we had 
 adopted the only possible course that remained, 
 and had accepted the offers of lifts on the laden 
 cars that were returning to Skebawn, and I 
 presently was gratified by the spectacle of my 
 friend Leigh Kelway wedged between a roulette 
 table and its proprietor on one side of a car, with 
 Driscoll and Slipper, mysteriously reconciled and 
 excessively drunk, seated, locked in each other's 
 arms, on the other. Flurry and I, somewhat 
 similarly placed, followed on two other cars. I 
 was scarcely surprised when I was informed that 
 the melancholy white animal in the shafts of the 
 leading car was Owld Bocock's much-enduring 
 steeplechaser. 
 
 The night was very dark and stormy, and it is 
 almost superfluous to say that no one carried 
 lamps ; .the rain poured upon us, and through wind 
 and wet Owld Bocock's mare set the pace at a rate 
 that showed she knew from bitter experience what 
 was expected from her by gentlemen who had 
 spent the evening in a jpublic-house ; behind her 
 the other two tired horses followed closely, incited 
 to emulation by shouting, singing, and a liberal 
 allowance of whip. We were a good ten miles 
 from Skebawn, and never had the road seemed so 
 long. For mile after mile the half-seen low walls 
 slid past us, with occasional plunges into caverns of
 
 Lisheen 3$aces, Second-Hand 121 
 
 darkness under trees. Sometimes from a wayside 
 cabin a dog would dash out to bark at us as we 
 rattled by ; sometimes our cavalcade swung aside 
 to pass, with yells and counter-yells, crawling carts 
 filled with other belated race-goers. 
 
 I was nearly wet through, even though I received 
 considerable shelter from a Skebawn publican, who 
 slept heavily and irrepressibly on my shoulder. 
 Driscoll, on the leading car, had struck up an' 
 approximation to the " Wearing of the Green," 
 when a wavering star appeared on the road ahead 
 of us. It grew momently larger ; it came towards 
 us apace. Flurry, on the car behind me, shouted 
 suddenly 
 
 " That's the mail car, with one of the lamps out \ 
 Tell those fellows ahead to look out ! " 
 
 But the warning fell on deaf ears. 
 
 " When laws can change the blades of grass 
 From growing as they grow " 
 
 howled five discordant voices, oblivious of the 
 towering proximity of the star. 
 
 A Bianconi mail car is nearly three times the 
 size of an ordinary outside car, and when on a 
 dark night it advances, Cyclops-like, with but one 
 eye, it is difficult for even a sober driver to 
 calculate its bulk. Above the sounds of melody 
 there arose the thunder of heavy wheels, the 
 splashing trample of three big horses, then a crash 
 and a turmoil of shouts. Our cars pulled up just 
 in time, and I tore myself from the embrace of my 
 publican to go to Leigh Kelway's assistance.
 
 122 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 The wing of the Bianconi had caught the wing 
 of the smaller car, flinging Owld Bocock's mare 
 on her side and throwing her freight headlong 
 on top of her, the heap being surmounted by 
 the roulette table. The driver of the mail car 
 unshipped his solitary lamp and turned it on the 
 disaster. I saw that Flurry had already got hold 
 of Leigh Kelway by the heels, and was dragging 
 him from under the others. He struggled up 
 hatless, muddy, and gasping, with - Driscoll hanging 
 on by his neck, still singing the " Wearing of the 
 Green." 
 
 A voice from the mail" car said incredulously, 
 "Leigh Kelway!" A spectacled face glared down 
 upon him from under the dripping spikes of an 
 umbrella. 
 
 It was the Right Honourable the Earl of Water- 
 bury, Leigh Kelway's chief, returning from his 
 fishing excursion. 
 
 Meanwhile Slipper, in the ditch, did not cease 
 to announce that " Divil so pleasant an afthernoon 
 ever ye seen as what was in it ! "
 
 VI 
 
 PHILIPPA'S FOX-HUNT 
 
 * 
 
 NO one can accuse Philippa and me of having 
 married in haste. As- a matter of fact, it 
 was but little under five years from that autumn 
 evening on the river when I had said what is called 
 in Ireland " the hard word," to the day in August 
 when I was led to the altar by my best man, and 
 was subsequently led away from it by Mrs. Sinclair 
 Yeates. About two years out of the five had been 
 spent by me at Shreelane in ceaseless warfare with 
 drains, eaveshoots, chimneys, pumps ; all those 
 fundamentals, in short, that the ingenuous and im- 
 proving tenant expects to find established as a basis 
 from which to rise to higher things. As far as 
 rising to higher things went, frequent ascents to 
 the roof to search for leaks summed up my 
 achievements ; in fact, I suffered so general a 
 shrinkage of my ideals that the triumph of making 
 the hall-^oor bell ring blinded me to the fact 
 that the rat-holes in the hall floor were nailed 
 up with pieces of tin biscuit boxes, and that 
 the casual visitor could, instead of leaving a card, 
 have easily written his name in the damp on the 
 walls. 
 
 "3
 
 124 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Philippa, however, proved adorably callous to 
 these and similar shortcomings. She regarded 
 Shreelane and its floundering, foundering menage 
 of incapables in the light of a gigantic picnic in 
 a foreign land ; she held long conversations daily 
 with Mrs. Cadogan, in 'order, as 'she informed 
 me, to acquire the language ; without any ulterior 
 domestic intention she engaged kitchen-maids be- 
 cause of the beauty of their eyes, and housemaids 
 because they had such delightfully picturesque old 
 mothers, and she declined to correct the phra- 
 seology of the parlour-maid, whose painful habit it 
 was to whisper " Do ye choose cherry or clarry ? " 
 when proffering the wine. Fast-days, perhaps, 
 afforded my wife her first insight into the sterner 
 realities of Irish housekeeping. Philippa had what 
 are known as High Church proclivities, and took 
 the matter seriously. 
 
 " I don't know how we are to manage for the 
 servants' dinner to-morrow, Sinclair," she said, 
 coming in to my office one Thursday morning ; 
 "Julia says she 'promised God this long time 
 that she wouldn't eat an egg on a fast-day,' and 
 the kitchen-maid says she won't eat herrings 
 ' without they're fried with onions,' and Mrs. 
 Cadogan says she will ' not go to them extremes 
 for servants.' -' 
 
 ".I should let Mrs. Cadogan settle the menu 
 herself," I suggested. 
 
 "I asked her to .do that," replied Philippa, 
 " and she only said she f thanked God she had 
 no appetite ! ' "
 
 Philippe? s Fox-Hunt 125 
 
 The lady of the house here fell away into 
 unseasonable laughter. 
 
 I made the demoralising suggestion that, as we 
 were going away for a couple of nights, we 
 might safely leave them to fight it out, and the 
 problem was abandoned. 
 
 Philippa had been much called on by the 
 neighbourhood in all its shades and grades, and 
 daily she arid her trousseau frocks presented 
 themselves at hall-doors of varying dimensions 
 in due ackowledgment of civilities. In Ireland, 
 it may be noted, the process known in England 
 as " summering and wintering " a newcomer 
 does not obtain ; sociability and curiosity alike 
 forbid delay. The visit to which we owed our 
 escape from the intricacies of the fast-day was 
 to the Knoxes of Castle Knox, relations in some 
 remote and tribal way of my landlord, Mr. Flurry 
 of that ilk. It involved a short journey by train, 
 and my wife's longest basket-trunk ; it also, which 
 was more serious, involved my being lent a horse 
 to go put cubbing the following morning. _ 
 
 At Castle Knox we sank into an almost forgotten 
 environment of draught-proof windows and doors, 
 of deep carpets, of silent servants instead of 
 clattering belligerents. Philippa told me after- 
 wards that it had only been by an effort that 
 she had restrained herself from snatching up the 
 train of her wedding-gown as she paced across the 
 wide hall on little Sir Valentine's arm. After three 
 weeks at Shreelane she found it difficult to remember 
 that the floor was neither damp nor dusty.
 
 126 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 I had the good fortune to be of the limited number 
 of those who got on with Lady Knox, chiefly, I 
 imagine, because I was as a worm before her, and 
 thankfully permitted her to do all the talking. 
 
 " Your wife is extremely pretty," she pronounced 
 autocratically, surveying Philippa between the 
 candle-shades ; " does she ride ? " 
 
 Lady Knox was a short square lady, with a 
 weather-beaten face, and an eye decisive from 
 long habit of taking her own line across country 
 and elsewhere. She would have made a very 
 imposing little coachman, and would have caused 
 her stable helpers to rue the day they had the 
 presumption to be born ; it struck me that Sir 
 Valentine sometimes did so. 
 
 "I'm glad you like her looks," I replied, "as 
 I fear you will find her thoroughly despicable 
 otherwise ; for one thing, she not only can't 
 ride, but^she believes that I can !" 
 
 " Oh come, you're not as bad as all that ! " 
 my hostess was good enough to say ; "I'm going 
 to put you up on Sorcerer to-morrow, and we'll 
 see you at the top of the hunt if there is one. 
 That young Knox hasn't a notion how to draw 
 these woods." 
 
 "Well, the best run we had last year out of 
 this -place was with Flurry's hounds," struck in 
 Miss Sally, sole daughter of Sir Valentine's house 
 and home, from her place half-way down the 
 table. It was not difficult to see that she and 
 her mother held different views on the subject 
 of Mr. Flurry Knox. -
 
 Philippa's Fox-Hunt 127 
 
 " I call it a criminal thing in any one's great- 
 great-grandfather to rear up a preposterous troop 
 of sons and plant them all out in his own country," 
 Lady Knox said to me with apparent irrelevance. 
 " I detest collaterals. Blood may be thicker than 
 water, but it is also a great deal nastier. In this 
 country I find that fifteenth cousins consider 
 themselves near relations if they live within twenty 
 miles of one ! " 
 
 Having before now taken in the position with 
 regard to Flurry Knox, I took care to accept 
 these remarks as generalities, and turned the 
 conversation to other themes. 
 
 " I see Mrs. Yeates is doing wonders with Mr. 
 Hamilton," said Lady Knox presently, following 
 the direction of my eyes, which had strayed away 
 to where Philippa was beaming upon her left-hand 
 neighbour, a mildewed-looking old clergyman, who 
 was delivering a long dissertation, the purport 
 of which we were happily unable to catch. 
 
 " She has always had a gift for the Church," I said. 
 
 "Not curates?" said Lady Knox, in her deep 
 voice. 
 
 I made haste to reply that it was the elders of 
 the Church who were venerated by my wife. 
 
 " Well, she has her fancy in old Eustace 
 Hamilton ; he's elderly enough ! " said Lady Knox. 
 " I wonder if she'd venerate him as much if she 
 knew that he had fought with his sister-in-law, and 
 they haven't spoken for thirty years ! though for 
 the matter of that," she added, " I think it shows 
 his good sense ! "
 
 128 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " Mrs. Knox is rather a friend of mine," I 
 ventured. 
 
 " Is she ? H'm ! Well, she's not one of mine ! " 
 replied my hostess, with her usual definiteness. 
 " I'll say one thing for her, I believe she's always 
 been a sportswoman. She's very rich, you know, 
 
 and they say she 
 only married old 
 Badger Knox to 
 save his hounds 
 from being sold 
 to pay his debts, 
 and then shs took 
 the horn from 
 him and hunted 
 them herself. Has 
 she been rude to 
 your wife yet? 
 No? Oh, well, 
 she will. It's a 
 mere, question of 
 time. She hates 
 all English people. 
 You know the 
 story they tell ,of 
 
 her ? She was coming home from London, and 
 when she was getting her ticket the man asked if 
 she had said a ticket for York. ' No, thank God, 
 Cork 1 ' says Mrs. Knox." 
 
 " Well, I rather agree with her I " said I ; " but 
 why did she fight with Mr. Hamilton ? " 
 
 " Oh, nobody knows. I don't believe they know 
 
 LADY KNOX
 
 Philippe? s Fox-Hunt 129 
 
 themselves ! Whatever it was, the old lady drives 
 five miles to Fortwilliam every Sunday, rather than 
 go to his church, just outside her own back gates," 
 Lady Knox said with a laugh like a terrier's bark. 
 " I wish I'd fought with him myself," she said ; 
 " he gives us forty minutes every Sunday." 
 
 As I struggled into my boots the following morn- 
 ing, I felt that Sir Valentine's acid confidences on 
 cub-hunting, bestowed on me at midnight, did 
 credit to his judgment. " A very moderate amuse- 
 ment, my dear Major," he had said, in his dry little 
 voice; "you should stick to shooting. No one 
 expects you to shoot before daybreak." 
 
 It was six o'clock as I crept downstairs, and 
 found Lady Knox and Miss Sally at breakfast, 
 with two lamps on the table, and a foggy daylight 
 oozing in from under the half-raised blinds. 
 Philippa was already in the hall, pumping up her 
 bicycle, in a state of excitement at the prospect 
 of her first experience of hunting that would have 
 been more comprehensible to me had she been 
 going to ride a strange horse, as I was. As I 
 bolted my food I saw the horses being led past 
 the windows, and a faint twang of a horn told that 
 Flurry Knox and his hounds were not far off. 
 
 Miss Sally jumped up. 
 
 " If I'm not on the Cockatoo before the hounds 
 come up, I shall never get there ! " she said, 
 hobbling out of the room in the toils of her safety 
 habit. Her small, alert face looked very childish 
 under her riding-hat ; the lamp-light struck sparks 
 out of her thick coil of golden-red hair : I wondered
 
 130 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 how I had ever thought her like her prim little 
 father. 
 
 She was already on her white cob when I got 
 to the hall-door, and Flurry Knox was riding 
 over the glistening wet grass with his hounds, 
 while his whip, Dr. Jerome Hickey, was having a 
 stirring time with the young entry and the rabbit- 
 holes. They moved on without stopping, up a 
 back avenue, under tall and dripping trees, to a 
 thick laurel covert, at some little distance from 
 the house. Into this the hounds were thrown, 
 and the usual period of fidgety inaction set in 
 for the riders, of whom, all told, there were 
 about half-a-dozen. Lady Knox, square and solid, 
 on her big, confidential iron-grey, was near me, 
 and her eyes were on me and my mount ; with 
 her rubicund face and white collar she was more 
 than ever like a coachman. 
 
 " Sorcerer looks as if he suited you well," she 
 said, after a few minutes of silence, during which 
 the hounds rustled and crackled steadily through 
 the laurels ; " he's a little high on the leg, and 
 so are you, you know, so you show each other 
 off." 
 
 Sorcerer was standing like a rock, with his good- 
 looking head in the air and his eyes fastened on 
 the covert. His manners, so far, had been those 
 of a perfect gentleman, and were in marked 
 contrast to those of Miss Sally's cob, who was 
 sidling, hopping, and snatching unappeasably at 
 his bit. Philippa had disappeared from view down 
 the avenue ahead. The fog was melting, and the
 
 Philippe? s Fox-Hunt 131 
 
 sun threw long blades of light through the trees ; 
 everything was quiet, and in the distance the 
 curtained windows of the house marked the warm 
 repose of Sir Valentine, and those of the party who 
 shared his opinion of cubbing. 
 
 " Hark ! hark to cry there 1 " 
 
 It was Flurry's voice, away at the other side of 
 the covert. The rustling and brushing through the 
 laurels became more vehement, then passed out of 
 hearing. 
 
 " He never will leave his hounds alone," said 
 Lady Knox disapprovingly. 
 
 Miss Sally and the Cockatoo moved away in a 
 series of heraldic capers towards the end of the 
 laurel plantation, and at the same moment I saw 
 Philippa on her bicycle shoot into view on the 
 drive ahead of us. 
 
 "I've seen a fox!" she screamed, white with 
 what I believe to have been personal terror, though 
 she says it was excitement ; " it passed quite close 
 to me ! " 
 
 " What way did he go ? " bellowed a voice which 
 I recognised as Dr. Hickey's, somewhere in the 
 deep of the laurels. 
 
 " Down the drive ! " returned Philippa, with a 
 pea-hen quality in her tones with which I was quite 
 unacquainted. 
 
 An electrifying screech of " Gone away ! " was 
 projected from the laurels by Dr. Hickey. 
 
 "Gone away !" chanted Flurry's horn at the top 
 of the covert. 
 
 "This is what he calls cubbing!" said Lady
 
 132 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Knox, "a mere farce!" but none the less she 
 loosed her sedate monster into a canter. 
 
 Sorcerer got his hind-legs under him, and 
 
 MISS SALLY AND THE COCKATOO MOVED AWAY 
 
 hardened his crest against the bit, as we all hustled 
 along the drive after the flying figure of my wife. 
 I knew very little about horses, but I realised that
 
 Philippas Fox-Hunt 133 
 
 even with the hounds tumbling hysterically out of 
 the covert, and the Cockatoo kicking the gravel 
 into his face, Sorcerer comported himself with the 
 manners of the best society. Up a side road I saw 
 Hurry Knox opening half of a gate and cramming 
 through it ; in a moment we also had crammed 
 through, and the turf of a pasture field was under 
 our feet. Dr. Hickey leaned forward and took 
 hold of his horse ; I did likewise, with the trifling 
 difference that my horse took hold of me, and I 
 steered for Flurry Knox with single-hearted pur- 
 pose, the hounds, already a field ahead, being 
 merely an exciting and noisy accompaniment of 
 this endeavour. A heavy stone wall was the first 
 occurrence of note. Flurry chose a place where 
 the top was loose, and his clumsy-looking brown 
 mare changed feet on the rattling stones like a 
 fairy. Sorcerer came at it, tense and collected as 
 a bow at full stretch, and sailed steeply into the 
 air ; I saw the wall far beneath me, with an un- 
 suspected ditch on the far side, and I felt my hat 
 following me at the full stretch of its guard as we 
 swept over it, then, with a long slant, we descended 
 to earth some sixteen feet from where we had left 
 it, and I was possessor of the gratifying fact that 
 I had achieved a good-sized "fly," and had not 
 perceptibly moved in my saddle. Subsequent dis- 
 illusioning experience has taught me that but few 
 horses jump like Sorcerer, so gallantly, so sympa- 
 thetically, and with such supreme mastery of the 
 subject ; but none the less the enthusiasm that he 
 imparted to me has never been extinguished, and
 
 134 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 that October morning ride revealed to me the un- 
 suspected intoxication of fox-hunting. 
 
 Behind me I heard the scrabbling of the Cocka- 
 too's little hoofs among the loose stones, and Lady 
 Knox, galloping on my left, jerked a maternal chin 
 over her shoulder to mark her daughter's progress. 
 For my part, had there been an entire circus 
 behind me, I was far too much occupied with 
 ramming on my hat and trying to hold Sorcerer, 
 to have looked round, and all my spare faculties 
 were devoted to steering for Flurry, who had taken 
 a right - handed turn, and was at that moment 
 surmounting a bank of uncertain and briary as- 
 pect. I surmounted it also, with the swiftness and 
 simplicity for which the Quaker's methods of bank 
 jumping had not prepared me, and two or three 
 fields, traversed at the same steeplechase pace, 
 brought us to a road and to an abrupt check. 
 There, suddenly, were the hounds, scrambling in 
 baffled silence down into the road from the oppo- 
 site bank, to look for the line they had overrun, 
 and there, amazingly, was Philippa, engaged in 
 excited converse with several men with spades over 
 their shoulders. 
 
 " Did ye see the fox, boys ? " shouted Flurry, 
 addressing the group. 
 
 " We did ! we did ! " cried my wife and her 
 friends in chorus ; " he ran up the road 1 " 
 
 " We'd be badly off without Mrs. Yeates ! " said 
 Flurry, as he whirled his mare round and clattered 
 up the road with a hustle of hounds after him. 
 
 It occurred to me as forcibly as any mere earthly
 
 Philippa s Fox-Hunt 135 
 
 ihing can occur to those who are wrapped in the 
 sublimities of a run, that, for a young woman who 
 had never before seen a fox out of a cage at the 
 Zoo, Philippa was taking to hunting very kindly. 
 Her cheeks were a most brilliant pink, her blue 
 eyes shone. 
 
 " Oh, Sinclair ! " she exclaimed, " they say he's 
 going for Aussolas, and there's a road I can ride all 
 the way ! " 
 
 " Ye can, Miss ! Sure we'll show you !" chorussed 
 her cortege. 
 
 Her foot was on the pedal ready to mount. 
 Decidedly my wife was in no need of assistance 
 from me. 
 
 Up the road a hound gave a yelp of discovery, 
 and flung himself over a stile into the fields ; the 
 rest of the pack went squealing and jostling after 
 him, and I followed Flurry over one of those in- 
 finitely varied erections, pleasantly termed "gaps" 
 in Ireland. On this occasion the gap was made of 
 three razor-edged slabs of slate leaning against an 
 iron bar, and Sorcerer conveyed to me his 
 thorough knowledge of the matter by a lift of his 
 hind-quarters that made me feel as if I were being 
 skilfully kicked downstairs. To what extent I 
 looked it, I cannot say, nor providentially can 
 Philippa, as she had already started. I only know 
 that undeserved good luck restored to me my 
 stirrup before Sorcerer got away with me in the 
 next field. 
 
 What followed was, I am told, a very fast fifteen 
 minutes ; for me time was not ; the empty fields
 
 136 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 rushed past uncounted, fences came and went in a 
 flash, while the wind sang in my ears, and the 
 dazzle of the early sun was in my eyes. I saw the 
 hounds occasionally, sometimes pouring over a 
 green bank, as the charging breaker lifts and flings 
 
 I FELT AS IF I WERE BEING SKILFULLY KICKED DOWNSTAIRS 
 
 itself, sometimes driving across a field, as the white 
 tongues of foam slide racing over the sand ; and 
 always ahead of me was' Flurry Knox, going as a 
 man goes who knows his country, who knows his 
 horse, and whose heart is wholly and absolutely in 
 the right place.
 
 Phllippas Fox-Hun t 137 
 
 Do what I would, Sorcerer's implacable stride 
 carried me closer and closer to the brown mare, till, 
 as I thundered down the slope of a long field, I was 
 not twenty yards behind Flurry. Sorcerer had 
 stiffened his neck to iron, and to slow him down 
 was beyond me ; but I fought his head away to 
 the right, and found myself coming hard and 
 steady at a stonefaced bank with broken ground 
 in front of it. Flurry bore away to the left, shout- 
 ing something that I did not understand. That 
 Sorcerer shortened his stride at the right moment 
 was entirely due to his own judgment ; standing 
 well away from the jump, he rose like a stag out of 
 the tussocky ground, and as he swung my twelve 
 stone six into the air the obstacle revealed itself to 
 him and me as consisting not of one bank but of 
 two, and between the two lay a deep grassy lane, 
 half choked with furze. I have often been asked 
 to state the width of the bohereen, and can only 
 reply that in my opinion it was at least eighteen 
 feet ; Flurry Knox and Dr. Hickey, who did not 
 jump it, say that it is not more than five. What 
 Sorcerer did with it I cannot say ; the sensation 
 was of a towering flight with a kick back in it, 
 a biggish drop, and a landing on cee-springs, 
 still on the downhill grade. That was how one 
 of the best horses in Ireland took one of Ire- 
 land's most ignorant riders over a very nasty 
 place. 
 
 A sombre line of fir-wood lay ahead, rimmed 
 with a grey wall, and in another couple of minutes 
 we had pulled up on the Aussolas road, and were
 
 138 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 watching the hounds struggling over the wall into 
 Aussolas demesne. 
 
 " No hurry now," said Flurry, turning in his 
 saddle to watch the Cockatoo jump into the road, 
 "he's to ground in the big earth inside. Well, 
 Major, it's well for you that's a big-jumped horse. 
 I thought you were a dead man a while ago when 
 you faced him at the bohereen ! " 
 
 I was disclaiming intention in the matter when 
 Lady Knox and the others joined us. 
 
 " I thought you told me your wife was no 
 sportswoman," she said to me, critically scanning 
 Sorcerer's legs for cuts the while, " but when I saw 
 her a minute ago she had abandoned her bicycle 
 and was running across country like " 
 
 " Look at her now ! " interrupted Miss Sally. 
 " Oh ! oh ! " In the interval between these ex- 
 clamations my incredulous eyes beheld my wife 
 in mid-air, hand in hand with a couple of stalwart 
 country boys, with whom she was leaping in unison 
 from the top of a bank on to the road. 
 
 Every one, even the saturnine Dr. Hickey, began 
 to laugh ; I rode back to Philippa, who was ex- 
 changing compliments and congratulations with 
 her escort. 
 
 " Oh, Sinclair ! " she cried, " wasn't it splendid ? 
 I saw you jumping, and everything ! Where are 
 they going now ? " 
 
 " My dear girl," I said, with marital disapproval, 
 " you're killing yourself. Where's your bicycle ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's punctured in a sort of lane, back there. 
 It's all right ; and then they " she breathlessly
 
 Philippas Fox-Hunt 139 
 
 waved her hand at her attendants "they showed 
 me the way." 
 
 " Begor ! you proved very good, Miss ! " said a 
 grinning cavalier. 
 
 " Faith she did !" said another, polishing his shin- 
 ing brow with his white flannel coat-sleeve, "she 
 lepped like a haarse ! " 
 
 " And may I ask how you propose to go home ? " 
 said I. 
 
 " I don't know and I don't care 1 I'm not going 
 home 1 " She cast an entirely disobedient eye at 
 me. "And your eye-glass is hanging down your 
 back and your tie is bulging out over your waist- 
 coat ! " 
 
 The little group of riders had begun to move 
 away. 
 
 " We're going on into Aussolas," called out 
 Flurry ; " come on, and make my grandmother 
 give you some breakfast, Mrs. Yeates ; she always 
 has it at eight o'clock." 
 
 The front gates were close at hand, and we turned 
 in under the tall beech-trees, with the unswept 
 leaves rustling round the horses' feet, and the 
 lovely blue of the October morning sky filling the 
 spaces between smooth grey branches and golden 
 leaves. The woods rang with the voices of the 
 hounds, enjoying an untrammelled rabbit hunt, 
 while the Master and the Whip, both on foot, 
 strolled along unconcernedly with their bridles over 
 their arms, making themselves agreeable to my wife, 
 an occasional touch of Flurry's horn, or a crack of 
 Dr. Hickey's whip, just indicating to the pack that
 
 140 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 the authorities still took a friendly interest in their 
 doings. 
 
 Down a grassy glade in the wood a party of old 
 Mrs. Knox's young horses suddenly swept into 
 view, headed by an old mare, who, with her tail 
 over her back, stampeded ponderously past our 
 cavalcade, shaking and swinging her handsome old 
 head, while her youthful friends bucked and kicked 
 and snapped at each other round her with the 
 ferocious humour of their kind. 
 
 " Here, Jerome, take the horn," said Flurry to 
 Dr. Hickey ; "I'm going to see Mrs. Yeates up to 
 the house, the way these tomfools won't gallop on 
 top of her." 
 
 From this point it seems to me that Philippa's 
 adventures are more worthy of record than mine, 
 and as she has favoured me with a full account 
 of them, I venture to think my version may be 
 relied on. 
 
 Mrs. Knox was already at breakfast when Philippa 
 was led, quaking, into her formidable presence. 
 My wife's acquaintance with Mrs. Knox was, so far, 
 limited to a state visit on either side, and she found 
 but little comfort in Flurry's assurances that his 
 grandmother wouldn't mind if he brought all the 
 hounds in to breakfast, coupled with the statement 
 that she would put her eyes on sticks for the 
 Major. 
 
 Whatever the truth of this may have been, Mrs. 
 Knox received her guest with an equanimity quite 
 unshaken by the fact that her boots were in the 
 fender instead of on her feet, and that a couple of
 
 Phitippa's Fox-Hun t 141 
 
 shawls of varying dimensions and degrees of age ' 
 did not conceal the inner presence of a magenta 
 flannel dressing- jacket. She installed Philippa at 
 the table and plied her with food, oblivious as 
 to whether the needful implements with which to 
 eat it were forthcoming or no. She told Flurry 
 where a vixen had reared her family, and she 
 watched him ride away, with some biting com- 
 ments on his mare's hocks screamed after him 
 from the window. 
 
 The dining-room at Aussolas Castle is one of the 
 many rooms in Ireland in which Cromwell is said 
 to have stabled his horse (and probably no one 
 would have objected less than Mrs. Knox had she 
 been consulted in the matter). Philippa questions 
 if the room had ever been tidied up since, and she 
 endorses Flurry's observation that " there wasn't a 
 day in the year you wouldn't get feeding for a hen 
 and chickens on the floor." Opposite to Philippa, 
 on a Louis Quinze chair, sat Mrs. Knox's woolly 
 dog, its suspicious little eyes peering at her out of 
 their setting of pink lids and dirty white wool. A 
 couple of young horses outside the windows tore at 
 the matted creepers on the walls, or thrust faces 
 that were half-shy, half-impudent, into the room. 
 Portly pigeons waddled to and fro on the broad 
 window-sill, sometimes flying in to perch on the 
 picture-frames, while they kept up incessantly a 
 hoarse and pompous cooing. 
 
 Animals and children are, as a rule, alike destruc- 
 tive to conversation ; but Mrs. Knox, when she 
 chose, bien eviendu, could have made herself agree-
 
 142 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 able in a Noah's ark, and Philippa has a gilt of 
 sympathetic attention that personal experience has 
 taught me to regard with distrust as well as respect, 
 while it has often made me realise the worldly 
 wisdom of Kingsley's injunction : 
 
 " Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever." 
 
 Family prayers, declaimed by Mrs. Knox with 
 alarming austerity, followed close on breakfast, 
 Philippa and a vinegar-faced henchwoman forming 
 the family. The prayers were long, and through 
 the open window as they progressed came distantly 
 a whoop or two ; the declamatory tones staggered 
 a little, and then continued at a distinctly higher 
 rate of speed. 
 
 " Ma'am ! Ma'am ! " whispered a small voice at 
 the window. 
 
 Mrs. Knox made a repressive gesture and held 
 on her way. A sudden outcry of hounds followed, 
 and the owner of the whisper, a small boy with a 
 face freckled like a turkey's egg, darted from the 
 window and dragged a donkey and bath-chair into 
 view. Philippa admits to having lost the thread of 
 the discourse, but she thinks that the "Amen " that 
 immediately ensued can hardly have come in its 
 usual place. Mrs. Knox shut the book abruptly, 
 scrambled up from her knees, and said, "They've 
 found ! " 
 
 In a surprisingly short space of time she had 
 added to her attire her boots, a fur cape, and 
 a garden hat, and was in the bath-chair, the
 
 Philippas Fox-Hunt 143 
 
 small boy stimulating the donkey with the success 
 peculiar to his class, while Philippa hung on 
 behind. 
 
 The woods of Aussolas are hilly and extensive, 
 and on that particular morning it seemed that they 
 held as many foxes as hounds. In vain was the 
 horn blown and the whips cracked, small rejoicing 
 parties of hounds, each with a fox of its own, 
 scoured to and fro : every labourer in the vicinity 
 had left his work, and was sedulously heading 
 every fox with yells that would have befitted a 
 tiger hunt, and sticks and stones when occasion 
 served. 
 
 " Will I pull out as far as the big rosydandhrum, 
 ma'am ? " inquired the small boy ; " I seen three of 
 the dogs go in it, and they yowling." 
 
 " You will/' said Mrs. Knox, thumping the 
 donkey on the back with her umbrella ; " here ! 
 Jeremiah Regan ! Come down out of that with 
 that pitchfork ! Do you want to kill the fox, you 
 fool?" 
 
 " I do not, your honour, ma'am," responded 
 Jeremiah Regan, a tall young countryman, emerging 
 from a bramble brake. 
 
 " Did you see him ? " said Mrs. Knox eagerly. 
 
 " I seen himself and his ten pups drinking 
 below at the lake ere yestherday, your honour, 
 ma'am, and he as big as a chestnut horse ! " said 
 Jeremiah. 
 
 " Faugh ! Yesterday ! " snorted Mrs. Knox ; "go 
 on to the rhododendrons, Johnny ! " 
 
 The party, reinforced by Jeremiah and the pitch-
 
 144 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 fork, progressed at a high rate of speed along the 
 shrubbery path, encountering en route Lady Knox, 
 stooping on to her horse's neck under the sweeping 
 branches of the laurels. 
 
 " Your horse is too high for my coverts, Lady 
 Knox/' said the Lady of the! Manor, with a mali- 
 cious eye at Lady Knox's flushed face and dinged 
 hat ; " I'm afraid you will be left behind like 
 Absalom when the hounds go away ! " 
 
 " As they never do anything here but hunt 
 rabbits," retorted her ladyship, " I don't think that's 
 likely." 
 
 Mrs. Knox gave her donkey another whack, and 
 passed on. 
 
 " Rabbits, my dear!" she said scornfully to' 
 Philippa. " That's all she knows about it. I 
 declare it disgusts me to see a woman of that 
 age making such a Judy of herself ! Rabbits 
 indeed 1 " 
 
 Down in the thicket of rhododendron every- 
 thing was very quiet for a time. Philippa strained 
 her eyes in vain to see any of the riders ; the 
 horn blowing and the whip cracking passed on 
 almost out of hearing. Once or twice a hound 
 worked through the rhododendrons, glanced at 
 the party, and hurried on, immersed in business. 
 All at once Johnny, the donkey - boy, whispered 
 excitedly : 
 
 " Look at he ! Look at he ! " and pointed to 
 a boulder of grey rock that stood out among the 
 dark evergreens. A big yellow cub was crouching 
 on it ; he instantly slid into the shelter of the
 
 'Philippa s Fox-Hunt 145 
 
 bushes, and the irrepressible Jeremiah, uttering 
 a rending shriek, plunged into the thicket after 
 him. Two or three hounds came rushing at the 
 sound, and after this Philippa says she finds some 
 difficulty in recalling the proper order of events ; 
 chiefly, she confesses, because of the wholly 
 ridiculous tears of excitement that blurred her 
 eyes. 
 
 " We ran," she said, " we simply tore, and 
 the donkey galloped, and as for that old Mrs. 
 Knox, she was giving cracked screams to the 
 hounds all the time, and they were screaming 
 too ; and then somehow we were all out on the 
 road 1 " 
 
 What seems to have occurred was that three 
 couple of hounds, Jeremiah Regan, and Mrs. 
 Knox's equipage, amongst them somehow hustled 
 the cub out of Aussolas demesne and up on to a 
 hill on the farther side of the road. Jeremiah was 
 sent back by his mistress to fetch Flurry, and the 
 rest of the party pursued a thrilling course along 
 the road, parallel with that of the hounds, who 
 were hunting slowly through the gorse on the 
 hillside. 
 
 " Upon my honour and word, Mrs. Yeates, 
 my dear, we have the hunt to ourselves 1 " said 
 Mrs. Knox to the panting Philippa, as they 
 pounded along the road. "Johnny, d'ye see the 
 fox ? " 
 
 " I do, ma'am ! " shrieked Johnny, who pos- 
 sessed the usual field-glass vision bestowed upon 
 his kind. " Look at him over-right us on the 
 
 K
 
 146 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 hill above ! Hi ! The spotty dog have him ! 
 No, he's gone from him 1 Gwan out o' that ! " 
 This to the donkey, with blows that sounded like 
 the beating of carpets, and produced rather more 
 dust. 
 
 They had left Aussolas some half a mile behind, 
 when, from a strip of wood on their right, the 
 fox suddenly slipped over the bank on to the road 
 just ahead of them, ran up it for a few yards and 
 whisked in at a small entrance gate, with the three 
 couple of hounds yelling on a red-hot scent, not 
 thirty yards behind. The bath-chair party whirled 
 in at their heels, Philippa and the donkey consider- 
 ably blown, Johnny scarlet through his freckles, 
 but as fresh as paint, the old lady blind and deaf 
 to all things save the chase. The hounds went 
 raging through the shrubs beside the drive, and 
 away down a grassy slope towards a shallow glen, 
 in the bottom of which ran a little stream, and after 
 them over the grass bumped the bath-chair. At 
 the stream they turned sharply and ran up the glen 
 towards the avenue, which crossed it by means of 
 a rough stone viaduct. 
 
 tl Ton me conscience, he's into the old culvert ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Knox ^ " there was one of my 
 hounds choked there once, long ago ! Beat on the 
 donkey, Johnny ! " 
 
 At this juncture Philippa's narrative again be- 
 comes incoherent, not to say breathless. She is, 
 however, positive that it was somewhere about here 
 that the upset of the bath-chair occurred, but she 
 cannot be clear as to whether she picked up the
 
 Philippa s Fox-Hun t 147 
 
 donkey or Mrs. Knox, or whether she herself was 
 picked up by Johnny while Mrs. Knox picked up 
 the donkey. From my knowledge of Mrs. Knox I 
 should say she picked up herself and no one else. 
 At all events, the next salient point is the palpitating 
 moment when Mrs. Knox, Johnny, and Philippa 
 successively applying an eye to the opening of 
 the culvert by which the stream trickled under 
 the viaduct, while five dripping hounds bayed 
 and leaped around them, discovered by more 
 senses than that of sight that the fox was in it, 
 and furthermore that one of the hounds was in 
 it too. 
 
 " There's a sthrong grating before him at the far 
 end," said Johnny, his head in at the mouth of the 
 hole, his voice sounding as if he were talking into a 
 jug, " the two of them's fighting in it ; they'll be 
 choked surely ! " 
 
 " Then don't stand gabbling there, you little fool, 
 but get in and pull the hound out ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Knox, who was balancing herself on a stone in 
 the stream. 
 
 " I'd be in dread, ma'am," whined Johnny. 
 
 " Balderdash ! " said the implacable Mrs. Knox. 
 " In with you ! " 
 
 I understand that Philippa assisted Johnny into 
 the culvert, and presume that it was in so doing 
 that she acquired the two Robinson Crusoe bare 
 footprints which decorated her jacket when I next 
 met her. 
 
 " Have you got hold of him yet, Johnny ? " 
 cried Mrs. Knox up the culvert.
 
 148 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " I have, ma'am, by the tail," responded Johnny's 
 voice, sepulchral in the depths. 
 
 " Can you stir him, Johnny ? " 
 
 " I cannot, ma'am, and the wather is rising 
 in it." 
 
 " Well, please God, they'll not open the mill 
 dam 1 " remarked Mrs. Knox philosophically to 
 Philippa, as she caught hold of Johnny's dirty 
 ankles. " Hold on to the tail, Johnny 1 " 
 
 She hauled, with, as might be expected, no 
 appreciable result. " Run, my dear, and look for 
 somebody, and we'll have that fox yet ! " 
 
 Philippa ran, whither she knew not, pursued by 
 fearful visions of bursting mill-dams, and maddened 
 foxes at bay. As she sped up the avenue she heard 
 voices, robust male voices, in a shrubbery, and 
 made for them. Advancing along an embowered 
 walk towards her was what she took for one wild 
 instant to be a funeral ; a second glance showed 
 her that it was a party of clergymen of all ages, 
 walking by twos and threes in the dappled shade 
 of the over-arching trees. Obviously she had 
 intruded her sacrilegious presence into a Clerical 
 Meeting. She acknowledges that at this awe- 
 inspiring spectacle she faltered, but the thought 
 of Johnny, the hound, and the fox, suffocat- 
 ing, possibly drowning together in the culvert, 
 nerved her. She does not remember what she 
 said or how she said it, but I fancy she 
 must have conveyed to them the impression 
 that old Mrs. Knox was being drowned, as 
 she immediately found herself heading a charge
 
 Phi/ippas Fox-Hunt 149 
 
 of the Irish Church towards the scene of 
 disaster. 
 
 Fate has not always used me well, but on this 
 occasion it was mercifully decreed that I and 
 the other members of the hunt should be privi- 
 leged to arrive in time to see my wife and her 
 rescue party precipitating themselves down the 
 glen. 
 
 " Holy Biddy ! " ejaculated Flurry, " is she running 
 a paper-chase with all the parsons ? But look ! 
 For pity's sake will you look at my grandmother 
 and my Uncle Eustace ? " 
 
 Mrs. Knox and her sworn enemy the old clergy- 
 man, whom I had met at dinner the night before, 
 were standing, apparently in the stream, tugging 
 at two bare legs that projected from a hole in 
 the viaduct, and arguing at the top of their voices. 
 The bath-chair lay on its side with the donkey 
 grazing beside it, on the bank a stout Archdeacon 
 was tendering advice, and the hounds danced and 
 howled round the entire group. 
 
 " I tell you, Eliza, you had better let the 
 Archdeacon try," thundered Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 " Then I tell you I will not ! " vociferated 
 Mrs. Knox, with a tug at the end of the 
 sentence that elicited a subterranean lament from 
 Johnny. "Now who was right about the second 
 grating ? I told you so twenty years ago ! " 
 
 Exactly as Philippa and her rescue party arrived, 
 the efforts of Mrs. Knox and her brother-in-law 
 triumphed. The struggling, sopping form of 
 Johnny was slowly drawn from the hole, drenched,
 
 150 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 speechless, but clinging to the stern of a hound, 
 who, in its turn, had its jaws fast in the hind- 
 quarters of a limp, yellow cub. 
 
 " Oh, it's dead ! " wailed Philippa, " I did think 
 I should have been in time to save it ! " 
 
 " Well, if that doesn't beat all ! " said Dr. 
 Hickey.
 
 VII 
 A MISDEAL 
 
 '""PHE wagonette slewed and slackened mysteri- 
 1 ously on the top of the long hill above 
 Drumcurran. So many remarkable things had 
 happened since we had entrusted ourselves to 
 the guidance of Mr. Bernard Shute that I rose 
 in my place and possessed myself of the brake, 
 and in so doing saw the horses with their heads 
 hard in against their chests, and their quarters 
 jammed crookedly against the splashboard, being 
 apparently tied into knots by some inexplicable 
 power. 
 
 " Some one's pulling the reins out of my hand ! " 
 exclaimed Mr. Shute. 
 
 The horses and pole were by this time making 
 an acute angle with the wagonette, and the groom 
 plunged from the box to their heads. Miss Sally 
 Knox, who was sitting beside me, looked over the 
 edge. 
 
 " Put on the brake ! the reins are twisted 
 round the axle 1 " she cried, and fell into a fit of 
 laughter. 
 
 We all that is to say, Philippa, Miss Shute, 
 Miss Knox, and I got out as speedily as might
 
 152 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 be ; but, I think, without panic ; Mr. Shute alone 
 stuck to the ship, with the horses struggling and 
 rearing below him.' The groom and I contrived 
 to back them, and by so doing caused the reins 
 to unwind themselves from the axle. 
 
 " It was my fault," said Mr. Shute, hauling them 
 in as fast as we could give them to him ; " I broke 
 the reins yesterday, and these are the phaeton 
 ones, and about six fathoms long at that, and I 
 forgot and let the slack go overboard. It's all 
 right, I won't do it again." 
 
 With this reassurance we confided ourselves 
 once more to the wagonette. 
 
 As we neared the town of Drumcurran the fact 
 that we were on our way to a horse fair became 
 alarmingly apparent. It is impossible to imagine 
 how we pursued an uninjured course through the 
 companies of horsemen, the crowded carts, the 
 squealing colts, the irresponsible led horses, and, 
 most immutable of all obstacles, the groups of 
 countrywomen, with the hoods of their heavy blue 
 cloaks over their heads. They looked like nuns 
 of some obscure order ; they were deaf and blind 
 as ramparts of sandbags ; nothing less callous to 
 human life than a Parisian cabdriver could have 
 burst a way through them. Many times during 
 that drive I had cause to be thankful for the 
 sterling qualities of Mr. Shute's brake ; with its aid 
 he dragged his over-fed bays into a crawl that 
 finally, and not without injury to the varnish, took 
 the wagonette to the Royal Hotel. Every avail- 
 able stall in the yard was by that time filled- and it
 
 A Misdeal 153 
 
 was only by virtue of the fact that the kitchenmaid 
 was nearly related to my cook that the indignant 
 groom was permitted to stable the bays in a den 
 known as the calf -house. 
 
 That I should have lent myself to such an 
 expedition was wholly due to my wife. Since 
 Philippa had taken up her residence in Ireland 
 she had discovered a taste for horses that was 
 not to be extinguished, even by an occasional 
 afternoon on the Quaker, whose paces had become 
 harder than rock in his many journeys to Petty 
 Sessions ; she had also discovered the Shutes, 
 newcomers on the outer edge of our vast visit- 
 ing district, and between them this party to Drum- 
 curran Horse Fair had been devised. Philippa 
 proposed to buy herself a hunter. Bernard Shute 
 wished to do the same, possibly two hunters, 
 money being no difficulty with this fortunate young 
 man. Miss Sally Knox was of the company, and I 
 also had been kindly invited, as to a missionary 
 meeting, to come, and bring my cheque-book. 
 The only saving clause in the affair was the fact 
 that Mr. Flurry Knox was to meet us at the scene 
 of action. 
 
 The fair was held in a couple of large fields 
 outside the town, and on the farther bank of the 
 Curranhilty River. Across a wide and glittering 
 ford, horses of all sizes and sorts were splashing, 
 and a long row of stepping-stones was hopped, and 
 staggered, and scrambled over by a ceaseless 
 variety of foot-passengers. A man with a cart 
 plied as a ferry boat, doing a heavy trade among
 
 154 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 the applewomen and vendors of "crubeens," alias 
 pigs' feet, a grisly delicacy peculiar to Irish open- 
 air holiday-making, and the July sun blazed on 
 a scene that even Miss Cecilia Shute found to 
 be almost repayment enough for the alarms of 
 the drive. 
 
 " As a rule, I am so bored by driving that I find 
 it reviving to be frightened," she said to me, as we 
 climbed to safety on a heathery ridge above the 
 fields dedicated to galloping the horses ; " but 
 when my brother scraped all those people off 
 one side of that car, and ran the pole into the 
 cart of lemonade - bottles, I began to wish for 
 courage to tell him I was going to get out and 
 walk home." 
 
 "Well, if you only knew it," said Bernard, who 
 was spreading rugs over the low furze bushes in 
 the touching belief that the prickles would not 
 come through, "the time you came nearest to 
 walking home was when the lash of the whip got 
 twisted round Nancy's tail. Miss Knox, you're an 
 authority on these things don't you think it would 
 be a good scheme to have a light anchor in the 
 trap, and when the horses began to play the fool, 
 you'd heave the anchor over the fence and bring 
 them up all standing ? " 
 
 "They wouldn't stand very long/' remarked Miss 
 Sally. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right," returned the inventor ; 
 "I'd have a dodge to cast them loose, with the 
 pole and the splinter-bar." 
 
 "You'd never see them again," responded
 
 A Misdeal 155 
 
 Miss Knox demurely, "if you thought that 
 mattered." 
 
 " It would be the brightest feature of the case," 
 said Miss Shute. 
 
 She was surveying Miss Sally through her pince- 
 nez as she spoke, and was, I have reason to 
 believe, deciding that by the end of the day her 
 brother would be well on in the first stages of his 
 fifteenth love affair. 
 
 It has possibly been suspected that Mr. Bernard 
 Shute was a sailor, had been a sailor rather, until 
 within the last year, when he had tumbled into a 
 fortune and a property, and out of the navy, in 
 the shortest time on record. His enthusiasm for 
 horses had been nourished by the hirelings of 
 Malta, and other resorts of her Majesty's ships, 
 and his knowledge of them was, so far, bounded 
 by the fact that it was more usual to come off 
 over their heads than their tails. For the rest, he 
 was a clean-shaved and personable youth, with a 
 laugh which I may, without offensive intention, 
 define as possessing a what-cheeriness special to 
 his profession, and a habit, engendered no doubt 
 by long sojourns at the Antipodes, of getting his 
 clothes in large hideous consignments from a naval 
 outfitter. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock, and the fair was in full 
 swing. Its vortex was in the centre of the field 
 below us, where a low bank of sods and earth had 
 been erected as a trial jump, with a yelling crowd 
 of men and boys at either end, acting instead of 
 the usual wings to prevent a swerve. Strings of
 
 156 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 reluctant horses were scourged over the bank by 
 dozens of willing hands, while exhortation, cheers, 
 and criticism were freely showered upon each 
 performance. 
 
 "Give the knees to the saddle, boy, and leave 
 the heels slack." "That's a nice horse. He'd 
 keep a jock on his back where another'd throw 
 him!" "Well jumped, begor ! She fled that 
 fairly !"" as an ungainly three-year-old flounced 
 over the bank without putting a hoof on it. Then 
 her owner, unloosing his pride in simile after the 
 manner of his race, 
 
 " Ah ha ! when she give a lep, man, she's that 
 free, she's like a hare for it ! " 
 
 A giggling group of country girls elbowed their 
 way past us out of the crowd of spectators, one 
 of the number inciting her fellows to hurry on to 
 the other field " until they'd see the lads galloping 
 the horses," to which another responding that 
 she'd "be skinned alive for the horses," the party 
 sped on their way. We i.e. my wife, Miss Knox, 
 Bernard Shute, and myself followed in their 
 wake, a matter by no means as easy as it looked. 
 Miss Shute had exhibited her wonted intelli- 
 gence by remaining on the hilltop with the 
 " Spectator " ; she had not reached the happy 
 point of possessing a mind ten years older than 
 her age, and a face ten years younger, without 
 also developing the gift of scenting boredom from 
 afar. We squeezed past the noses and heels of 
 fidgety horses, and circumnavigated their atten- 
 dant groups of critics, while half-trained brutes in
 
 A Misdeal 157 
 
 snaffles bolted to nowhere and back again, and 
 whinnying foals ran to and fro in search of their 
 mothers. 
 
 A moderate bank divided the upper from the 
 lower fields, and as every feasible spot in it was 
 commanded by a refusing horse, the choice of a 
 place and moment for crossing it required judg- 
 ment. I got Philippa across it in safety ; Miss 
 Knox, though as capable as any young woman 
 in Ireland of getting over a bank, either on horse- 
 back or on her own legs, had to submit to the 
 assistance of Mr. Shute, and the laws of dynamics 
 decreed that a force sufficient to raise a bower 
 anchor should hoist her seven stone odd to the 
 top of the bank with such speed that she landed 
 half on her knees and half in the arms of her 
 pioneer. A group of portentously quiet men 
 stood near, their eyes on the ground, their hands 
 in their pockets ; they were all dressed so much 
 alike that I did not at first notice that Flurry 
 Knox was among them ; when I did, I perceived 
 that his eyes, instead of being on the ground, 
 were sun-eying Mr. Shute with that measure of 
 disapproval that he habitually bestowed upon 
 strange men. 
 
 " You're later than I thought you'd be," he said. 
 " I have a horse half - bought for Mrs. Yeates. 
 It's that old mare of Bobby Bennett's ; she makes 
 a little noise, but she's a good mare, and you 
 couldn't throw her down if you tried. Bobby 
 wants thirty pounds for her, but I think you 
 might get her for less. She's in the hotel
 
 158 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 stables, and you can see her when you go to 
 lunch." 
 
 We moved on towards the rushy bank of the 
 river, and Philippa and Sally Knox seated them- 
 selves on a low rock, looking, in their white 
 frocks, as incongruous in that dingy preoccupied 
 
 assemblage as the dreamy 
 meadow-sweet and purple 
 spires of loosestrife that 
 thronged the river banks. 
 Bernard Shute had been 
 lost in the shifting maze 
 of men and horses, who 
 were, for the most part, 
 galloping with the blind 
 fury of charging bulls ; but 
 presently, among a party 
 who seemed to be riding 
 the finish of a race, we 
 descried our friend, and a 
 second or two later he 
 hauled a brown mare to 
 standstill in front of 
 
 HER GRANDSIRE WAS THE 
 MOUNTAIN HARE" 
 
 a 
 
 us. 
 
 " The f el low's asking forty- 
 five pounds for her," he 
 
 said to Miss Sally ; ." she's a nailer to gallop. I 
 don't think it's too much ? " 
 
 " Her grandsire was the Mountain Hare," said 
 the owner of the mare, hurrying up to continue 
 her family history, "and he was the grandest 
 horse in the four baronies. He was forty-two
 
 A Misdeal 159 
 
 years of age when he died, and they waked him 
 the same as ye'd wake a Christian. They had 
 whisky and porther and bread and a piper 
 in it." 
 
 " Thim Mountain Hare colts is no great things," 
 interrupted Mr. Shute's groom contemptuously. 
 " I seen a colt once that was one of his stock, 
 and if there was forty men and their wives, and 
 they after him with sticks, he wouldn't lep a sod 
 of turf." 
 
 " Lep, is it 1 " ejaculated the owner in a voice 
 shrill with outrage. "You may lead that mare 
 out through the counthry, and there isn't a 
 fence in it that she wouldn't go up to it as 
 indepindent as if she was going to her bed, and 
 your honour's ladyship knows that dam well, 
 Miss Knox." 
 
 " You want too much money for her, McCarthy," 
 returned Miss Sally, with her little air of preter- 
 natural wisdom. 
 
 " God pardon you, Miss Knox 1 Sure a lady 
 like you knows well that forty-five pounds is no 
 money for that mare. Forty-five pounds 1 " He 
 laughed. " It'd be as good for me to make her 
 a present to the gentleman all out as take three 
 farthings less for her ! She's too grand entirely 
 for a poor farmer like me, and if it wasn't for 
 the long weak family I have, I wouldn't part with 
 her under twice the money." 
 
 " Three fine lumps of daughters in America 
 paying his rent for him," commented Flurry in 
 the background. "That's the long weak family \ "
 
 1 60 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Bernard dismounted and slapped the mare's ribs 
 approvingly. 
 
 " I haven't had such a gallop since I was at 
 Rio," he said. "What do you think of her, Miss 
 Knox ? " Then, without waiting for an answer, 
 " I like her. I think I may as well give him the 
 forty-five and have done with it ! " 
 
 At these ingenuous words I saw a spasm of 
 anguish cross the countenance of McCarthy, easily 
 interpreted as the first pang of a life-long regret 
 that he had -not asked twice the money. Flurry 
 Knox put up an eyebrow and winked at me ; 
 Mr. Shute's groom turned away for very shame. 
 Sally Knox laughed with the deplorable levity of 
 nineteen. 
 
 Thus, with a brevity absolutely scandalous in 
 the eyes of all beholders, the bargain was con- 
 cluded. 
 
 Flurry strolled up to Philippa, observing an 
 elaborate remoteness from Miss Sally and Mr. 
 Shute. 
 
 " I believe I'm selling a horse here myself to- 
 day," he said ; " would you like to have a look 
 at him, Mrs. Yeates ? " 
 
 " Oh, are you selling, Knox ? " struck in Bernard, 
 to whose brain the glory of buying a horse had 
 obviously mounted like new wine ; " I want 
 another, and I know yours are the right sort." 
 
 " Well, as you seem fond of galloping," said 
 Flurry sardonically, " this one might suit you." 
 
 " You don't mean the Moonlighter ? " said Miss 
 Knox, looking fixedly at him.
 
 A Misdeal 161 
 
 " Supposing I did, have you anything to say 
 against him ? " replied Flurry. 
 
 Decidedly he was in a very bad temper. Miss 
 Sally shrugged her shoulders, and gave a little 
 shred of a laugh, but said no more. 
 
 In a comparatively secluded corner of the field 
 we came upon Moonlighter, sidling and fussing, 
 with flickering ears, his tail tightly tucked in 
 and his strong back humped in a manner that 
 boded little good. Even to my untutored eye, 
 he appeared to be an uncommonly good-looking 
 animal, a well-bred grey, with shoulders that raked 
 back as far as the eye could wish, the true Irish 
 jumping hind-quarters, and a showy head and 
 neck ; it was obvious that nothing except Michael 
 Hallahane's adroit chucks at his bridle kept him 
 from displaying his jumping powers free of charge. 
 Bernard stared at him in silence ; not the pregnant 
 and intimidating silence of the connoisseur, but 
 the tongue-tied muteness of helpless ignorance. 
 His eye for horses had most probably been 
 formed on circus posters, and the advertisements 
 of a well-known embrocation, and Moonlighter 
 approximated in colour and conduct to these 
 models. 
 
 " I can see he's a ripping fine horse," he said 
 at length ; "\I think I should like to try him." 
 
 Miss Knox changed countenance perceptibly, 
 and gave a perturbed glance at Flurry. Flurry 
 remained impenetrably unamiable. 
 
 " I don't pretend to be a judge of horses," went 
 on Mr. Shute. " I dare say I needn't teVL'you that ! " 
 
 L
 
 1 62 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 with a very engaging smile at Miss Sally ; " but I 
 like this one awfully." 
 
 As even Philippa said afterwards, she would not 
 have given herself away like that over buying a 
 reel of cotton. 
 
 "Are you quite sure that he's really the sort 
 of horse you want ? " said Miss Knox, with rather 
 more colour in her face than usual ; " he's only 
 four years old, and he's hardly a finished hunter." 
 
 The object of her philanthropy looked rather 
 puzzled. " What ! can't "he jump ? " he said. 
 
 " Is it jump ? " exclaimed Michael Hallahane, 
 unable any longer to contain himself ; " is it the 
 horse that jumped five foot of a clothes line in 
 Heffernan's yard, and not a one on his back 
 but himself, and didn't leave so much as the 
 thrack of his hoof on the quilt that was hanging 
 on it ! " 
 
 " That's about good enough," said Mr. Shute, with 
 his large friendly laugh ; " what's your price, Knox ? 
 I must have the horse that jumped the quilt ! I'd 
 like to try him, if you don't mind. "There are some 
 jolly-looking banks over there." 
 
 " My price is a hundred sovereigns," said Flurry; 
 " you can try him if you like." 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " cried Sally impulsively ; but Ber- 
 nard's foot was already in the stirrup. " I call it 
 disgraceful ! " I heard her say in a low voice to her 
 kinsman " you know he can't ride." 
 
 The kinsman permitted himself a malign smile. 
 " That's his look-out," he said. 
 
 Perhaps the unexpected docility with which
 
 A Misdeal 163 
 
 Moonlighter allowed himself to be manoeuvred 
 through the crowd was due to Bernard's thirteen 
 stone ; at all events, his progress through a gate 
 into the next field was unexceptionable. Bernard, 
 however, had no idea of encouraging this tran- 
 quillity. He had come out to gallop, and with- 
 out further ceremony he drove his 'heels into 
 Moonlighter's side, and took the consequences 
 in the shape of a very fine and able buck. 
 How he remained within even visiting distance 
 of the saddle it is impossible to explain ; perhaps 
 his early experience in the rigging stood him 
 in good stead in the matter of hanging on 
 by his hands ; but, however preserved, he did 
 remain, and went away down the field at what 
 he himself subsequently described as " the rate of 
 knots." 
 
 Flurry flung away his cigarette and ran to a 
 point of better observation. We all ran, including 
 Michael Hallahane and various onlookers, and 
 were in time to see Mr. Shute charging the least 
 advantageous spot in a hollow-faced furzy bank. 
 Nothing but the grey horse's extreme activity got 
 the pair safely over ; he jumped it on a slant, 
 changed feet in the heart of a furze-bush, and was 
 lost to view. In what relative positions Bernard 
 and his steed alighted was to us a matter of con- 
 jecture ; when we caught sight of them again, 
 Moonlighter was running away, with his rider still 
 on his back, while the slope of the ground lent 
 wings to his flight. 
 
 " That young gentleman will be apt to be killed,"
 
 1 64 Some "Experiences of an Irish 
 
 said Michael Hallahane with composure, not to say 
 enjoyment. ' < 
 
 " He'll be into' the long bog with him pretty 
 soon/' said Flurry, his keen eye tracking the 
 fugitive. 
 
 " Oh ! I thought he was off that time ! " ex- 
 claimed Miss Sally, with a gasp in which consterna- 
 tion and amusement were blended. " There ! He 
 is into the bog ! " 
 
 It did not take us long to arrive at the scene 
 of disaster, to which, as to a dog-fight, other 
 foot-runners were already hurrying, and on our 
 arrival we found things looking remarkably un- 
 pleasant for Mr. Shute and Moonlighter. The 
 latter was sunk to his withers in the sheet of 
 black slime into which he had stampeded ; the 
 former, submerged to the waist three yards further 
 away in the bog, was trying to drag himself to- 
 wards firm ground by the aid of tussocks of wiry 
 grass. 
 
 " Hit him 1 " shouted Flurry. Hit him ! he'll 
 sink if he stops there ! " 
 
 Mr. Shute turned on his adviser a face stream- 
 ing with black mud, out of which his brown eyes 
 and white teeth gleamed with undaunted cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 " All jolly fine," he called back ; " if I let go this 
 grass I'll sink too ! " 
 
 A shout of laughter from the male portion of the 
 spectators sympathetically greeted this announce- 
 ment, and a dozen equally futile methods of escape 
 were suggested. Among those who had joined
 
 A Misdeal 165 
 
 us was, fortunately, one of the many boys who 
 pervaded the fair selling halters, and, by means of 
 several of these knotted together, a line of com- 
 munication was established. Moonlighter, who had 
 fallen into the state of inane stupor in which 
 horses in his plight so often indulge, was roused 
 to activity by showers of stones and impreca- 
 tions but faintly chastened by . the presence of 
 ladies. Bernard, hanging on to his tail, belaboured 
 him with a cane, and, finally, the reins proving 
 good, the task of towing the victims ashore was 
 achieved. 
 
 "He's" mine, Knox, you know," were Mr. Shute's 
 first words as he scrambled to his* feet ; " he's the 
 best horse I ever got across worth twice the 
 money ! " 
 
 " Faith, he's aisy plased ! " remarked a bystander. 
 
 "Oh, do go and borrow some dry clothes," 
 interposed Philippa practically ; " surely there 
 must be some one " 
 
 "There's a shop in the town where he can 
 strip a peg for 135. 9^.," said Flurry grimly; "I 
 wouldn't care myself a'bout the clothes you'd 
 borrow here ! " 
 
 The morning sun shone jovially upon Moon- 
 lighter and his rider, caking momently the black 
 bog stuff with which both were coated, and as 
 the group disintegrated, and we turned to go back, 
 every man present was pleasurably aware that 
 the buttons of Mr. Shute's riding breeches had 
 burst at the knee, causing a large triangular hiatus 
 above his gaiter.
 
 1 66 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 "Well," said Flurry conclusively to me as we 
 retraced our steps, " I always thought the fellow 
 was a fool, but I never thought he was such a 
 damned fool." 
 
 It seemed an interminable time since breakfast 
 when our party, somewhat shattered by the stirring 
 events of the morning, found itself gathered in 
 an upstairs room at the Royal Hotel, waiting for 
 a meal that had been ordained some two hours 
 before. The air was charged with the mingled 
 odours of boiling cabbage and frying mutton ; 
 we affected to speak of them with disgust, but 
 our souls yearned to them. Female ministrants, 
 with rustling skirts and pounding feet, raced along 
 the passages with trays that were never for us, 
 and opening doors released roaring gusts of 
 conversation, blended with the clatter of knives 
 and forks, and still we starved. Even the ginger- 
 coloured check suit, lately labelled " The Sandring- 
 ham. Wonderful value, 165. qd." in the window 
 of Drumcurran's leading mart, and now displayed 
 upon Mr. Shute's all too lengthy limbs, had lost 
 its power to charm. 
 
 " Oh, don't tear that bell quite out by the roots, 
 Bernard," said his sister, from the heart of a 
 lamentable yawn. " I dare say it only amuses 
 them when we ring, but it may remind them that 
 we are still alive. Major Yeates, do you or do 
 you not regret the pigs' feet-? " 
 
 " More than I can express," I said, turning from 
 the window, where I had been looking down at 
 the endless succession of horses' backs and men's
 
 A Misdeal 167 
 
 hats, moving in two opposing currents in the 
 street below. 4i I dare say if we talk about them 
 for a little we shall feel ill, and that will b'e better 
 than nothing." 
 
 At this juncture, however, a heavy-laden tray 
 thumped against the door, and our .repast was 
 borne into the room by a hot young woman in 
 creaking boots, who hoarsely explained that what 
 kept her was waiting on the potatoes, and that the 
 ould pan that was in it was playing Puck with 
 the beefsteaks. 
 
 "Well," said Miss Shute, as she began to try 
 conclusions between a blunt knife and a bullet- 
 proof mutton chop, " I have never lived in the 
 country before, but I have always been given to 
 understand that the village inn was one of its 
 chief attractions." She delicately moved the potato 
 dish so as to cover the traces of a bygone egg, 
 and her glance lingered on the flies that dragged 
 their way across a melting mound of salt butter. 
 " I like local colour, but I don't care about it on 
 the tablecloth." 
 
 "Well, I'm feeling quite anxious about Irish 
 country hotels now," said Bernard ; " they're getting 
 so civilised and respectable. After all, when you 
 go back to England no one cares a pin to hear 
 that you've been done up to the knocker. That 
 don't amuse them a bit. But all my friends are 
 as pleased as anything when I tell them of the 
 pothouse where I slept in my clothes rather than 
 face the sheets, or how, when I complained to 
 the landlady next day, she said, ' Cock ye up !
 
 1 68 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Wasn't it- his Reverence the Dean of Kilcoe had 
 them last 1 ' " 
 
 We smiled wanly ; what I chiefly felt was respect 
 for any hungry man who could jest in presence of 
 such a meal. 
 
 "All this time my hunter hasnV been bought," 
 said Philippa presently, leaning back in her chair, 
 and abandoning the unequal contest with her beef- 
 steak. " Who is Bobby Bennett ? Will his horse 
 carry a lady ?" 
 
 Sally Knox looked at me and began to laugh. 
 
 "You should ask Major Yeates about Bobby 
 Bennett," she said. 
 
 Confound Miss Sally ! It had never seemed 
 worth while to tell Philippa all" that story about 
 my doing up Miss Bobby Bennett's hair, and I 
 sank my face in my tumbler of stagnant whisky- 
 and-soda to conceal the colour that suddenly 
 adorned it. Any intelligent man will understand 
 that it was a situation calculated to amuse the 
 ungodly, but without any real fun in it. I ex- 
 plained Miss Bennett as briefly as possible, and 
 at all the more critical points Miss Sally's hazel- 
 green eyes roamed slowly and mercilessly to- 
 wards me. 
 
 " You haven't told Mrs. Yeates that she's one of 
 the greatest horse-copers in the country," she said, 
 when I had got through somehow ; " she can sell 
 you a very good horse sometimes, and a very bad 
 one too, if she gets the chance." 
 
 "No one will ever explain to me," said Miss 
 Shute, scanning us all with her dark, half-amused,
 
 A Misdeal 169 
 
 and wholly sophisticated eyes, "why horse-coping 
 is more respectable than cheating at cards. I 
 rather respect people who are able to cheat at 
 cards ; if every one did, it would make whist so 
 much more cheerful ; but there is no forgiveness 
 for dealing yourself the right card, and there is 
 no condemnation for dealing your neighbour a 
 very wrong horse ! " 
 
 " Your neighbour is supposed to be able to take 
 care of himself," said Bernard. 
 
 " Well, why doesn't that apply to card-players ? " 
 returned liis sister ; " are they all in a state of 
 helpless innocence ? " 
 
 "I'm helplessly innocent," announced Philippa, 
 "so I hope Miss Bennett won't deal me a wrong 
 horse." 
 
 "Oh, her mare is one of the right ones," said 
 Miss Sally; "she's a lovely jumper, and her 
 manners are the very best." 
 
 The door opened, and Flurry Knox put in his 
 head. "Bobby Bennett's downstairs," he said to 
 me mysteriously. 
 
 I got up, not without consciousness of Miss 
 Sally's eye, and prepared to follow him. "You'd 
 better come too, Mrs. Yeates, to keep an eye on 
 him. Don't let him give her more than thirty, 
 and if he gives that she should return him two 
 sovereigns." This last injunction was bestowed 
 in a whisper as we descended the stairs. 
 
 Miss Bennett was in the crowded yard of the 
 hotel, looking handsome and overdressed, and she 
 greeted me with just that touch of Auld Lang
 
 1 70 Some Experiences of an Irish ^. M. 
 
 Syne in her manner that I could best have dis- 
 pensed with. I turned to the business in hand 
 without delay. The brown mare was led forth 
 from ' the stable and paraded for our benefit ; 
 she was one of those inconspicuous, meritorious 
 animals about whom there seems nothing par- 
 ticular to say, and I felt her legs and looked 
 hard at her hocks, and was not much the 
 wiser. 
 
 " It's no use my saying she doesn't make a 
 noise," said Miss Bobby, "because every one in 
 the country will tell you she does., You can have 
 a vet. if you like, and that's the only fault he 
 can find with her. But if Mrs. Yeates hasn't 
 hunted before now, I'll guarantee Cruiskeen as 
 just the thing for her. She's really safe and 
 confidential. My little brother Georgie has hunted 
 her you remember Georgie, Major Yeates ?- the 
 night of the ball, you know and he's only eleven. 
 Mr. Knox can tell you what sort she is." 
 
 "Oh, she's a grand mare," said Mr. Knox, thus 
 appealed to ; " you'd hear her coming three fields 
 off like a German band ! " 
 
 "And well for you if you could keep within 
 three fiek^s of her !" retorted JVIiss Bennett. "At 
 all events, she's not like the hunter you sold Uncle, 
 that used to kick the stars as soon as I put my foot 
 in the stirrup ! " 
 
 " 'Twas the size of the foot frightened him," said 
 Flurry. 
 
 " Do you know how Uncle cured him ? " said 
 Miss Bennett, turning her back on her adversary ;
 
 A Misdeal 171 
 
 "he had him tied head and tail across the yard 
 gate, and every man that came in had to get 
 over his back 1 " 
 
 "That's no bad one !" said Flurry. 
 
 Philippa looked from one to the other in be- 
 wilderment, while the badinage continued, swift 
 and unsmiling, as became two hierarchs of horse- 
 dealing ; it went on at intervals for the next ten 
 minutes, and at the end of that time I had bought 
 the mare for thirty pounds. As Miss Bennett 
 said nothing about giving me back two of them, 
 I had not the nerve to suggest it. 
 
 After this Flurry and Miss Bennett went away, 
 and were swallowed up in the fair ; we . re- 
 turned to our friends upstairs, and began to 
 arrange about getting home. This, among 
 other difficulties, involved the tracking and 
 capture of the Shutes' groom, and took so long 
 that it necessitated tea. Bernard and I had 
 settled to ride our new purchases home, and 
 the groom was to drive the wagonette an 
 alteration ardently furthered by Miss Shute. The 
 afternoon was well advanced when Bernard and 
 I struggled through the turmoil of the hotel 
 yard in search of our horses, and, the hotel 
 hostler being nowhere to be found, the Shutes' 
 man saddled our animals for us, and then with- 
 drew, to grapple single-handed with the bays in 
 the calf-house. 
 
 "Good business for me, that Knpx is sending 
 the grey horse home for me," remarked Bernard, 
 as his new mare followed him tractably out of
 
 172 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 the stall. " He'd have been rather a handful in 
 this hole of a place." 
 
 He shoved his way out of the yard in front of 
 me, seemingly quite comfortable and at home upon 
 the descendant of the Mountain Hare, and I fol- 
 lowed as closely as drunken carmen and shafts 
 of erratic carts would permit. Cruiskeen evinced 
 a decided tendency to turn to the right on leaving 
 the yard, but she took my leftward tug in good 
 part, and we moved on through the streets of 
 Drumcurran with a dignity that was only im- 
 paired by the irrepressible determination of Mr. 
 Shute's new trousers to run up his leg. It 
 was a trifle disappointing that Cruiskeen should 
 carry her nose in the air like a camel, but I 
 set it down to my own bad hands, and to that 
 cause I also imputed her frequent desire to 
 stop, a desire that appeared to coincide with 
 every fourth or fifth public - house on the line 
 of inarch. Indeed, at the last corner before we 
 left the town, Miss Bennett's mare and I had 
 a serious difference of opinion, in the course of 
 which she mounted the pavement and remained 
 planted in front of a very disreputable public- 
 house, whose owner had been before me several 
 times for various infringements of the Licensing 
 Acts. Bernard and the corner - boys were of 
 course much pleased ; I inwardly resolved to let 
 Miss Bennett know how her groom occupied his 
 time in Drumcurran. 
 
 We got out into the calm of the country roads 
 without further incident, and I there discovered
 
 A Misdeal 
 
 that Cruiskeen was possessed of a dromedary 
 swiftness in trotting, that the action was about 
 as comfortable as the dromedary's, and that it 
 was extremely difficult to moderate the pace. 
 
 " I say 1 This is something like going ! " said 
 Bernard, cantering hard beside me with slack 
 
 SHE MOUNTED THE PAVEMENT IN FRONT OF A VERY 
 DISREPUTABLE PUBLIC-HOUSJ5 
 
 rein and every appearance of happiness. "Do 
 you mean to keep it up all the way ? " 
 
 "You'd better ask this devil," I replied, hauling 
 on the futile ring snaffle. "Miss Bennett must 
 have an arm like a prize-fighter. If this is what 
 she calls confidential, I don't want her confi- 
 dences."
 
 174 -Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 After another half-mile, during which I cursed 
 Flurry Knox, and registered a vow that Philippa 
 should ride Cruiskeen in a cavalry bit, we reached 
 the cross-roads at which Bernard's way parted 
 from mine. Another difference of opinion be- 
 tween my wife's hunter and me here took place, 
 this time on the subject of parting from our 
 companion, and I experienced that peculiar in- 
 ward sinking that accompanies the birth of the 
 conviction one has been stuck. There were still 
 some eight miles between me and home, but I 
 had at least the consolation of knowing that the 
 brown mare would easily cover it in forty minutes. 
 But in this also disappointment awaited me. 
 Dropping her head to about the level of her 
 knees, the mare subsided into a walk as slow 
 as that of the slowest cow, and very similar in 
 general style. In this manner I progressed for 
 a further mile, breathing forth, like St. Paul, 
 threatenings and slaughters against Bobby Bennett 
 and all her confederates ; and then the idea 
 occurred to me that many really first-class hunters 
 were very poor hacks. I consoled myself with 
 this for a further period, and presently an oppor- 
 tunity for testing it presented itself. The road 
 made # long loop round the flank of a hill, and 
 it was possible to save half a mile or so by get- 
 ting into the fields. It was a short cut I had 
 often taken on the Quaker, and it involved nothing 
 more serious than a couple of low stone "gaps" 
 and an infantine bank. I turned Cruiskeen at 
 the first of these. She was evidently surprised.
 
 A Misdeal 175 
 
 Being in an excessively bad temper, I beat her 
 in a way that surprised her even more, and she 
 jumped the stones precipitately and with an ease 
 that showed she knew quite well what she was 
 about. I vented some further emotion upon her 
 by the convenient medium of my cane, and gal- 
 loped her across the field and over the bank, 
 which, as they say in these parts, she " fled " 
 without putting an iron on it. It was not the 
 right way to jump it, but it was inspiriting, and 
 when she had disposed of the next gap without 
 hesitation my waning confidence in Miss Bennett 
 began to revive. I cantered over the ridge of 
 the hill, and down it towards the cottage near 
 which I was accustomed to get out on to the 
 road again. As I neared my wonted opening in 
 the fence, I saw that it had been filled by a 
 stout pole, well fixed into the bank at each end, 
 but not more than three feet high. Cruiskeen 
 pricked her ears at it with intelligence ; I trotted 
 her at it, and gave her a whack. 
 
 Ages afterwards there was some one speaking 
 on the blurred edge of a dream that I was dreaming 
 about nothing in particular. I went on dream- 
 ing, and was impressed by the shape of a fat jug, 
 mottled white and blue, that intruded itself pain- 
 fully, and I again heard voices, very urgent and full 
 of effort, but quite outside any concern of mine. 
 
 I also made an effort of some kind ; I was 
 doing my very best to be good and polite, but I 
 was dreaming in a place that whirred, and was 
 engrossing, and daylight was cold and let in some
 
 ij6 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 unknown unpleasantness. For that time the dream 
 got the better of the daylight, and then, apropos 
 of nothing, I was standing up in a Jiouse with 
 some one's arm round me; the mottled -jug was 
 there, so was the unpleasantness, and I was talking 
 with most careful, old-world politeness. 
 
 "Sit down now, you're all right," said Miss 
 Bobby Bennett, who was mopping my face with 
 a handkerchief dipped in the jug. 
 
 I perceived that I was asking what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "She fell over the stick with you," said Miss 
 Bennett; "the dirty brute!" 
 
 With another great effort I hoo'ked myself on 
 to the march of events, as a truck is dragged out of 
 a siding and hooked to a train. 
 
 " Oh, the Lord save us ! " said a grey-haired 
 woman who held the jug, " ye're desthroyed en- 
 tirely, asthore I Oh, glory be to the merciful 
 will of God, me heart lepped across me shesht 
 when I seen him undher the horse !" 
 
 "Go out and see if the trap's coming," said 
 Miss Bennett; "he should have found the doctor 
 by this." She* stared very closely at my face, 
 and seemed to find it easier to talk in short 
 sentences. 
 
 "We must get those cuts looking better before 
 Mrs. Yeates comes." 
 
 After an interval, during which unexpected places 
 in my head ached from the cold water, the 
 desire to be polite and coherent again came 
 upon me.
 
 A Misdeal 
 
 177 
 
 " I am sure it was not your mare's fault," I 
 said. ' . 
 
 Miss Bennett laughed a very little. I was glad 
 to see her laugh j it had struck me her face was 
 strangely haggard and frightened. 
 
 (t Well, of course it wasn't poor Cruiskeen's 
 
 THE GREY-HAIRED WOMAN 
 
 fault," she said. " She's nearly home with Mr. 
 Shute by now. That's why I came after you ! " 
 
 "Mr. Shute!" I said ; "wasn't he at the fair 
 that day ? " 
 
 " He was," answered Miss Bobby, looking at 
 me with very compassionate eyes ; " you and he 
 got on each other's horses by mistake at the hotel, 
 and you got the worst of the exchange 1 " 
 
 M
 
 178 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " Oh I" I said, without even trying to under- 
 stand. 
 
 " He's here within, your honour's ladyship, Mrs. 
 Yeates, ma'am," shouted the grey-haired woman 
 at the door ; " don't be unaisy, achudth ; he's 
 doing grand. Sure, I'm telling Miss Binnitt if 
 she was his wife itself, she couldn't give him 
 betther care ! " 
 
 The grey-haired woman laughed.
 
 VIII 
 THE HOLY ISLAND 
 
 FOR three days of November a white fog stood 
 motionless over the country. All day and all 
 night smothered booms and bangs away to the 
 south-west told that the Fastnet gun was hard 
 at work, and the sirens of the American liners 
 uplifted their monstrous female voices as they 
 felt their way along the coast of Cork. On the 
 third afternoon the wind began to whine about 
 the windows of Shreelane, and the barometer 
 fell like a stone. At n P.M. the storm rushed 
 upon us with the roar and the suddenness of a 
 train ; the chimneys bellowed, the tall old house 
 quivered, and the yelling wind drove against it, as 
 a man puts his shoulder against a door to burst 
 it in. 
 
 We none of us got much sleep, and if Mrs. 
 Cadogan is to be believed which experience 
 assures me she is not she spent the night^ in 
 devotional exercises, and in ministering to the 
 panic-stricken kitchen-maid by the light of a 
 Blessed candle. All that day the storm screamed 
 on, dry-eyed ; at nightfall the rain began, and 
 next morning, which happened to be Sunday,
 
 i8o Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 every servant in the house was a messenger of 
 Job, laden with tales of leakages, floods, and 
 fallen trees, and inflated with the "ill-concealed 
 glory of their kind in evil tidings. To Peter 
 Cadogan, who had been to early Mass, was 
 reserved the crowning satisfaction of reporting 
 that a big vessel had gone on the rocks at 
 Yokahn Point the evening before, and was break- 
 ing up fast ; it was rumoured that the crew had 
 got ashore, but this feature, being favourable and 
 uninteresting, was kept as much as possible in 
 the background. Mrs. Cadogan, who had been 
 to America in an ocean liner, became at once 
 the latest authority on shipwrecks, and was of 
 opinion lhat "whoever would be dhrownded, it 
 wouldn't be thim lads o' sailors. Sure wasn't 
 there the greatest storm ever was in it the time 
 meself was on the say, and what'd thim fellows 
 do but to put us below entirely in the ship, and 
 close down the doors on us, the way theirselves'd 
 leg it when we'd be dhrownding 1 " 
 
 This view of the position was so startlingly 
 novel that Philippa withdrew suddenly from the 
 task of ordering dinner, and fell up the kitchen 
 stairs in unsuitable laughter. Philippa has not 
 the most rudimentary capacity for keeping her 
 countenance. 
 
 That afternoon I was wrapped in the slumber, 
 balmiest and most profound, that follows on a 
 wet Sunday luncheon, when Murray, our D.I. 
 of police, drove up in uniform, and came into 
 the house on the top of a gust that set every
 
 The Holy Island 181 
 
 door banging and every picture dancing on the 
 walls. He looked as if his eyes had been blown 
 out of his head, and he wanted something to eat 
 very badly. 
 
 " I've been down at the wreck since ten o'clock 
 this morning," he said, " waiting for her to break 
 up, and once she does there'll be trouble. She's 
 an American ship, and she's full up with rum, 
 and bacon, and butter, and all sorts. Bosanquet 
 is there with all his coastguards,- and there are 
 five hundred country people on the strand at 
 this moment, waiting for the fun to begin. I've 
 got ten of my fellows there, and I wish I had as 
 many* more. You'd . better come back with me, 
 Yeates, we may want the Riot Act before all's 
 done ! " 
 
 The heavy rain had ceased, but it seemed as 
 if it had fed the wind instead of calming it, and 
 when Murray and I drove out of Shreelane, the 
 whole dirty sky was moving, full sailed, in from 
 the south-west, and the telegraph wires were 
 hanging in a loop from the post outside the 
 gate. Nothing except a Skebawn car-horse would 
 have faced the whooping charges of the wind 
 that came at us across Corran Lake ; stimulated 
 mysteriously by whistles from the driver, Murray's 
 yellow hireling pounded woodenly along against 
 the blast, till the smell of the torn sea-weed was 
 borne upon it, and we saw the Atlantic waves come 
 towering into the bay of Tralagough. 
 
 The ship was, or had been, a three-masted 
 barque ; two of her masts were gone, and her
 
 1 82 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 bows stood high out of water on the reef that 
 forms one of the shark-like jaws of the bay. 
 The long strand was crowded with black groups 
 of people, from the bank of heavy shingle that 
 had been hurled over on to the road, down to 
 the slope where the waves pitched themselves 
 and climbed and fought and tore the gravel back 
 with them, as though they had dug their fingers 
 in. The people were nearly all men, dressed 
 solemnly and hideously in their Sunday clothes ; 
 most of them had come straight from Mass with- 
 out any dinner, true to that Irish instinct that 
 places its fun before its food. That the wreck 
 was regarded as a spree of the largest kind was 
 sufficiently obvious. Our car pulled up at a 
 public-house that stood askew between ; the road 
 and the shingle ; it was humming with those 
 whom Irish publicans are pleased to call " Bona 
 feeds," and sundry of the same class were clustered 
 round the door. Under the wall on the lee- 
 side was seated a bagpiper, droning out " The 
 Irish Washerwoman " with nodding head and tap- 
 ping heel, and a young man was cutting a few 
 steps of a jig for the delectation of a group of 
 girls. 
 
 So far Murray's constabulary had done nothing 
 but exhibit their imposing chest measurement and 
 spotless uniforms to the Atlantic, and Bosan- 
 quet's coastguards had only salvaged some spars, 
 the debris of a boat, and a dead sheep, but their 
 time was coming. As we stumbled down over 
 the shingle, battered by the wind and pelted
 
 The Holy Island 183 
 
 by clots of foam, some one beside me shouted, 
 " She's gone ! " A hill of water had smothered 
 the wreck, and when it fell from her again nothing 
 was left but the bows, with the bowsprit hang- 
 ing from them in a tangle of rigging. The 
 clouds, bronzed by an unseen sunset, hung low 
 over her ; in that greedy pack of waves, with 
 the remorseless rocks above and below her, 
 she seemed the most lonely and tormented of 
 creatures. 
 
 About half-an-hour afterwards the cargo began 
 to come ashore on the top of the rising tide. 
 Barrels were plunging and diving in the trough 
 of the waves, like a school of porpoises j they 
 were pitched up the beach in waist-deep rushes 
 of foam ; they rolled down again, and were swung 
 up and shouldered by the next wave, playing a 
 kind of Tom Tiddler's ground with the coast- 
 guards. Some of the barrels were big and 
 dangerous, some were small and nimble like 
 young pigs, and the bluejackets were up to their 
 middles as their prey dodged and ducked, and 
 the police lined out along the beach to keep back 
 the people. Ten men of the R.I.C. can do a 
 great deal, but they cannot be in more than 
 twenty or thirty places at the same instant ; 
 therefore they could hardly cope with a scattered 
 and extremely active mob of four or five hun- 
 dred, many of whom had taken advantage of 
 their privileges as " bona-fide travellers," and 
 all of whom were determined on getting at the 
 rum.
 
 1 84 Some 'Experiences of an Irish 
 
 As the dusk fell the thing got more and more 
 out of hand ; the people had found out that the 
 big puncheons held the Turn, and had succeeded 
 in capturing one. In the twinkling of an eye 
 it was broached, and fifty backs were shov- 
 ing round it like a football scrummage. I have 
 heard many rows in my time : I have seen two 
 Irish regiments one of them Militia at each 
 other's throats in Fermoy barracks ; I have heard 
 Philippa's water spaniel and two fox-terriers hunt- 
 ing a strange cat round the dairy ; but never 
 have I known such untrammelled bedlam as that 
 which yelled round the rum-casks on Tralagough 
 strand. For it was soon not a question of one 
 broached cask, or even of two. The barrels were 
 coming in fast, so fast that it was impossible 
 for the representatives of law and order to keep 
 on any sort of terms with them. The people, 
 shouting with laughter, stove in the casks, and 
 drank rum at 34 above proof, out of their hands, 
 out. of their hats, out of their boots. Women 
 came fluttering over the hillsides through the 
 twilight, carrying jugs, milk-pails, anything that 
 would hold the liquor ; I saw one of them, roar- 
 ing* with laughter, tilt a filthy zinc bucket to an 
 old man's lips. 
 
 With the darkness came anarchy. The rising 
 tide brought more and yet' more .booty : great 
 spars came lunging in on the lap of the waves, 
 mixed up with cabin furniture, seamen's chests, 
 and the black and slippery barrels, and the country 
 people continued to flock in, and the drinking
 
 The Holy Island 185 
 
 became more and more unbridled. Murray sent 
 for more men and a doctor, and we slaved on 
 hopelessly in the dark, collaring half -drunken 
 men, shoving pig-headed casks up hills of ^hingle, 
 hustling in among groups of . roaring drinkers 
 
 OUT OF THEIR BOOTS 
 
 we rescued perhaps one barrel in half-a-dozen. 
 I began to know that there were men there who 
 were not drunk and were not idle ; I was also 
 aware, as the strenuous hours of darkness passed, 
 of an occasional rumble of cart wheels on the
 
 1 86 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 road. It was evident that the casks which were 
 broached were the least part of the looting, but 
 even they were beyond our control. The most 
 that Bosanquet, Murray, and I could do was to 
 concentrate our forces on the casks that had been 
 secured, and to organise charges upon the swil- 
 ling crowds in order to upset the casks that they 
 had broached. Already men and boys were 
 lying about, limp as leeches, motionless as the 
 dead. 
 
 "They'll kill themselves before morning, at this 
 rate ! " shouted Murray to me. " They're drinking 
 it by the quart ! Here's another barrel ; come 
 on!" 
 
 We rallied our small forces, and after a brief but 
 furious struggle succeeded in capsizing it. It 
 poured away in a flood over the stones, over the 
 prostrate figures that sprawled on them, and a 
 howl of reproach followed. 
 
 " If ye pour away any more o' that, Major," said 
 an unctuous voice in my ear, "ye'll intoxicate the 
 stones and they'll be getting up and knocking 
 us down I " 
 
 I had been aware of a fat shoulder next to mine 
 in the throng as we heaved the puncheon over, 
 and I now recognised the ponderous wit and 
 Falstaffian figure of Mr. James Canty, a noted 
 member of the Skebawn Board of Guardians, 
 and the owner of a large- farm nearat hand. 
 
 " I never saw worse work on this strand," he 
 went on. " I considher these debaucheries a 
 disgrace to the counthry."
 
 The Holy Island 187 
 
 Mr. Canty was famous a an orator, and I 
 presume that it was from long practice among 
 his fellow P.L.G.'s that he was able, without 
 apparent exertion, to out-shout the storm. 
 
 At this juncture the long-awaited reinforcements 
 arrived, and along with them came Dr. Jerome 
 Hickey, armed with a black bag. Having men- 
 
 MR. JAMES CANTY 
 
 tioned that the bag contained a pump not one 
 of the common or garden variety and that no 
 pump on board a foundering ship had more 
 arduous labours to perform, I prefer to pass to 
 other themes. The wreck, which had at first 
 appeared to be as inexhaustible and as variously 
 stocked as that in the "Swiss Family Robinson,"
 
 1 88 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 was beginning to fail in its supply. The crowd 
 were by this time for the most part incapable from 
 drink, and the fresh contingent of police tackled 
 their work with some prospect of success by the 
 light of a tar barrel, contributed by the owner 
 of the public-house. At about the same time I 
 began to be aware that I was -aching with fatigue, 
 that my clothes hung heavy and soaked upon me, 
 that my face was stiff with the salt spray and the 
 bitter wind, and that it was two hours past dinner- 
 time. The possibility of fried salt herrings and 
 hot whisky and water at the public-house rose 
 dazzlingly before my mind, when Mr. Canty again 
 crossed my path. 
 
 " In my opinion ye have the whole cargo under 
 conthrol now, Major," he said, "and the police 
 and the sailors should be able to account for it 
 all now by the help of the light. Wasn't I the 
 finished fool that I didn't think to send up to my 
 house for a tar barrel before now ! Well we're 
 all foolish sometimes 1 But indeed it's time for us 
 to give over, and that's what I'm after saying to the 
 Captain and Mr. Murray. You're exhausted now 
 the three of ye, and if I might make so bold, I'd 
 suggest that ye'd come up to my little place and 
 have what'd warm ye before ye'd go home. It's 
 only a few perches up the road." 
 
 The tide had turned, the rain had begun again, 
 and the tar barrel illumined the fact that Dr. 
 Hickey's dreadful duties alone were pressing. We 
 held a council and finally followed Mr. Canty, 
 picking our way through wreckage of all kinds,
 
 The Holy Island 189 
 
 including the human variety. Near the public- 
 house I stumbled over something that was soft and 
 had a squeak in it ; it was the piper, with his 
 head and shoulders in an overturned rum-barrel, 
 and the bagpipes still under his arm. 
 
 I knew the outward appearance of Mr. Canty's 
 house very well. It was a typical southern farm- 
 house, with dirty whitewashed walls, a slated roof, 
 and small, hermetically - sealed windows staring 
 at the morass of manure which constituted the 
 yard. We followed Mr. Canty up the filthy lane 
 that led to it, picked our way round vague and 
 squelching spurs of the manure heap,, and were 1 
 finally led through the kitchen into a stifling best 
 parlour. Mrs. Canty, a vast and slatternly matron, 
 had evidently made preparations for us ; there was 
 a newly-lighted fire pouring flame up the chimney 
 from layers of bogwood, there were whisky and 
 brandy on the table, and a plateful of biscuits 
 sugared in white and pink. Upon our hostess was 
 a black silk dress which indifferently concealed the 
 fact that she was short of boot-laces, and that 
 the boots themselves had made many excursions 
 to the yard and none to the blacking-bottle. Her 
 manners, however, were admirable, and while I 
 live I shall not forget her potato cakes. They 
 came in hot and hot from a pot-oven, they were 
 speckled with caraway seeds, they swam in salt 
 butter, and we ate them shamelessly and greasily, 
 and washed them down with hot whisky and 
 water ; I knew to a nicety how ill I should be next 
 day, and heeded not.
 
 190 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," remarked Mr. Canty later 
 on, in his best Board of Guardians' manner, " I've 
 seen many wrecks between this and the Mizen 
 Head, but I never witnessed a scene of more dis- 
 graceful ex-cess than what was in it to-night." 
 
 " Hear, hear ! " murmured Bosanquet with un- 
 seemly levity. 
 
 " I should say," went on Mr. Canty, " there was 
 at one time to-night upwards of one hundhred men 
 dead dhrunk on the strand, or anyway so dhrunk 
 that if they'd attempt to spake they'd foam at the 
 mouth." 
 
 "The crayturesi" interjected Mrs. Canty sym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 "But if they're dhrunk to-day," continued our 
 host, "it's nothing at all to what they'll be to- 
 morrow and afther to-morrow, and it won't be on 
 the strand they'll be dhrinkin' it." 
 
 "Why, where will it be ?" said Bosanquet, with 
 his disconcerting English way of asking a point - 
 blank question. 
 
 Mr. Canty passed his hand over his red cheeks. 
 
 " There'll be plenty asking that before all's said 
 and done, Captain," he said, with a compas- 
 sionate smile, "and there'll be plenty that could 
 give the answer if they'll like, but by dam I 
 don't think ye'll be apt to get much out of the 
 Yokahn boys I" 
 
 "The Lord save us, 'twould be better to keep 
 out from the likes o' thim ! " put in Mrs. Canty, , 
 sliding a fresh avalanche of potato cakes on to the 
 dish ; " didn't they pull the clothes off the gauger
 
 The Holy Island 
 
 and pour potheen down his throath till he ran 
 screeching through the streets o' Skebawn t " 
 
 James Canty chuckled. 
 
 " I remember there was a wreck here one time, 
 and the undherwriters put me in charge of the 
 cargo. Brandy it was cases of the best Frinch 
 brandy. The people had a song about it, what's 
 this the first verse was 
 
 " One night to the rocks of Yokahn 
 Came the barque Isabella so dandy, 
 To pieces she went before dawn, 
 Herself and her cargo of brandy, 
 And all met a wathery grave 
 Excepting the vessel's car/<rther, 
 Poor fellow, so far from his home." 
 
 Mr. Canty chanted these touching lines in a 
 tuneful if wheezy tenor. "Well, gentlemen, we're 
 all friends here," he continued, "and it's no harm 
 to mention that this man below at the public-house 
 came askin' me would I let him have some of it 
 for a consideration. 'Sullivan,' says I to him, 
 'if ye ran down gold in a cup in place of the 
 brandy, I wouldn't give it to you. Of coorse,' 
 says I, ' I'm not sayin' but that if a bottle was to 
 get a crack of a stick, and it to be broken, and 
 a man to drink a glass out of it, that would be 
 no more than an accident.' 'That's no good to 
 me,' says he, 'but if I had twelve gallons of that 
 brandy in Cork/ says he, ' by the Holy German 1 ' 
 says he, saying an awful curse, ' I'd sell twenty-five 
 out of it 1 ' Well, indeed, it was true for him ; it
 
 192 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 was grand 'stuff. As the saying is, it would make a 
 horse out of a cow 1 " 
 
 " It appears to be a handy sort of place for 
 keeping a pub/' said Bosanquet. 
 
 "Shut to the door, Margaret," said Mr. Canty 
 with elaborate caution. -" It'd be a queer place that 
 wouldn't be handy for Sullivan I " 
 
 A further tale of great length was in progress 
 when Dr. Hickey's Mephistophelian nose was poked 
 into the best parlour. 
 
 " Hullo, Hickeyl Pumped out? eh?" said 
 Murray. 
 
 " If I am, there's plenty more like me," replied 
 the Doctor enigmatically, " and some of them three 
 times over 1 James, did these gentlemen leave you 
 a drop of anything that you'd offer me ? " 
 
 " Maybe ye'd like a glass of rum, Doctor ? " said 
 Mr. Canty with a wink at his other guests. 
 
 Dr. Hickey shuddered, 
 
 I had next morning precisely the kind of mouth 
 that I had anticipated, and it' being my duty to 
 spend the better part of the day administering 
 justice in Skebawn, I received from Mr. Flurry 
 Knox and other of my brother magistrates pre- 
 cisely the class of condolences on my "Monday 
 head " that I found least amusing. It was unavail- 
 ing to point out the resemblance between hot 
 potato cakes and molten lead, or to dilate on 
 their equal power of solidifying ; the collective 
 wisdom of the Bench decided that I was suffer- 
 ing from contraband rum, and rejoiced over me 
 accordingly.
 
 Holy Island 193 
 
 During the next three weeks Murray and Bosan- 
 quet put in a time only to be equalled by that 
 of the heroes in detective romances. They began 
 by acting on the hint offered by Mr. Canty, and 
 were rewarded by finding eight barrels of bacon 
 and three casks of rum in the heart of Mr. 
 Sullivan's turf rick, placed there, so Mr. Sullivan 
 explained with much detail, by enemies, with the 
 object of getting his licence taken away. They 
 stabbed potato gardens with crowbars to find the 
 buried barrels, they explored the chimneys, they 
 raided the cow-houses ; and in every possible and 
 impossible place they found some of the cargo 
 of the late barque John D. Williams, and, as 
 the sympathetic Mr. Canty said, " For as much as 
 they found, they left five times as much afther 
 them 1 " 
 
 It was a wet, lingering autumn, but towards the 
 end of November the rain dried up, the weather 
 stiffened, and a week of light frosts and blue skies 
 was offered as a tardy apology. Philippa pos- 
 sesses, in common with many of her sex, an in- 
 appeasable passion for picnics, and her ingenuity 
 for devising occasions for them is only equalled 
 by her gift for enduring their rigours.. I have 
 seen her tackle a moist chicken pie with a splinter 
 of slate and my stylograph .pen. I have known 
 her to take the tea-basket to an auction, and 
 make tea in a four-wheeled inside car, regardless 
 of the fact that it was coming under the hammer 
 in ten minutes, and that the kettle took twenty 
 minutes to boil. It will therefore be readily under- 
 
 N
 
 194 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 stood that the rare occasions when I was free to 
 go out with a gun were not allowed to pass un- 
 celebrated by the tea-basket. 
 
 "You'd much better shoot Corran Lake to- 
 morrow," my wife said to me one brilliant after- 
 noon. "We could send the punt over, and I 
 could meet you on Holy Island with " 
 
 The rest of the sentence was concerned with 
 ways, means, and the tea-basket, and need not be 
 recorded.- 
 
 I had taken the shooting of a long snipe bog 
 that trailed from Corran Lake almost to the sea 
 at Tralagough, and it was my custom to begin 
 to shoot from the seaward end of it, and finally 
 to work round the lake after duck. 
 
 To-morrow proved a heavenly morning, touched 
 with frost, gilt with sun. I started early, and the 
 mists were still smoking up from the calm, all- 
 reflecting lake, as the Quaker stepped out along 
 the level road, smashing the thin ice on the 
 puddles with his big feet. Behind the calves of 
 my legs sat Maria, Philippa's brown Irish water- 
 spaniel, assiduously licking the barrels of my gun, 
 as was her custom when the ecstasy of going out 
 shooting was hers. Maria had been given to 
 Philippa as a wedding-present, and since then it 
 had been my wife's ambition that she should 
 conform to the Beth Gelert standard of being 
 "a lamb at home, a lion in the chasei" Maria 
 did pretty well as a lion : she hunted all dogs 
 unmistakably smaller than herself, and whenever 
 it was reasonably possible to do so she devoured
 
 The Holy Island 195 
 
 the spoils of the chase, notably jack snipe. It 
 was as a lamb that she failed ; objectionable as I 
 have no doubt a lamb would be as a domestic 
 pet, it at least would not snatch the cold beef 
 from the luncheon-table, nor yet, if banished for 
 its crimes, would it spend the night in scratching 
 the paint off the hall door. Maria bit beggars 
 (who valued their disgusting limbs at five shillings 
 the square inch), she bullied the servants, she 
 concealed ducks' claws and fishes' backbones be- 
 hind the sofa cushions, and yet, when she laid 
 her brown snout upon my knee, and rolled her 
 blackguard amber eyes upon me, and smote me 
 with her feathered paw, it was impossible to re- 
 member her iniquities against her. On shooting 
 mornings Maria ceased to be a buccaneer, a 
 glutton, and a hypocrite. From the moment when 
 I put my gun together her breakfast stood un- 
 touched until it suffered the final degradation of 
 being eaten by the cats, and now in the trap she 
 was shivering with excitement, and agonising in 
 her soul lest she should even yet be left behind. 
 
 Slipper met me- at the cross roads from which 
 I had sent back the trap ; Slipper, redder in the 
 nose than anything I had ever seen off the stage, 
 very husky as to the voice, and going rather tender 
 on both feet. He informed me that I should have 
 a grand day's shooting, the head-poacher of the 
 locality having, in a most gentlemanlike manner^ 
 refrained from exercising his sporting rights the 
 day before, on hearing ihat I was coming. I 
 understood that this was to be considered as a
 
 196 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 mark of high personal esteem, and I set to work 
 at the bog with suitable gratitude. 
 
 In spite of Mr. O'Driscoll's magnanimity, I had 
 not a very good morning. The snipe were there, 
 but in the perfect stillness of the weather it was 
 impossible to get near them, and five times out 
 of six they were up, flickering and dodging, before 
 I was within shot. Maria became possessed of 
 seven devils and broke away from heel the first 
 time I let off my gun, ranging far and wide in 
 search of the bird I had missed, and putting up 
 every live thing for half a mile round, as she went 
 ^plashing and steeple-chasing through the bog. 
 Slipper expressed his opinion of her behaviour in 
 language more appallingly picturesque and re- 
 sourceful than any I have heard, even in the 
 Skebawn Court-house ; I admit that at the time I 
 thought he spoke very suitably. Before she was 
 recaptured every remaining snipe within earshot 
 was lifted out of it by Slipper's steam-engine 
 whistles and my own infuriated bellows ; it was 
 fortunate that the bog was spacious and that there 
 was still a long tract of it. ahead, where beyond 
 these voices there was peace. 
 
 I worked my way on, jumping treacle - dark 
 drains, floundering through the rustling yellow 
 rushes, circumnavigating the bog-holes, and taking 
 every possible and impossible chance of a shot ; 
 by the time I had reached Corran Lake I had 
 got two and a half brace, retrieved by Maria 
 with a perfection that showed what her powers 
 were when the sinuous adroitness of Slipper's
 
 Holy Island 197 
 
 woodbine stick was fresh in her mind. But with 
 Maria it was always the unexpected that hap- 
 pened. My last snipe, a jack, fell in the lake, and 
 Maria, bursting through the reeds with kangaroo 
 bounds, and cleaving the water like a torpedo- 
 boat, was a model of all the virtues of her kind. 
 She picked up the bird with a snake-like dart of 
 her head, clambered with it on to a tussock, and 
 there, well out of reach of the a'rm of the law, 
 before our indignant eyes crunched it twice and 
 bolted it. 
 
 "Well," said Slipper complacently, some ten 
 minutes afterwards, "divil such a bating ever I 
 gave a dog since the day Prince killed owld 
 Mrs. Knox's paycock ! Prince was a lump of a 
 brown tarrier I had one time, and faith I kicked 
 the toes out o' me owld boots on him before I 
 had the owld lady composed ! " 
 
 However composing Slipper's methods may have 
 been to Mrs. Knox, they had quite the contrary 
 effect upon a family party of duck that had been 
 lying in the reeds. With horrified outcries they 
 broke into flight, and now were far away on 
 the ethereal mirror of the lake, among strings 
 of their fellows that were floating and quacking 
 in preoccupied indifference to my presence. 
 
 A promenade along the lake-shore demonstrated 
 the fact that without a boat there was " no more 
 shooting for me ; I looked across to the island 
 where, some time ago, I had seen Philippa and 
 her punt arrive. The boat was tied to" an over- 
 hanging tree, but my wife was nowhere to be
 
 198 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 seen. I was opening my mouth to give a hail, 
 when I saw her emerge precipitately from among 
 the trees and jump into the boat ; Philippa had 
 not in vain spent many summers on the Thames, 
 she was under way in a twinkling, sculled a score 
 of strokes at the rate of a finish, then stopped 
 and stared at the peaceful island. I called to 
 her, and in a minute or two the punt had crackled 
 through the reeds, and shoved its blunt nose ashore 
 at the spot where I was standing. 
 
 " Sinclair," said Philippa in ,/awe-struck tones, 
 "there's something on the island !" 
 
 " I hope there's something to eat there," said I. 
 
 " I tell you there is something there, alive," said 
 my wife with her eyes as large as saucers; "it's 
 making an awful sound like snoring." 
 
 "That's the fairies, ma'am," said Slipper with 
 complete certainty ; " sure I known them that 
 seen fairies in that island as thick as the 
 grass, and every one o' them with little caps on 
 them." 
 
 Philippa's wide gaze wandered to Slipper's 
 hideous pug face and back to me. 
 
 " It was not a human being, Sinclair ! " she 
 said combatively, though I had not uttered a 
 word. 
 
 Maria had already, after the manner of dogs, 
 leaped, dripping, into the boat : I prepared to 
 follow her example. 
 
 " Major," said Slipper, in a tragic whisper, 
 '' there was a man was a night on that island 
 one time, watching duck, and Thim People cot
 
 'The Holy Island 199 
 
 him, and dhragged him through Hell and through 
 Death, and threw him in the tide " 
 
 "Shove off the boat," I said, too hungry for 
 argument. 
 
 Slipper obeyed, throwing his knee over the gun- 
 wale as he did so, and tumbling into the bow; 
 we could have done without him very comfortably, 
 but his devotion was touching. 
 
 Holy Island was perhaps a hundred yards long, 
 and about half as many broad ; it was covered 
 with trees and a dense growth of rhododendrons ; 
 somewhere in the jungle was a ruined fragment 
 of a chapel, smothered in ivy and briars, and in 
 a little glade in the heart of the island there was 
 a holy well. We landed, and it was obviously a 
 sore humiliation to Philippa that not a sound was 
 to be heard in the spell-bound silence of the island, 
 save the cough of a heron on a tree-top. 
 
 "It was there," she said, with an unconvinced 
 glance at the surrounding thickets. 
 
 "Sure, I'll give a thrawl through the island, 
 ma'am," volunteered Slipper with unexpected gal- 
 lantry, "an' if it's the divil himself is in it, I'll 
 rattle him into the lake ! " 
 
 He went swaggering on his search, shouting, 
 "Hi, cock!" and whacking the rhododendrons 
 with his stick, and after an interval returned and 
 assured us that the island was uninhabited. Being 
 provided with refreshments he again withdrew, 
 .and Philippa and Maria and I fed variously and 
 at great length, and washed the plates with water 
 from the holy well. I was smoking a cigarette
 
 2oo Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 when we heard Slipper addressing the solitudes 
 at the farther end of the island, and ending with 
 one of his whisky-throated crows of laughter. 
 
 He presently came lurching towards us through 
 the bushes, and a glance sufficed to show even 
 Philippa who was as incompetent a judge of 
 such matters as many of her sex that he was 
 undeniably screwed. 
 
 "Major Yeates ! " he began, "and Mrs. Major 
 Yeates, with respex to ye, I'm bastely dhrunk ! 
 Me head is light since the 'fluenzy, and the 
 docthor told me I should carry a little bottle-een 
 o' sperrits " 
 
 " Look here," I said to Philippa, " I'll take him 
 across, and bring the boat back for you." 
 
 "Sinclair," responded my wife with concentrated 
 emotion, " I would rather die than stay on this 
 island alone ! " 
 
 Slipper was getting drunker every moment, but 
 I managed to stow him on his back in the bows 
 of the punt, in which position he at once began 
 to uplift husky and wandering strains of melody. 
 To this accompaniment we, as Tennyson says, 
 
 " moved from the brink like some full-breasted swan, 
 That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
 Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
 With swarthy web." 
 
 Slipper would certainly have been none the 
 worse for taking the flood, and, as the burden 
 of " Lannigan's Ball " strengthened and spread 
 along the tranquil lake, and the duck once more
 
 2OI 
 
 fled in justifiable consternation, I felt much inclined 
 to make him do so. 
 
 We made for the end of the lake that was nearest 
 Shreelane, and, as we rounded the point of the 
 island, another boat presented itself to our view. 
 It contained my late entertainer, Mrs. Canty, seated 
 bulkily in the stern, while a small boy bowed him- 
 self between the two heavy oars. 
 
 " It's a lovely evening, Major Yeates," she called 
 out. "I'm just going to the island to get some 
 water from the holy well for me daughter that 
 has an impression on her chest. Indeed, I thought 
 'twas yourself was singing a song for Mrs. Yeates 
 when I heard you coming, but sure Slipper is a 
 great warrant himself for singing." 
 
 "May the divil crack the two legs undher 
 ye ! " bawled Slipper in acknowledgment of the 
 compliment. 
 
 Mrs. Canty laughed genially, and her boat lum- 
 bered away. 
 
 I shoved Slipper ashore at the nearest point ; 
 Philippa and I paddled to the end of the lake, 
 and abandoning the duck as a bad business, walked 
 home. 
 
 A few days afterwards it happened that it was 
 incumbent upon me to attend the funeral of the 
 Roman Catholic Bishop of the diocese. It was 
 what is called in France " nn bcl eiiterrement," 
 with inky flocks of tall-hatted priests, and count- 
 less yards of white scarves, and a repast of 
 monumental solidity at the Bishop's residence. 
 The actual interment was to take place in Cork,
 
 2o2 Borne Experiences of an Irish 
 
 and we moved in long and imposing procession 
 to the railway station, where a special train 
 awaited the cortege. My friend Mr. James Canty 
 was among the mourners : an important and 
 active personage, exchanging condolences with the 
 priests, giving directions to porters, and blowing 
 his nose with a trumpeting mournfulness that 
 penetrated all the other noises of the platform. 
 He was condescending enough to notice my 
 presence, and found time to tell me that he had 
 given Mr. Murray "a sure word" with regard 
 to some of " the wreckage " this with deep signifi- 
 cance, and a wink of an inflamed and tearful eye. 
 I saw him depart in a first-class carriage, and the 
 odour of sanctity ; seeing that he was accompanied 
 by seven priests, and that both windows were shut, 
 the latter must have been considerable. 
 
 Afterwards, in the town, I met Murray, looking 
 more pleased with himself than I had seen him 
 since he had taken up the unprofitable task of 
 smuggler-hunting. 
 
 "Come along and have some lunch," he said, 
 " I've got a real good thing on this time ! That 
 chap Canty came to me late last night, and told 
 me that he knew for a fact that the island on 
 Corran Lake was just stiff with barrels of bacon 
 and rum, and that I'd better send every man I 
 could spare to-day to' get them into the town. I 
 sent the men but at eight o'clock this morning ; I 
 think I've gone one better than Bosanquet this 
 time 1 " 
 
 I began to realise that Philippa was going to
 
 The Holy Island 203 
 
 score heavily on the subject of the fairies that 
 she had heard snoring on the island, and I im- 
 parted to Murray the leading features of our picnic 
 there. 
 
 "Oh, Slipper's been up to his chin in that rum 
 from the first/' said Murray. " I'd like to know 
 who his sleeping partner was ! " 
 
 It was beginning to get dark before the loaded 
 carts of the salvage party came lumbering past 
 Murray's windows and into the yard of the police- 
 barrack. We followed them, and in so doing 
 picked up Flurry Knox, who was sauntering in the 
 same direction. It was a good haul, five big casks 
 of rum, and at least a dozen smaller barrels of 
 bacon and butter, and Murray and his Chief 
 Constable smiled seraphically on one another as 
 the spoil was unloaded and stowed in a shed. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be as well to see how the butter 
 is keeping ? " remarked Flurry, who had been 
 looking on silently, with, as I had noticed, a still 
 and .amused eye. "The rim of that small keg 
 there looks as if it had been shifted lately." 
 
 The sergeant looked hard at Flurry ; he knew 
 as well as most people that a hint from Mr. 
 Knox was usually worth taking. He turned to 
 Murray. 
 
 "Will I open it, sir?" 
 
 "Oh ! open it if Mr. Knox wishes," said Murray, 
 who was not famous for appreciating other people's 
 suggestions. , 
 
 The keg was opened. 
 
 " Funny butter," said Flurry.
 
 104 S me Experiences of an Irish 
 
 The sergeant said nothing. The keg was full 
 of black bog-mould. Another was opened, and 
 another, all with the same result. 
 
 " Damnation ! " said Murray, suddenly losing his 
 temper. " What's the use of going on with those ? 
 Try one of the rum casks." 
 
 A few moments passed in total silence while a 
 tap and a spigot were sent for and applied to 
 the barrel. The sergeant drew off a mugful and 
 put his nose to it with the deliberation of a con- 
 noisseur. 
 
 " Water, sir," he pronounced, " dirty water, with 
 a small indication of sperrits." 
 
 A junior constable tittered explosively, met the 
 light blue glare of Murray's eye, and withered 
 away. 
 
 " Perhaps it's holy water I " said I, with a waver- 
 ing voice. 
 
 Murray's glance pinned* me like an assegai, and I 
 also faded into the background. 
 
 " Well," said Flurry in dulcet tones, " if you want 
 to know where the stuff is that was in those barrels, 
 I can tell you, for I was told it myself half-an-hour 
 ago. It's gone to Cork with the Bishop by special 
 train ! " 
 
 Mr. Canty was undoubtedly a man of resource. 
 Mrs. Canty had mistakenly credited me with an 
 intelligence equal to her own, and on receiving 
 from Slipper a highly coloured account of how 
 audibly Mr. Canty had slept off his potations, had 
 regarded the secret of Holy Island as having been
 
 The Holy Island 205 
 
 given away. That night and the two succeeding 
 ones were spent in the transfer of the rum to 
 bottles, and the bottles and the butter to fish 
 boxes ; these were, by means of a slight lubrication 
 of the railway underlings loaded into a truck as 
 " Fresh Fish, Urgent," and attached to the Bishop's 
 funeral train, while the police, decoyed far from 
 the scene of action, were breaking their backs 
 over barrels of bog-water. " I suppose/' continued 
 Flurry pleasantly, "you don't know the pub that 
 Canty's brother has in Cork. Well, I do. I'm 
 going to buy some rum there next week, cheap." 
 
 " I shall proceed against Canty," said Murray, 
 with fateful calm. 
 
 " You won't proceed far," said Flurry ; " you'll 
 not get as much evidence out of the whole country 
 as'd hang a cat." 
 
 " Who was your informant ? "/demanded Murray. 
 
 Flurry laughed. "Well, by the time the train 
 was in Cork, yourself and the Major were the 
 only two men in the town that weren't talking 
 about it."
 
 IX 
 
 THE POLICY OF THE CLOSED 
 DOOR 
 
 THE disasters and humiliations that befell me 
 at Drumcurran Fair may yet be remembered. 
 They certainly have not been forgotten in the 
 regions about Skebawn, where the tale of how 
 Bernard Shute and I stole each other's horses has 
 passed into history. The grand-daughter of the 
 Mountain Hare, bought by Mr. Shute with such 
 light-hearted enthusiasm, was restored to that posi- 
 tion between the shafts of a cart that she was so 
 well fitted to grace; Moonlighter, his other pur- 
 chase, spent the two months following on the fair 
 in "favouring" a leg with a strained sinew, and in 
 receiving visits from the local vet., who, however 
 uncertain in his diagnosis of Moonlighter's leg, 
 had accurately estimated the length of Bernard's 
 foot. 
 
 Miss Bennett's mare Cruiskeen, alone of the trio, 
 was immediately and thoroughly successful. She 
 went in harness like a hero, she carried Philippa 
 like an elder sister, she was never sick or sorry ; 
 as Peter Cadogan summed her up, "That one 'd 
 live where another 'd die." In her. safe keeping 
 
 306
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 207 
 
 Philippa made her debut with hounds at an un- 
 eventful morning's cubbing, with no particular 
 result, except that Philippa returned home so 
 stiff that she had to go to bed for a day, and 
 arose more determined than ever to be a fox- 
 hunter. 
 
 The opening meet of Mr. Knox's foxhounds was 
 on November i, and on that morning Philippa on 
 Cruiskeen, accompanied by me on tfie Quaker, set 
 out for Ardmeen Cross, the time-honoured fixture 
 for All Saints' Day. The weather was grey and 
 quiet, and full of all the moist sweetness of an Irish 
 autumn. There had been a great deal of rain 
 during the past month ; it had turned the bracken 
 to -a purple brown, and had filled the hollows with 
 shining splashes of water. The dead leaves were 
 slippery under foot, and the branches above were 
 thinly decked with yellow, where the pallid sur- 
 vivors of summer still clung to their po^ts. As 
 Philippa and I sedately approached the meet the 
 red coats of Flurry Knox and his whip, Dr. Jerome 
 Hickey, were, to be seen on the road at the top of 
 the hill ; Cruiskeen put her head in. the air, and 
 stared at them with eyes that understood all they 
 portended. 
 
 " Sinclair," said my wife hurriedly, as a straggling 
 hound, flogged in by Dr. Hickey, uttered a griev- 
 ous and melodious howl, " remember, if they find, 
 it's no use to- talk to me, for I shan't be able to 
 speak." 
 
 I was sufficiently acquainted with Philippa in 
 moments of enthusiasm to exhibit silently the
 
 208 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 corner of a clean pocket-handkerchief ; I have seen 
 her cry when a police constable won a bicycle race 
 in Skebawn ; she has wept at hearing Sir Valentine 
 Knox's health drunk with musical honours at a 
 tenants' dinner. It is an amiable custom, but, as 
 she herself admits, it is unbecoming. 
 
 An imposing throng, in point of numbers, was 
 gathered at the cross-roads, the riders being almost 
 swamped in the crowd of traps, outside cars, 
 bicyclists, and people on foot. The field was an 
 eminently representative one. The Clan Knox 
 was, as usual, there in force, its more aristocratic 
 members dingily respectable in black coats and tall 
 hats that went impartially to weddings, funerals, 
 and hunts, and, like a horse that is past mark of 
 mouth, were no longer to be identified with any 
 special epoch ; there was a humbler squireen ele- 
 ment in tweeds and flat-brimmed pot-hats, and a 
 good muster of farmers, men of the spare, black- 
 muzzled, West of Ireland type, on horses that 
 ranged from the cart mare, clipped trace high, to 
 shaggy and leggy three-year-olds, none of them 
 hunters, but all of them able to hunt. Philippa 
 and I worked our way to the heart of things, where 
 was Flurry, seated on his brown mare, in what 
 appeared to be a somewhat moody silence. As 
 we exchanged greetings I was aware that his eye 
 was resting with extreme disfavour upon two ap- 
 proaching figures. I put up my eye-glass, and per- 
 ceived that one of them was Miss Sally Knox, on 
 a tall grey horse ; the other was Mr. Bernard 
 Shute, in all the flawless beauty of his first pink
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 209 
 
 coat, mounted on Stockbroker, a well-known, hard- 
 mouthed, big-jumping bay, recently purchased from 
 Dr. Hickey. 
 
 During the languors of a damp autumn the 
 neighbourhood had been much nourished and 
 sustained by the privilege of observing and diag- 
 nosing the progress of Mr. Shute's flirtation with 
 Miss Sally Knox. What made it all the more 
 enjoyable for the lookers-on or most of them 
 was, that although Bernard's courtship was of 
 the nature of a proclamation from the housetops, 
 Miss Knox's attitude left everything to the imagi- 
 nation. To Flurry Knox the romantic but des- 
 picable position of slighted rival was comfortably 
 allotted ; his sole sympathisers were Philippa and 
 old Mrs. Knox of Aussolas, but no one knew if 
 he needed sympathisers. Flurry was a man of 
 mystery. 
 
 Mr. Shute and Miss Knox approached us rapidly, 
 the latter's mount pulling hard. 
 
 " Flurry," I said, " isn't that grey the horse Shute 
 bought from you last July at the fair V " 
 
 Flurry did not answer me. His face was as 
 black as thunder. He turned his horse round, 
 cursing two country boys who got in his way, 
 with low and concentrated venom, and began to 
 move forward, followed by the hounds. If his 
 wish was to avoid speaking to Miss Sally it was 
 not to be gratified. 
 
 " Good - morning, Flurry," she began, sitting 
 close down to Moonlighter's ramping jog as she 
 rode up beside her cousin. " What a hurry 
 
 o
 
 210 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 you're in ! We passed no end of people on 
 the road who won't be here for another ten 
 minutes." 
 
 " No more will I," was Mr. Knox's cryptic reply, 
 as he spurred the brown mare into a trot. 
 
 Moonlighter made a vigorous but frustrated 
 effort to buck, and indemnified himself by a suc- 
 cessful kick at a hound. 
 
 " Bother you, Flurry ! Can't you walk for a 
 minute ? " exclaimed Miss Sally, who looked about 
 as large, in relation to her horse, as the conven- 
 tional tomtit on a round of beef. " You might 
 have more sense than to crack your whip under 
 this horse's nose ! I don't believe you know what 
 horse it is even ! " 
 
 I was not near enough to catch Flurry's reply. 
 
 "Well, if you didn't want him to be lent to 
 me you shouldn't have sold him to Mr. Shute ! " 
 retorted Miss Knox, in her clear, provoking little 
 voice. 
 
 " I suppose he's afraid to ride him himself," said 
 Flurry, turning his horse in at a gate. "Get ahead 
 there, Jerome, can't you ? It's better to put them 
 in at this end than to have every one riding on 
 top of them ! " 
 
 Miss Sally's cheeks were still very pink when 
 I came up and began to talk to her, and her grey- 
 green eyes had a look in them like those of an 
 angry kitten. 
 
 The riders moved slowly down a rough pasture- 
 field, and took up their position along the brow 
 of Ardmeen covert, into which the hounds had
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 2 1 1 
 
 already hurled themselves with their customary 
 contempt for the convenances. Flurry's hounds, 
 true to their nationality, were in the habit of doing 
 the right thing in the wrong way. 
 
 Untouched by autumn, the furze bushes of 
 Ardmeen covert were darkly green, save for a 
 golden fleck of blossom here and there, and the 
 glistening grey cobwebs that stretched from spike 
 to spike. The look of the ordinary gorse covert 
 is familiar to most people as a tidy enclosure of 
 an acre or so, filled with low plants of well- 
 educated gorse ; not so many will be found who 
 have experience of it as a rocky, sedgy wilder- 
 ness, half a mile square, garrisoned with brigades 
 of furze bushes, some of them higher than a 
 horse's head, lean, strong, and cunning, like the 
 foxes that breed in them, impenetrable, with their 
 bristling spikes, as a hedge of bayonets. By dint 
 of infinite leisure and obstinate greed, the catttle 
 had made paths for themselves through the bushes 
 to the patches of grass that they hemmed in ; 
 their hoofprints were guides to the explorer, 
 down muddy staircases of rock, and across black 
 intervals of unplumbed bog. The whole covert 
 slanted gradually down to a small river that raced 
 round three sides of it, and beyond the stream, 
 in agreeable contrast, lay a clean and wholesome 
 country of grass fields and banks. 
 
 The hounds drew slowly along and down the 
 hill towards the river, and the riders hung about 
 outside the covert, and tried I can answer for 
 at least one of them to decide which was the
 
 212 Some "Experiences of an Irish 
 
 least odious of the ways through it, in the event 
 of the fox breaking at the far side. Miss Sally 
 took up a position not very far from me, and 
 it was easy to see that she had her hands full 
 with her borrowed mount, on whose temper the 
 delay and suspense were visibly telling. His iron- 
 grey neck was white from the chafing of the 
 reins ; had the ground under his feet been red- 
 hot he could hardly have sidled and hopped more 
 uncontrollably ; nothing but the most impas- 
 sioned conjugation of the verb to condemn could 
 have supplied any human equivalent for the 
 manner in which he tore holes in the sedgy grass 
 with a furious forefoot. Those who were even 
 superficial judges of character gave his heels a 
 liberal allowance of sea-room, and Mr. Shute, 
 who could not be numbered among such, and 
 had, as usual, taken up a position as near Miss 
 Sally as possible, was rewarded by a double knock 
 on his horse's ribs that was a cause of heartless 
 mirth to the lady of his affections. 
 
 Not a hound had as yet spoken, but they were 
 forcing their way through the gorse forest and 
 shoving each other jealously aside with growing 
 excitement, and Flurry could be seen at intervals, 
 moving forward in the direction they were indi- 
 cating. It was at this juncture that the ubi- 
 quitous Slipper presented himself at my horse's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "'Tis for the river he's making, Major," he said, 
 with an upward roll of his squinting eyes, that 
 nearly made me sea-sick. " He's a Castle Knox
 
 T*he Policy of the Closed Door 2 1 3 
 
 fox that came in this morning, and ye should get 
 ahead down to the ford 1 " 
 
 A tip from Slipper was not to be neglected, and 
 Philippa a'nd I began a cautious progress through 
 the gorse, followed by Miss Knox as quietly as 
 Moonlighter's nerves would permit. 
 
 "Wishful has it!" she exclaimed, as a hound 
 came out into view, uttered a sharp yelp, and 
 drove forward. 
 
 " Hark ! hark 1 " roared Flurry with at least three 
 /s reverberating in each ''hark"; at the same 
 instant came a holloa from the farther side of 
 the river, and Dr. Hickey's renowned and blood- 
 curdling screech was uplifted at the bottom of 
 the covert. Then babel broke forth, as the hounds, 
 converging from every quarter, flung themselves 
 shrieking on the line. Moonlighter went straight 
 up on his hind-legs, and dropped again with a 
 bound that sent him crushing past Philippa and 
 Cruiskeen ; he did it a second time, and was 
 almost on to the tail of the Quaker, whose 
 bulky person was not to be hurried in any 
 emergency. 
 
 "Get on if you can, Major Yeates!" called out 
 Sally, steadying the grey as well as she could in 
 the narrow pathway between the great gorse 
 bushes. 
 
 Other horses were thundering behind us, men 
 were shouting to each other in similar passages 
 right and left of us, the cry of the hounds filled 
 the air with a kind of delirium. A low wall with 
 a stick laid along it barred the passage in front
 
 214 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 of me, and the Quaker firmly and immediately 
 decided not to have it until some one else had dis- 
 lodged the pole. 
 
 "Go ahead!" I shouted, squeezing to one side 
 with heroic disregard of the furze bushes and my 
 new tops. 
 
 The words were hardly out of my mouth when 
 Moonlighter, mad with thwarted excitement, shot 
 by me, hurtled over the obstacle with extravagant 
 fury, landed twelve feet beyond it on clattering 
 slippery rock, saved himself from falling with 
 an eel-like forward buck on to sedgy ground, 
 and bolted at full speed down the muddy cattle 
 track. There are corners rocky, most of them 
 in that cattle track, that Sally has told me she will 
 remember to her dying day ; boggy holes of any 
 depth, ranging between two feet and half-way to 
 Australia, that she says she does not fail to mention 
 in the General Thanksgiving ; but at the time they 
 occupied mere fractions of the strenuous seconds 
 in which it was hopeless for her to do anything 
 but try to steer, trust to luck, sit hard down into 
 the saddle and try- to stay there. (For my part, 
 I would as soon try to adhere to the horns of a 
 charging bull as to the crutches of a side-saddle, 
 but happily the necessity is not likely to arise.) 
 I saw Flurry Knox a little ahead of her on the 
 same track, jamming his mare into the furze 
 bushes to get out of her way ; he shouted some- 
 thing after her about the ford, and started to 
 gallop for it himself by a breakneck short cut. 
 
 The hounds were already across the river, and
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 215 
 
 it was obvious that, ford or no ford, Moonlighter's 
 intentions might be simply expressed, in the formula 
 "Be with them I will." It was all down-hill to 
 the river, and among the furze bushes and rocks 
 there was neither time nor place to turn him. 
 He rushed at it with a shattering slip upon a 
 streak of rock, with a heavy plunge in the deep 
 ground by the brink ; it was as bad a take-off for 
 twenty feet of water as could well be found. The 
 grey horse rose out of the boggy stuff with" all 
 the impetus that pace and temper could give, but 
 it was not enough. For one instant the twisting, 
 sliding current was under Sally, the next a veil 
 of water sprang up all round her, and Moon- 
 lighter was rolling and lurching in the desperate 
 effort to find foothold in the rocky bed of the 
 stream. 
 
 I was following at the best pace I could kick 
 out of the Quaker, and saw the water swirl into 
 her lap as her horse rolled to the near-side. She 
 caught the mane to save herself, but he struggled 
 on to his legs again, and came floundering broad- 
 side on to the further bank. In three seconds 
 she had got out of the saddle and flung herself 
 at the bank, grasping the rushes, and trying, in 
 spite of the sodden weight of her habit, to drag 
 herself out of the water. 
 
 At the same instant I saw Flurry and the brown 
 mare dashing through the ford, twenty yards 
 higher up. He was off his horse and beside her 
 with that uncanny quickness that Flurry reserved 
 for moments of emergency, and, catching her by
 
 2 1 6 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 the arms, swung her on to the bank as easily as 
 if she had been the kennel terrier. 
 
 " Catch the horse ! " she called out, scrambling 
 to her feet. 
 
 " Damn the horse I " - returned Flurry, in the 
 rage that is so often the reaction from a bad 
 scare. 
 
 I turned along the bank and made for the 
 ford ; by this time it was full of hustling, splash- 
 ing riders, through whom Bernard Shute, furiously 
 picking up a bad start, drove a devastating way. 
 He tried to turn his horse down the bank to- 
 wards Miss Knox, but the hounds were running 
 hard, and, to my intense amusement, Stockbroker 
 refused to abandon the chase, and swept his rider 
 away in the wake of his stable companion, Dr. 
 Rickey's young chestnut. By this time two 
 country boys had, as is usual in such cases, risen 
 from the earth, and fished Moonlighter out of 
 the stream. Miss Sally wound up an acrimonious 
 argument with her cousin by observing that she 
 didn't care what he said, and placing her water- 
 logged boot in his obviously unwilling hand, in 
 a second was again in the saddle, gathering up 
 the wet reins with the trembling, clumsy fingers 
 of a person who is thoroughly chilled and in a 
 violent hurry. She set Moonlighter going, and 
 was away in a moment, galloping him at the 
 first fence at a pace that suited his steeplechasing 
 ideas. 
 
 " Mr. Knox ! " panted Philippa, who had by 
 this time joined us, " make her go home 1 "
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 2 1 7 
 
 "She can go where she likes as far as I'm 
 concerned," responded Mr. Knox, pitching him- 
 self on his mare's back and digging in the 
 spurs. 
 
 Moonlighter had already glided over the bank 
 in front of us, with a perfunctory flick at it with 
 his heels ; Flurry's mare and Cruiskeen jumped 
 it side by side with equal precision. It was a 
 bank of some five feet high ; the Quaker charged 
 it enthusiastically, refused it abruptly, and, accord- 
 ing to his infuriating custom at such moments, 
 proceeded to tear hurried mouthfuls of grass. 
 
 "Will I give him a couple o' belts, your 
 Honour ? " shouted one of the running accom- 
 paniment of country boys. 
 
 "You will!" said I, with some further re- 
 marks to the Quaker that I need not commit 
 to paper. 
 
 Swish I Whack ! The sound was music in 
 my ears, as the good, remorseless ash sapling 
 bent round the Quaker's dappled hind-quarters. 
 At the third stripe he launched both his heels 
 in the operator's face ; at the fourth he reared 
 undecidedly ; at the fifth he bundled over the 
 bank in a manner purged of hesitation. 
 
 "Ha!" yelled my assistants, "that'll put the 
 fear o' God in him ! " as the Quaker fled head- 
 long after the hunt. "He'll be the betther o' 
 that while he lives ! " 
 
 Without going quite as far as this, I must admit 
 that for the next half-hour he was astonishingly 
 the better of it.
 
 2 1 8 Some Experiences of an Irish ^M. 
 
 The Castle Knox fox was making a very pretty 
 line of it over the seven miles that separated him 
 
 "HE'LL BE THE BETTHER o' THAT WHILE HE LIVES!" 
 
 from his home. He headed through a grassy 
 country of Ireland's mild and brilliant green,
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 219 
 
 fenced with sound and buxom banks, enlivened 
 by stone walls, uncompromised by the presence 
 of gates, and yet comfortably laced With lanes 
 for the furtherance of those who had laid to 
 heart Wolsey's valuable advice : " Fling away 
 ambition : by that sin fell the angels." The 
 flotsam and jetsam of the hunt pervaded the 
 landscape : standing on one long bank, three 
 dismounted farmers flogged away at the refusing 
 steeds below them, like anglers trying to rise a 
 sul^y fish ; half-a-dozen hats, bobbing in a string, 
 showed where the road riders followed the de- 
 lusive windings of a bohireen. It was obvious 
 that in the matter of ambition they would not 
 have caused Cardinal Wolsey a moment's uneasi- 
 ness ; whether angels or otherwise, they were not 
 going to run any risk of falling. 
 
 Flurry's red coat was like a beacon two fields 
 ahead of me, with Philippa following in his tracks ; 
 it was the first run worthy of the name that 
 Philippa had ridden, and I blessed Miss Bobby 
 Bennett as I saw Cruiskeen's undefeated fencing. 
 An encouraging twang of the Doctor's horn noti- 
 fied that the hounds were giving us a chance ; 
 even the Quaker pricked his blunt ears and 
 swerved in his stride to the sound. A stone wall, 
 a rough patch of heather, a boggy field, dinted 
 deep and black with hoof marks, and the stern 
 chase was at an end. The hounds had checked 
 on the outskirts of a small wood, and the field, 
 thinned down to a panting dozen or so, viewed 
 us with the disfavour shown by the first flight
 
 220 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 towards those who unexpectedly add to their 
 select number. In the depths of the wood Dr. 
 Hickey might be heard uttering those singular 
 little yelps of encouragement that to the irreve- 
 rent suggest a milkman in his dotage. Bernard 
 Shute, who neither knew., nor cared what the 
 hounds were doing, was expatiating at great length 
 to an uninterested squireen upon the virtues and 
 perfections of his new mount. 
 
 " \ did all I knew to come and help you at 
 the river," he said, riding up to the splashed 
 and still dripping Sally, " but Stockbroker wouldn't 
 hear of it, I pulled his ugly head round till his 
 nose was on my boot, but he galloped away 
 just the same ! " 
 
 " He was quite right," said Miss Sally ; " I 
 didn't want you in the least." 
 
 As Miss Sally's red gold coil of hair was turned 
 towards me during this speech, I could only infer 
 the glance with which it was delivered, from the 
 fact that Mr. Shute responded to it with one of 
 those firm gazes of adoration in which the neigh- 
 bourhood took such an interest, and crumbled 
 away into incoherency. 
 
 A shout from the top of a hill interrupted the 
 amenities of the check ; Flurry was out of the 
 wood in half-a-dozen seconds, blowing shattering 
 blasts upon his horn, and the hounds rushed to 
 him, knowing the "gone away" note that was 
 never blown in vain. The brown mare came 
 out through the trees and the undergrowth like 
 a woodcock down the wind, and jumped across
 
 Policy of the Closed Door 221 
 
 a stream on to a more than questionable bank ; 
 the hounds splashed and struggled after him, and, 
 as they landed, the first ecstatic whimpers broke 
 forth. In a moment it was full cry, discordant, 
 beautiful, and soul-stirring, as the pack spread 
 and sped, and settled to the line. I saw the absurd 
 dazzle of tears in Philippa's eyes/' and found time 
 for the insulting proffer of the ctean pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, as we all galloped hard to get away on 
 good terms with the hounds. 
 
 It was one of those elect moments in fox-hunting 
 when the fittest alone have survived ; even the 
 Quaker's sluggish blood was stirred by good com- 
 pany, and possibly by the remembrance of the 
 singing ash-plant, and he lumbered up tall stone- 
 faced banks and down heavy drops, and across 
 wide ditches, in astounding adherence to the line 
 cut out by Flurry. Cruiskeen went like a book 
 a story for girls, very pleasant and safe, but rather 
 slow. Moonlighter was pulling Miss Sally on to 
 the sterns of the hounds, flying his banks, rocket- 
 ing like a pheasant over 1 three-foot walls com- 
 mitting, in fact, all the crimes induced by youth 
 and over-feeding ; he would have done very com- 
 fortably with another six or seven stone on his 
 back. 
 
 Why Bernard Shute did not come off at every 
 fence and generally die a thousand deaths I cannot 
 explain. Occasionally I rather wished he would, 
 as, from my secure position in the rear, I saw 
 him charging his fences at whatever pace and 
 place seemed good to the thoroughly demoralised
 
 222 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Stockbroker, and in so doing cannon heavily 
 against Dr. Hickey on landing over a rotten ditch, 
 jump a wall with his spur rowelling Charlie Knox's 
 boot, and cut in at top speed in front of Flurry, 
 who was scientifically cramming his mare up a 
 very awkward scramble. In so far as I could 
 think of anything beyond Philippa and myself 
 and the next fence, I thought there would be 
 trouble for Mr. Shute in consequence of this last 
 feat. It was a half-hour long to be remembered, 
 in spite of the Quaker's ponderous and unalter- 
 able gallop, in spite of the thump with which 
 he came down off his banks, in spite of the 
 confiding manner in which he hung upon my 
 hand. 
 
 We were nearing Castle Knox, and the riders 
 began to edge away from the hounds towards a 
 gate that broke the long barrier of the demesne 
 wall. Steaming horses and purple-faced riders 
 clattered and crushed in at the gate ; there was a 
 moment of pulling up and listening, in which 
 quivering tails and pumping sides told their own 
 story. Cruiskeen's breathing suggested a cross 
 between a grampus and a gramaphone ; Philippa's 
 hair had come down, and she had a stitch in her 
 side. Moonlighter, fresher than ever, stamped and 
 dragged at his bit ; I thought little Miss Sally 
 looked very white. The bewildering clamour of 
 the hounds was all through the wide laurel planta- 
 tions. At a word from Flurry, Dr. Hickey shoved 
 his horse ahead and turned down a ride, followed 
 by most of the field.
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 223 
 
 " Philippa," I said severely, "you've had enough, 
 and you know it." 
 
 "Do go up to the house and make them give 
 you something to eat," struck in Miss Sally, 
 twisting Moonlighter round to keep his mind 
 occupied. 
 
 "And as for you, Miss Sally," I went on, in the 
 manner of Mr. Fairchild, "the sooner you get off 
 that horse and out of those wet things the better." 
 
 Flurry, who was just in front of us, said nothing, 
 but gave a short and most disagreeable laugh. 
 Philippa accepted my suggestion with the meek- 
 ness of exhaustion, but under the circumstances it 
 did not surprise me that Miss Sally did not follow 
 her example. 
 
 Then ensued an hour of woodland hunting at 
 its worst and most bewildering. I galloped after 
 Flurry and Miss Sally up and down long glittering 
 lanes of laurel, at every other moment burying my 
 face in the Quaker's coarse white mane to avoid 
 the slash of the branches, and receiving down the 
 back of my neck showers of drops stored up from 
 the rain of the day before ; playing an endless 
 game of hide-and-seek with the hounds, and 
 never getting any nearer to them, as they turned 
 and doubled through .the thickets of evergreens. 
 Even to my limited understanding of the situation 
 it became clear at length that two foxes were on 
 foot ; most of the hounds were hard at work a 
 quarter of a mile away, but Flurry, with a grim 
 face and a faithful three couple, stuck to the 
 failing line of the hunted fox.
 
 224 -Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 There came a moment when Miss Sally and I- 
 who through many vicissitudes had clung to each 
 other found ourselves at a spot where two rides 
 crossed. Flurry was waiting there, and a little way 
 up one of the rides a couple of hounds were 
 hustling to and fro, with the thwarted whimpers 
 half breaking from them ; he held up his hand 
 to stop us, and at that identical moment Bernard 
 Shute, like a bolt from the blue, burst upon our 
 vision. It need scarcely be mentioned that he was 
 going at full gallop I have rarely seen him ride 
 at any other pace and as he bore down upon 
 Flurry and the hounds, ducking and dodging to 
 avoid the branches, he shouted something about a 
 fox having gone away at the other side of the 
 covert. 
 
 "Hold hard!" roared Flurry; "don.'t you see 
 the hounds, you fool ? " 
 
 Mr. Shute, to do him justice, held hard with all 
 the strength of his body, but it was of no avail. 
 The bay horse had got his head down and his tail 
 up, there was a piercing yell from a hound as it 
 was ridden over, and Flurry's brown mare will 
 not soon forget the moment when Stockbroker's 
 shoulder took her on the point of the hip and sent 
 her staggering into the laurel branches. As she 
 swung round, Flurry's whip went up, and with a 
 swift backhander the cane and the looped thong 
 caught Bernard across his broad shoulders. 
 
 "O Mr. Shute!" shrieked Miss Sally, as I 
 stared dumfoundered ; " did that branch hurt 
 you?"
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 225 
 
 " All right ! Nothing to signify ! " he called out 
 as he bucketed past, tugging at his horse's head. 
 " Thought some one had hit me at first ! Come on, 
 we'll catch 'em up this way 1 " 
 
 He swung perilously into the main ride and 
 was gone, totally unaware of the position that Miss 
 Sally's quickness had saved. 
 
 Flurry rode straight up to his cousin, with a 
 pale, dangerous face. 
 
 "I suppose you think I'm to stand being ridden 
 over and having my hounds killed to please you," 
 he said ; " but you're mistaken. You were very 
 smart, and you may think you've saved him his 
 licking, but you needn't think he won't get it. 
 He'll have it in spite of you, before he goes to his 
 bed this night ! " 
 
 A man who loses his temper* badly because he 
 is badly in love is inevitably ridiculous, far though 
 he may be from thinking himself so. He is also 
 a highly unpleasant person to argue with, and ~ 
 Miss Sally and I held our peace respectfully. He 
 turned his horse and rode away. 
 
 Almost instantly the three couple of hounds 
 opened in the underwood near us with a deafen- 
 ing crash, and not twenty yards ahead the hunted 
 fox, dark with wet and mud, slunk across the 
 ride. The hounds were almost on his brush ; 
 Moonlighter reared and chafed. ; the din was 
 redoubled, passed away to a little distance, and 
 suddenly seemed stationary in the middle of the 
 laurels. 
 
 "Could he have got into the old ice-house?" 
 
 P
 
 226 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 exclaimed Miss Sally, with reviving excitement. 
 She pushed ahead, and turned down the narrowest 
 of all the rides that had that day been my portion. 
 At the end of the green tunnel there was a 
 comparatively open space ; Flurry's mare was 
 standing in it, riderless, and Flurry himself was 
 hammering with a stone at the padlock of a 
 door that seemed to .lead into the heart of a 
 laurel clump. The hounds were baying furiously 
 somewhere back of the entrance, among the laurel 
 stems. 
 
 " He's got in by the old ice drain," said Flurry, 
 addressing himself sulkily to me, and ignoring 
 Miss Sally. He had not the least idea of how 
 absurd was his scowling face, draped by the 
 luxuriant hart's-tongues that overhung the door- 
 way. 
 
 The padlock yielded, and the opening door 
 revealed a low, dark passage, into which Flurry 
 disappeared, lugging a couple of hounds with him 
 by the scruff of the neck ; the remaining two 
 couple bayed implacably at the mouth of the 
 drain. The croak of a rusty bolt told of a second 
 door at the inner end of the passage. 
 
 " Look out for the steps, Flurry, they're all 
 broken," called out Miss Sally in tones of honey. 
 
 There was no answer. Miss Sally looked at 
 me ; her face was serious, but her mischievous 
 ayes made a confederate of me. 
 
 " He's in an awful rage ! " she said. " I'm afraid 
 fhere will certainlv be a row." 
 
 A row there certainly was, but it was in the
 
 The Policy of the Closed Door 227 
 
 cavern of the ice-house, where the fox had evi- 
 dently been discovered. Miss Sally suddenly flung 
 Moonlighter's reins to me and slipped off his 
 back. 
 
 " Hold him ! " she said, and dived into the door- 
 way under the overhanging branches. 
 
 Things happened after that with astonishing 
 simultaneousness. There was a shrill exclamation 
 from Miss Sally, the inner door was slammed and 
 bolted, and at one and the same moment the 
 fox darted from the entry, and was away into the 
 wood before one could wink. 
 
 " What's happened ? " I called out, playing the 
 refractory Moonlighter like a salmon. 
 
 Miss Sally appeared at the doorway, looking half 
 scared and half delighted. 
 
 " I've bolted him in, and I won't let him out till 
 he promises to be good ! I was only just in time to 
 slam the door after the fox bolted out ! " 
 
 "Great Scott ! " I said helplessly.' 
 
 Miss Sally vanished again into the passage, and 
 the imprisoned hounds continued to express their 
 emotions in the echoing vault of the ice-house. 
 Their master remained mute as the dead, and I 
 trembled. 
 
 " Flurry 1 " I heard Miss Sally say. " Flurry, I 
 I've locked you in ! " 
 
 This self-evident piece of information met with 
 no response. 
 
 "Shall I tell you why?" 
 
 A keener note seemed to indicate that a hound 
 had been Kicked.
 
 228 Some Experiences of an Irish .^.M. 
 
 " I don't care whether you answer me or not, 
 I'm going to tell you ! " 
 
 FLURRY, I I'VE LOCKED YOU IN I M 
 
 There was a pause ; apparently telling him was 
 not as simple as had been expected. 
 
 " I won't let you out till you promise me 
 something. Ah, Flurry, don't be so cross ! What 
 do you say ? Oh, that's a ridiculous thing
 
 Policy of the Closed Door 229 
 
 to say. You know quite well it's not on his 
 account ! " 
 
 There was another considerable pause. 
 
 " Flurry ! " said Miss Sally again, in tones that 
 would have wiled a badger from his earth. " Dear 
 Flurry " 
 
 At this point I hurriedly flung Moonlighter's 
 bridle over a branch and withdrew. 
 
 My own subsequent adventures are quite im- 
 material, until the moment when I encountered 
 Miss Sally on the steps of the hall door at Castle 
 Knox. 
 
 " I'm just going in to take off these wet things," 
 she said airily. 
 
 This was no way to treat a confederate. 
 
 " Well ? " I said, barring her progress.. 
 
 "Oh he he promised. It's all right," she 
 replied, rather breathlessly. 
 
 There was no one about ; I waited resolutely for 
 further information. It did not come. 
 
 " Did he try to make his own terms ? " said I, 
 looking hard at her. 
 
 "Yes, he did." She tried to pass me. 
 
 "And what did you do?" 
 
 " I refused them ! " she said, with the sudden 
 stagger of a sob in her voice, as she escaped into 
 the house. 
 
 Now what on earth was Sally Knox crying 
 about ?
 
 X 
 
 THE HOUSE OF FAHY 
 
 OTHING could shake the 
 conviction of Maria that 
 she was by nature and 
 by practice a house dog. 
 Every one of Shreelane's 
 many doors had, at one 
 time or another, slammed 
 upon her expulsion, and 
 each one of them had 
 j seen her stealthy, irrepressible return to the 
 sphere that she felt herself so eminently 
 qualified to grace. For her the bone, thriftily 
 interred by Tim Connor's terrier, was a mere 
 diversion ; even the fruitage "of the ^ashpit had 
 little charm for an accomplished habitue of the 
 kitchen. She knew to a nicety which of the 
 doors could be burst open by assault, at which 
 it was necessary to whine sycophantically ; and 
 the clinical thermometer alone could furnish a 
 parallel for her perception of mood in those in 
 authority. In the case of Mrs. Cadogan she knew 
 that there were seasons when instant and complete 
 self-effacement was the only course to pursue ;
 
 House of Fahy 231 
 
 therefore when, on a certain morning in July, on 
 my way through the downstairs regions to my 
 office, I saw her approach the kitchen door with 
 her usual circumspection, and, on hearing her 
 name enunciated indignantly by my cook, with- 
 draw swiftly to a city of refuge at the back of the 
 hayrick, I drew my own conclusions. 
 
 Had she remained, as I did, she would have 
 heard the disclosure of a crime that lay more 
 heavily on her digestion than her conscience. 
 
 " I can't put a thing out o' me hand but he's 
 watching me to whip it away ! " declaimed Mrs. 
 Cadogan, with all the disregard of her kind for 
 the accident of sex in the brute creation. . "'Twas 
 only last night I was back in the scullery when I 
 heard Bridget let a screech, and there was me 
 brave dog up on the table eating the roast beef 
 that was after coming out from the dinner ! " 
 
 " Brute ! " interjected Philippa, with what I well 
 knew to be a simulated wrath. 
 
 "And I had planned that bit of beef for the 
 luncheon," continued Mrs. Cadogan in impas- 
 sioned lamentation, " the way we wouldn't have 
 to inthrude on the cold turkey ! Sure he has it 
 that dhragged, that all we can do with it now is 
 run it through the mincing machine for the Major's 
 sandwiches." 
 
 At this appetising suggestion I thought fit to 
 intervene in the deliberations. 
 
 " One thing," I said to Philippa afterwards, as I 
 wrapped up a bottle of Yanatas in a Cardigan 
 jacket and rammed it into an already apoplectic
 
 132 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Gladstone bag, "that I do draw the line at, is 
 taking that dog with us. . The whole business is 
 black enough as it is." 
 
 " Dear," said my wife, looking at me with almost 
 clairvoyant abstraction, " I could manage a second 
 evening dress if you didn't mind putting my tea- 
 jacket in your portmanteau." 
 
 Little, thank Heaven 1 as I know about yachting, 
 I knew enough to make pertinent remarks on the 
 incongruity of an ancient 6o-ton hireling and a 
 fleet of smart evening dresses ; but none the less 
 I left a pair of indispensable boots behind, and 
 the tea-jacket went into my portmanteau. 
 
 It is doing no more than the barest justice to 
 the officers of the Royal Navy to say that, so far 
 as I know them, they cherish no mistaken en- 
 thusiasm for a home on the rolling deep when a 
 home anywhere else " presents itself. Bernard 
 Shute had unfortunately proved an exception to 
 this rule. During the winter, the invitation to go 
 for a cruise in the yacht that was in process of 
 building for him hung over me like a cloud ; a 
 timely strike in the builder's yard brought a respite, 
 and, in fact, placed the completion of the yacht 
 at so safe a distance that I was betrayed into 
 specious regrets, echoed with an atrocious sincerity 
 by -Philippa. Into a life pastorally compounded 
 of Petty Sessions and lawn-tennis parties, retribu- 
 tion fell when it was least expected. Bernard 
 Shute hired a yacht in Queenstown, and one short 
 week afterwards the worst had happened, and we 
 were packing our things for a cruise in her, the
 
 Fahy 
 
 only alleviation being the knowledge that, whether 
 by sea or land, I was bound to return to my work 
 in four days. 
 
 We left Shreelane at twelve o'clock, a specially 
 depressing hour for a start, when breakfast has 
 died in you, and lunch is still remote. My last 
 act before mounting the dogcart was to put her 
 collar and chain on Maria and immure her in the 
 potato-house, whence, as we drove down the 
 avenue, her wails rent the heart of Philippa and 
 rejoiced mine. It was a very hot day, with a 
 cloudless sky ; the dust lay thick on the white 
 road, and on us also, as, during two baking hours, 
 we drove up and down the long hills and remem- 
 bered things that had been left behind, and grew 
 hungry enough to eat sandwiches that tasted 
 suspiciously of roast beef. 
 
 The yacht was moored in Clountiss Harbour ; 
 we drove through the village street, a narrow 
 and unlovely thoroughfare, studded with public- 
 houses, swarming with children and poultry, down 
 through an ever-growing smell of fish, to the 
 quay. 
 
 Thence we first viewed our fate, a dingy-looking 
 schooner, and the hope I had secretly been 
 nourishing that there was not wind enough for 
 her to start, was dispelled by the sight of her 
 topsail going up. More than ever at that radiant 
 moment as the reflection of the white sail 
 quivered on the tranquil blue, and the still 
 water flattered all it reproduced, like a fashion- 
 able photographer did I agree with George
 
 234 S m e Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Herbert's advice, " Praise the sea, but stay on 
 shore." 
 
 "We must hail her, I suppose," I said drearily. 
 I assailed the Eileen Oge, such being her inappro- 
 priate name, with desolate cries, but achieved no 
 immediate result beyond the assembling of some 
 village children round us and our luggage. 
 
 " Mr. Shute and the two ladies was after screech- 
 ing here for the boat awhile ago," volunteered a 
 horrid little girl, whom I had already twice 
 frustrated in the attempt to seat an infant 
 relative on our bundle of rugs. " Timsy Halla- 
 hane says 'twould be as good for them to stay 
 ashore, for there isn't as much wind outside as'd 
 out a candle." 
 
 With this encouraging statement the little girl 
 devoted herself to the alternate consumption of 
 gooseberries and cockles. 
 
 All things come to those who wait, and to 
 us arrived at length the gig of the Eileen Oge, 
 and such,.^ by this time, were the temperature 
 and the smells of the quay that I actually wel- 
 comed the moment that found iis leaving it for 
 the yacht. 
 
 "Now, Sinclair, aren't you glad we came?" 
 remarked Philippa, as the clear green water 
 deepened under us, and a light briny air came 
 coolly round us with the motion of the boat. 
 
 As she spoke, there was an outburst of screams 
 from the children on the quay, followed by a 
 heavy splash. 
 
 " Oh stop ! " cried Philippa in an agony ; " one
 
 'The House of Fahy 235 
 
 of them has fallen in ! I can see its poor little 
 brown head ! " 
 
 " Tis a dog, ma'am," said briefly the man who 
 was rowing stroke. 
 
 " One might have wished it had been that little 
 girl," said I, as I steered to the best of my ability 
 for the yacht. 
 
 We had traversed another twenty yards or so, 
 when Philippa, in a voice in which horror and 
 triumph were strangely blended, exclaimed, " She's 
 following us 1 " 
 
 " Who ? The little girl ? " I asked callously. 
 
 " No," returned Philippa ; " worse." 
 
 I looked round, not without a prevision of what 
 I was to see, and beheld the faithful Maria swim- 
 ming steadily after us, with her brown muzzle 
 thrust out in front of her, ripping through the 
 reflections like a plough. 
 
 " Go home ! " I roared, standing up and ges- 
 ticulating in fury that I well knew to be impotent 
 " Go home, you brute ! " 
 
 Maria redoubled her efforts, and Philippa mur- 
 mured uncontrollably 
 
 "Well, she is a dear!" 
 
 Had I had a sword in my hand I should un- 
 doubtedly have slain Philippa ; but before I could 
 express my sentiments in any way, a violent shock 
 flung me endways on top of the man who was 
 pulling stroke. Thanks to Maria, we had reached 
 our destination all unawares ; the two men, re- 
 spectfully awaiting my instructions, had rowed on 
 with disciplined steadiness, and, as a result, we
 
 236 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 had rammed the Eileen Oge amidships, with a 
 vigour that brought Mr. Shute tumbling up the 
 companion to see what had happened. 
 
 SHE'S FOLLOWING US ! " 
 
 "Oh, it's you, is it?" he said, with his mouth 
 full. " Come in ; don't knock ! Delighted to see 
 you, Mrs. Yeates ; don't apologise. There's no- 
 thing like a hired ship after all it's quite jolly
 
 The House of Fahy 237 
 
 to see the splinters fly shows you're getting your 
 money's worth. Hullo ! who's this ? " 
 
 This was Maria, feigning exhaustion, and noisily 
 treading water at the boat's side. 
 
 " What, poor old Maria ? Wanted to send her 
 ashore, did he ? Heartless ruffian ! " 
 
 Thus, was Maria installed on board the Eileen 
 Oge, and the element of fatality had already begun 
 to work. 
 
 There was just enough wind to take us out 
 of Clountiss Harbour, and with the last of the 
 out-running tide we crept away to the west. 
 The party on board consisted of our host's sister, 
 Miss Cecilia Shute, Miss Sally Knox, and our- 
 selves ; we sat about in conventional attitudes in 
 deck chairs and on adamantine deck bosses, and 
 I talked to Miss Shute with feverish brilliancy, 
 and wished the patience-cards were not in the. 
 cabin ; I knew the supreme importance of keep- 
 ing one's mind occupied, but I dared not face 
 the cabin. There was a long, almost imper- 
 ceptible swell, with little queer seabirds that I 
 have never seen before and trust I never shall 
 again dotted about on its glassy slopes. The 
 coast-line looked low and grey and dull, as, I 
 think, coast- lines always do when viewed from 
 the deep. The breeze /that Bernard had pro- 
 mised us we should find outside was barely 
 enough to keep us moving. The burning 
 sun of four o'clock focussed its heat - on the 
 deck ; BernarcJ stood up among us, engaged 
 in .what hp was pleased to call " handling the
 
 238 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 stick/' and beamed almost as offensively as the 
 sun. 
 
 " Oh, we're slipping along/.' he said, his odiously 
 healthy face glowing like copper against the blaz- 
 ing blue sky. " You're going a great deal faster 
 than you think, and the men say we'll pick up a 
 breeze once we're round the Mizen." 
 
 I made no reply ; I was not feeling ill, merely 
 thoroughly disinclined for conversation. Miss Sally 
 smiled wanly, and closing her eyes, laid her head 
 on Philippa's knee. Instructed by a dread free- 
 masonry, I knew that for her the moment had 
 come when she could no longer bear to see the 
 rail rise slowly above the horizon, and with an 
 equal rhythmic slowness sink below it. Maria 
 moved restlessly to and fro, panting and yawn- 
 ing, and occasionally rearing herself on her hind- 
 legs against the side, and staring forth with wild 
 eyes at the headachy sliding of the swell. Per- 
 haps she was meditating suicide ; if so I sympa- 
 thised with her, and since she was obviously 
 going to be sick I trusted that she would bring 
 off the suicide with as little delay as possible. 
 Philippa and Miss Shute sat in unaffected serenity 
 in deck chairs, and stitched at white things 
 teacloths for the Eileen Oge, I believe, things 
 in themselves a mockery and talked untiringly, 
 with that singular indifference to their marine 
 surroundings that I have often observed in ladies 
 who are not sea-sick. It always stirs me afresh 
 to wonder why they have not remained ashore ; 
 nevertheless, I prefer their tranquil and total lack
 
 The House of Fahy 239 
 
 of interest in seafaring matters to the blatant 
 Vikingism of the average male who is similarly 
 placed. 
 
 Somehow, I know not how, we crawled on- 
 wards, and by about five o'clock we had rounded 
 the Mizen, a gaunt spike of a headland that starts 
 up like a boar's tusk above the ragged lip of 
 the Irish coast, and the Eileen Oge was be- 
 ginning to swing and wallop in the long sluggish 
 rollers that the American liners know and despise. 
 I was very far from despising them. Down in 
 the west, resting on the sea's rim, a purple bank 
 of clouds lay awaiting the descent of the sun, as 
 seductively and as malevolently as a damp bed 
 at a hotel awaits a traveller. 
 
 The end, so far as I was concerned, came at tea- 
 time. The meal had been prepared in the saloon, 
 and thither it became incumbent on me to ac- 
 company my hostess and my wife. Miss Sally, 
 long past speech, opened, at the suggestion of 
 tea, one eye, and disclosed a look of horror. As 
 I tottered down the companion I respected her 
 good sense. The Eileen Oge had been built 
 early in the sixties, and head-room was not her 
 strong point ; neither, apparently, was ventilation. 
 I began by dashing my forehead against the frame 
 of the cabin door, and then, shattered morally 
 and physically, entered into the atmosphere of 
 the pit. After which things, and the sight of a 
 plate of rich cake, I retired in good order to my 
 cabin, and began upon the Yanatas. 
 
 I pass over some painful intermediate details
 
 240 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 and resume at the moment when Bernard Shute 
 woke me from a drugged slumber to announce 
 that dinner was over. 
 
 " It's been raining pretty hard," he said, swaying 
 easily with the swing of the yacht ; " but we've 
 got a clinking breeze, and we ought to make 
 Lurriga Harbour to-night. There's good anchor- 
 age there, the men say. They're rather a lot of 
 swabs, but they know this coast, and I don't. I 
 took 'em over with the ship all standing." 
 
 " Where are we now ? " I asked, something 
 heartened by the blessed word "anchorage." 
 
 " You're running up Sheepskin Bay it's a 
 thundering big bay ; Lurriga's up at the far end 
 of it, and the night's as -black as the inside of a 
 cow. Dig out and get something to eat, and 
 come on deck ; What 1 no dinner ? " I had 
 spoken morosely, with closed eyes " Oh, rot ! 
 you're on an even keel now. I promised Mrs. 
 Yeates I'd make you dig out. You're as bad as 
 a soldier officer that we were ferrying to Malta 
 one time in the old Taniar. He got one leg 
 out of his berth when we were going down the 
 Channel, and he was too sick to pull it in again 
 till we got to Gib ! " 
 
 I compromised on a drink and some biscuits. 
 The ship was certainly steadier, and I felt suffi- 
 ciently restored to climb weakly on deck. It was 
 by this time past ten o'clock, and heavy clouds 
 blotted out the last of the afterglow, and smothered 
 the stars at their birth. A wet warm wind was 
 lashing the Eileen Oge up a wide estuary ; the
 
 The House of Fahy 241 
 
 waves were hunting her, hissing under her stern, 
 racing up to her, crested with the white glow of 
 phosphorus, as she fled before them. I dimly 
 discerned in the greyness the more solid greyness 
 of the shore. The mainsail loomed out into the 
 darkness, nearly at right angles to the yacht, with 
 the boom creaking as the following wind gave 
 us an additional shove. I know nothing of yacht 
 sailing, but I can appreciate the grand fact that 
 in running before a wind the boom is removed 
 from its usual sphere of devastation. 
 
 I sat down beside a bundle of rugs that I had 
 discovered to be my wife, and thought of my 
 whitewashed office at Shreelane and its bare but 
 stationary floor, with a yearning that was little 
 short of passion. Miss Sally had long since 
 succumbed ; Miss Shute was tired, and had turned 
 in soon after dinner. 
 
 " I suppose she's overdone by the delirious gaiety 
 of the afternoon," said I acridly, in reply to this 
 information. 
 
 Philip'pa cautiously poked forth her head from 
 the rugs, like a tortoise from under its .shell, to 
 see that Bernard, who was standing near the 
 steersman, was out of hearing. 
 
 " Ip all your life, Sinclair," she said impressively, 
 "you never knew such a time as Cecilia and I 
 .have had down there ! We've had to wash every- 
 thing in the cabins, and remake the beds, and 
 hurl the sheets away they were covered with 
 black finger-marks and while we were doing 
 that, in came the creature that calls himself the 
 
 Q
 
 242 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 steward, to ask if he might get something of his 
 that he had left in Miss Shute's 'birthplace' 1 and 
 he rooted out from under Cecilia's mattress a 
 pair of socks and half a loaf of bread ! " 
 
 "Consolation to Miss Shute to know her berth 
 has been well aired," I said, with the nearest 
 approach to enjoyment I had known since I came 
 on board ; " and has Sally made any equally 
 interesting discoveries ? " 
 
 " She said she didn't care, what her bed was 
 like ; she just dropped into it. I must say I am 
 sorry for her," went on Philippa ; " she hated 
 coming. Her mother made her accept." 
 
 " I wonder if Lady Knox will make her accept 
 him !" I said. " How often has Sally refused him, 
 does any one know ? " 
 
 " Oh, about once a week," replied Philippa ; 
 "just the way I kept on refusing you, you 
 know ! " 
 
 Something cold and wet was thrust into my 
 hand, and the aroma of damp dog arose upon the 
 night air ; Maria had issued from some lair at 
 the sound of our voices, and was now, with 
 palsied tremblings, slowly trying to drag herself 
 on to my lap. - 
 
 " Poor thing, she's been so dreadfully ill," said 
 Philippa. " Don't send her away, Sinclair. Mr. 
 Shute found her lying on his berth not able to 
 move ; didn't you, Mr. Shute ? " 
 
 " She found out that she was able to move," 
 said Bernard, who had crossed to our side of 
 the deck ; " it was somehow borne in upon her
 
 The House of Fahy 243 
 
 when I got at her with a boot-tree. I wouldn't 
 advise you to keep her in your lap, Yeates. She 
 stole half a ham. after dinner, and she might take 
 a notion to make the only reparation in her 
 power." 
 
 I stood up and stretched myself stiffly. The 
 wind was freshening, and though the growing 
 smoothness of the water told that we were making 
 shelter of some kind, for all that I could see of 
 land we might as well have been in mid-ocean. 
 The heaving lift of the deck under my feet, and 
 the lurching swing when a stronger gust filled the 
 ghostly sails, were more disquieting to me in 
 suggestion than in reality, and, to my surprise, 
 I found something almost enjoyable in rushing 
 through darkness at the pace at which we were 
 going. 
 
 " We're a small bit short of the mouth of Lurriga 
 Harbour yet, sir," said the man who was steering, 
 in reply to a question from Bernard. " I can see 
 the shore well enough ; sure I know every yard 
 of wather in the bay " 
 
 As he spoke he sat down abruptly and violently ; 
 so did Bernard, so did I. The bundle that con- 
 tained Philippa collapsed upon Maria. 
 
 "Main sheet !" bellowed Bernard, on his feet "in 
 an instant, as the boom swung in and out again 
 with a terrific jerk. "We're ashore ! " 
 
 In response to this order three men in succession 
 fell over me while I was still struggling on the 
 deck, and something that was either Philippa-'s 
 elbow, or the acutest angle of Maria's skull, hit
 
 244 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 me in the face. As I found my feet the cabin 
 skylight was suddenly illuminated by a wavering 
 glare. I got across the slanting deck somehow, 
 through the confusion of shouting men and the 
 flapping thunder of the sails, and saw through the 
 skylight a gush of flame rising from a pool of fire 
 around an overturned lamp on the swing-table. 
 I avalanched down the companion and was squan- 
 dered like an avalanche on the floor at the foot of 
 it. Even as I fell, McCarthy the steward dragged 
 the strip of carpet from the cabin floor and threw 
 it on the blaze ; I found myself, in some unex- 
 plained way, snatching a railway rug from Miss 
 Shute and applying it to the same purpose, and 
 in half-a-dozen seconds we had smothered the 
 flame and were left in total darkness. The most 
 striking feature of the situation was the immovability 
 of the yacht. 
 
 " Great Ned ! " said McCarthy, invoking I know 
 not what heathen deity, " it is on the bottom of 
 the say we are ? Well, whether or no, thank God 
 we have the fire quinched ! " 
 
 We were not, so far, at the bottom of, the sea, 
 but during the next ten minutes the chances 
 seemed in favour of our getting there. The yacht 
 had run her bows upon a sunken ridge of rock, 
 and after a period of feminine indecision as to 
 whether she were going to slide off again, or 
 roll over into deep water, she elected to stay 
 where she was, and the gig was lowered with all 
 speed, in order to tow her off before the tide left 
 her.
 
 The House of Fahy 245 
 
 My recollection of this interval is but hazy, but 
 I can certify that in ten minutes I had swept to- 
 gether an assortment of necessaries and knotted 
 them into my counterpane, had broken the string 
 of my eye-glass, and lost my silver matchbox ; had 
 found Philippa's curling-tongs and put them in 
 my pocket ; had carted all the luggage on deck ; 
 had then applied myself to the manly duty of 
 reassuring the ladies, and had found Miss Shute 
 merely bored, Philippa enthusiastically anxious to 
 be allowed to help to pull the gig, and Miss Sally 
 radiantly restored to health and spirits by the ces- 
 sation of movement and the probability of an early 
 escape from the yacht. 
 
 The rain had, with its usual opportuneness, 
 begun again ; we stood in it under umbrellas, and 
 watched the gig jumping on its tow-rope like a 
 dog on a string, as the crew plied the labouring 
 oar in futile endeavour to move the Eileen Oge. 
 We had run on the rock at half-tide, and the in- 
 creasing sjant of the deck as the tide fell brought 
 home to us the pleasing probability that at low 
 water viz. about 2 A.M. we should roll off the 
 rock and go to the bottom. Had Bernard Shute 
 wished to show himself in the most advantageous 
 light to Miss Sally he could scarcely have bettered 
 the situation, I looked on in helpless respect while 
 he whom I had known as the scourge of the 
 hunting field, the terror of the shooting party, rose 
 to the top of a difficult position and kept there, 
 and my respect was, if possible, increased by the 
 presence of mind with which he availed himself
 
 246 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 of all critical moments to place a protecting arm 
 round Miss Knox. 
 
 By about i A.M. the two gaffs with which 
 Bernard had contrived to shore up the slowly 
 heeling yacht began to show signs of yielding, and, 
 in approved shipwreck fashion, we took to the 
 boats, the yacht's crew in the gig remaining in 
 attendance on what seemed likely to be the last 
 moments of the Eileen Oge, while we, in the 
 dinghy, sought for the harbour. Owing to the 
 tilt of the yacht's deck, and the roughness of the 
 broken water round her, getting into the boat was 
 no mean feat of gymnastics. Miss Sally did it like 
 a bird, alighting in the inevitable arms of Bernard ; 
 Miss Shute followed very badly, but, by innate 
 force of character, successfully ; Philippa, who was 
 enjoying every moment of her shipwreck, came 
 last, launching herself into the dinghy with my 
 silver shoe-horn clutched in one hand, and in the 
 other the tea-basket. I heard the hollow clank 
 of its tin cups as she sprang, and appreciated the 
 heroism with which Bernard received one of its 
 corners in his waist. How or when Maria left 
 the yacht I know not, but when I applied myself 
 to the bow oar I led off with three crabs, owing 
 to the devotion with which she thrust her head into 
 my lap. 
 
 I am no judge of these matters, but in my 
 opinion we ought to have" been swamped several 
 times during that row. There was nothing but 
 the phosphorus of breaking waves to tell us where 
 the rocks were, and nothing to show where the
 
 The House of Fahy 247 
 
 harbour was except a solitary light, a masthead 
 lighi^as we supposed. The skipper had assured 
 us that we could not go wrong if we kept "a 
 westerly course with a little northing in it ; " but it 
 seemed simpler to steer for the light, and we did 
 so. The dinghy climbed along over the waves 
 with an agility that was safer than it felt ; the rain 
 fell without haste and without rest, the oars were 
 as inflexible as crowbars, and somewhat resembled 
 them in shape and weight ; nevertheless, it was 
 Elysium when compared with the afternoon leisure 
 of the deck of the Eileen Oge. 
 
 At last we came, unexplainably, into smooth 
 water, and it was at about this time that we were 
 first aware that the darkness was less dense than it 
 had been, and that the rain had ceased. By im- 
 perceptible degrees a greyness touched the back 
 of the waves, more a dreariness than a dawn, 
 but more welcome than thousands of gold and 
 silver. I looked over my shoulder and discerned 
 vague bulky things ahead ; as I did so, my oar was 
 suddenly wrapped in seaweed. We crept on ; 
 Maria stood up with her paws on the gunwale, and 
 \vhined in high agitation. The dark objects ahead 
 resolved themselves into rocks, and without more 
 ado Maria pitched herself into the water. In half 
 a minute we heard her shaking herself on shore. 
 We slid on ; the water swelled under the dinghy, 
 and lifted her keel on to grating gravel. 
 
 "We couldn't have done it better if we'd been 
 the Hydrographer Royal," said Bernard, wading 
 knee-deep in a light wash of foam, with the painter
 
 248 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 in his hand ; " but all the same, that masthead light 
 is some one's bedroom candle 1 " 
 
 We landed, hauled up the boat, and then feebly 
 sat down on our belongings to review the situation, 
 and Maria came and shook herself over each of us 
 in turn. We had run into a little cove, guided 
 by the philanthropic beam of a candle in the upper 
 window of a house about a hundred yards away. 
 The candle still burned on, and the anaemic day- 
 light exhibited to us our surroundings, and we 
 debated as to whether we could at 2.45 A.M. 
 present ourselves as objects of compassion to the 
 owner of the candle. I need hardly say that it was 
 the ladies who decided on making the attempt, 
 having, like most of their sex, a courage incom- 
 parably superior to ours in such matters ; Bernard 
 and I had not a grain of genuine compunction in 
 our souls, but we failed in nerve. 
 
 We trailed up from the cove, laden with emi- 
 grants' bundles, stumbling on wet rocks in the half- 
 light, and succeeded in making our way to the 
 house. 
 
 It was a small two-storied building, of that 
 hideous breed of architecture usually dedicated to 
 the rectories of the Irish Church ; we felt that 
 there was something friendly in the presence of 
 a pair of carpet slippers in the porch, but there 
 was a hint of exclusiveness in the fact that there 
 was no knocker and that the bell was broken. The 
 light still burned in the .upper window, and with a 
 faltering hand I flung gravel at the glass. This 
 summons was appallingly responded to by a shriek ;
 
 The House of Fahy 249 
 
 there was a flutter of white at the panes, and the 
 candle was extinguished. 
 
 " Come away ! " exclaimed Miss Shute, " it's a 
 lunatic asylum 1 " 
 
 We stood our ground, however, and presently 
 heard a footstep within, a blind was poked aside 
 in another window, and we were inspected by 
 an unseen inmate ; then some^ one came down- 
 stairs, and the hall door was opened by a small 
 man with a bald head and a long sandy beard. 
 He was attired in a brief dressing-gown, and on his 
 shoulder sat, like an angry ghost, a large white 
 cockatoo. Its crest was up on end, its beak was a 
 good two inches long and curved like a Malay kris ; 
 its claws gripped the little man's shoulder. Maria 
 uttered in the background a low and thunderous 
 growl. 
 
 " Don't take any notice of the bird, please," said 
 the little man nervously, seeing our united gaze 
 fixed upon this apparition ; " he's extremely fierce 
 if annoyed." 
 
 The majority of our party here melted away to 
 either side of the hall door, and I was left to do the 
 explaining. The tale of our misfortunes had its 
 due effect, and we were ushered into a small 
 drawing-room, our host holding open the door 
 for us, like a nightmare footman with bare shins, 
 a gnome-like bald head, and an unclean spirit 
 swaying on his shoulder. He opened the shutters, 
 and we sat decorously round the room, as at an 
 afternoon party, while the situation was further 
 expounded on both sides. Our entertainer, indeed,
 
 250 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 favoured us with the leading items of his family 
 history, amongst them the facts that he was a 
 Dr. Fahy from Cork, who had taken somebody's 
 rectory for the summer, and had been prevailed 
 
 on by some of his 
 patients to permit 
 them to join him as 
 paying guests. 
 
 "I said it was a 
 lunatic asylum," 
 murmured Miss 
 Shute to me. 
 
 "In point of fact," 
 went on our host, 
 "there isn't an 
 empty room in the 
 house, which is why 
 I can only offer 
 your party the use 
 of this room and the 
 kitchen fire, which 
 I make a point of 
 keeping burning all 
 night." 
 
 He leaned back 
 complacently in his 
 chair, and crossed 
 his legs; then, obvi- 
 
 ously remembering his costume, sat bolt upright 
 again. We owed the guiding beams of the candle 
 to the owner of the cockatoo, an old Mrs. Buck, 
 who was, we gathered, the most paying of all the 
 
 OUR ENTERTAINER
 
 House of Fahy 251 
 
 patients, and also, obviously, the one most feared 
 and cherished by Dr. Fahy. " She has a candle 
 burning all night for the bird, and her door open 
 to let him walk about the house when he likes," 
 said Dr. Fahy ; " indeed, I may say. her passion 
 for him amounts to dementia. He's very fond of 
 me, and Mrs. Fahy's always telling me I should 
 be thankful, as whatever he did we'd be bound 
 to put up with it ! " 
 
 Dr. Fahy had evidently a turn for conversation 
 that was unaffected by circumstance ; the first 
 beams of the early sun were lighting up the rep 
 chair covers before the door closed upon his brown 
 dressing-gown, and upon the stately white back 
 of the cockatoo, and the demoniac possession of 
 laughter that had wrought .in us during the inter- 
 view burst forth unchecked. It was most painful 
 and exhausting, as such laughter always is ; but 
 by far the most serious part of it was that Miss 
 Sally, who was sitting in the window, somehow 
 drove her elbow through a pane of glass, and 
 Bernard, in pulling down the blind to conceal 
 the damage, tore it off the roller. 
 
 There followed on this catastrophe a period 
 during which reason tottered and Maria barked 
 furiously. Philippa was the first to pull herself 
 together, and to suggest an adjournment to the 
 kitchen fire that, in honour of the paying guests, 
 was never quenched, and, respecting the repose 
 of the household, we proceeded thither with a 
 stealth that convinced Maria we were engaged in 
 a rat hunt. The boots of paying guests littered
 
 252 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 the floor, the debris of their last repast covered 
 the table ; a cat in some unseen fastness crooned 
 a war song to Maria, who feigned uncon- 
 sciousness and fell to scientific research in the 
 scullery. 
 
 We roasted our boots at the range, and Bernard, 
 with all a sailor's gift for exploration and theft, 
 prowled in noisome purlieus and emerged with 
 a jug of milk and a lump of salt butter. No one 
 who has not been a burglar can at all realise 
 what it was to roam through Dr.' Fahy's basement 
 storey, with the rookery of paying guests asleep 
 above, and to feel that, so far, we had repaid his 
 confidence by breaking a pane of glass and a 
 blind, and putting the scullery tap out of order. 
 I have always maintained th^t there was some- 
 thing wrong with it before I touched it, but the 
 fact remains that when I had filled Philippa's kettle, 
 no human power could prevail upon it to stop 
 flowing. For all I know to the contrary it is 
 running still. 
 
 It was in the course of our furtive return to the 
 drawing-room that we were again confronted by 
 Mrs. Buck's cockatoo. It was standing in malign 
 meditation on the stairs, and on seeing us it rose, 
 without a word of warning, upon the wing, and 
 with a long screech flung itself at Miss Sally's 
 golden-red head, which a ray of sunlight had 
 chanced to illumine. There was a moment of 
 stampede, as the selected victim, pursued by the 
 cockatoo, fled into the drawing-room ; two chairs 
 were upset (one, I think, broken), Miss Sally
 
 T/ie House of Fa/iy 253 
 
 enveloped herself in a window curtain, Philippa 
 and Miss Shute effaced themselves beneath a table ; 
 the cockatoo, foiled of its prey, skimmed, still 
 screeching, round the ceiling. It was Bernard 
 who, with a well-directed sofa-cushion, drove the 
 enemy from the room. There was only a chink 
 of the door open, but the cockatoo turned on 
 his side as he flew, and swung through it like a 
 woodcock. 
 
 We slammed the door behind him, and at the 
 same instant there came a thumping on the floor 
 overhead, muffled, yet peremptory. 
 
 "That's Mrs. Buckl" said Miss Shute, crawling 
 from under the table ; " the room over this is the 
 one that had the candle in it." 
 
 We sat for a time in awful stillness, but nothing 
 further happened, save a distant shriek overhead, 
 that told the cockatoo had sought and found 
 sanctuary in his owner's room. We had tea sotto 
 voce, and then, one by one, despite the amazing 
 discomfort of the drawing-room chairs, we dozed 
 off to sleep. 
 
 It was at about five o'clock that I woke with 
 a stiff neck and an uneasy remembrance that I 
 had last seen Maria in the kitchen. The others, 
 looking, each of them, about twenty years older 
 than their age, slept in various attitudes of exhaus- 
 tion. Bernard opened his eyes as I stole forth 
 to look for Maria, but none of the ladies awoke. 
 I went down the evil-smelling passage that led to 
 the kitchen stairs, and, there on a mat, regarding 
 me with intelligent affection, was Maria ; but what
 
 254 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 oh what was the white thing that lay between 
 her f orepaws ? 
 
 The situation was too serious to be coped with 
 alone. I fled noiselessly back to the drawing-room 
 and put my head in ; Bernard's eyes blessed be 
 the light sleep of sailors ! opened again, and 
 there was that in mine that summoned him forth. 
 (Blessed also be the light step of sailors !) 
 
 We took the corpse from Maria, withholding 
 perforce the language and the slaughtering that 
 our hearts ached to bestow. For a minute or two 
 our eyes communed. 
 
 "I'll get the kitchen shovel," breathed Bernard ; 
 " you open the hall door ! " 
 
 A moment later we passed like spirits into the 
 open air, and on into a little garden at the end 
 of the house. Maria followed us, licking her lips. 
 There were beds of nasturtiums, and of purple 
 stocks, and of marigolds. We chose a bed of 
 stocks, a plump bed, that looked like easy digging. 
 The windows were all tightly shut and shuttered, 
 and I took the cockatoo from under my coat and 
 hid it, temporarily, behind a box border. Bernard 
 had brought a shovel and a coal scoop. We dug 
 like badgers. At eighteen inches we got down into 
 shale, and stones, and the coal scoop struck work. 
 
 " Never mind," said Bernard ; " we'll plant the 
 stocks on top of him." 
 
 It was a lovely morning, with a new-born blue 
 sky and a light northerly breeze. As we returned 
 to the house, we looked across the wavelets of the 
 little cove and saw, above the rocky point round
 
 The House of Fahy 255 
 
 which we had groped last night, a triangular white 
 patch moving slowly along. 
 
 " The tide's lifted her 1 " said Bernard, standing 
 stock-still. He looked at Mrs. Buck's window and 
 at me. " Yeates ! " he whispered, " let's quit ! " 
 
 It was now barely six o'clock, and not a soul 
 was stirring. We woke the ladies and convinced 
 them of the high importance of catching the tide. 
 Bernard left a note on the hall table for Dr. 
 Fahy, a beautiful note of leave-taking and grati- 
 tude, and apology for the broken window (for which 
 he begged to enclose half-a-crown). No allusion 
 was made to the other casualties. As we neared 
 the strand he found an occasion to say to me : 
 
 " I put in a postscript that I thought it best 
 to mention that I had seen the cockatoo in the 
 garden, and hoped it would get back all right. 
 That's quite true, you know ! But look here, 
 whatever you do, you must keep it all dark from 
 the ladies " 
 
 At this juncture Maria overtook us with the 
 cockatoo in her mouth.
 
 XI 
 
 OCCASIONAL LICENSES 
 
 IT'S out of the question," I said, looking for- 
 biddingly at Mrs. Moloney through the spokes 
 of the bicycle that I was pumping up outside the 
 grocer's in Skebawn. 
 
 " Well, indeed, Major Yeates," said Mrs. Moloney, 
 advancing excitedly, and placing on the nickel 
 plating a hand that I had good and recent cause 
 to know was warm, "sure I know well that if 
 th' angel Gabriel came down from heaven look- 
 ing for a license for the races, your honour 
 wouldn't give it to him without a charackther, 
 but as for Michael ! Sure, the world k'nows what 
 Michael is!" 
 
 I had been waiting for Philippa for already 
 nearly half-an-hour, and my temper was not at 
 its best. 
 
 "Character or no character, Mrs. Moloney," 
 said I with asperity, "the magistrates have settled 
 to give no occasional licenses, and if Michael were 
 as sober as " 
 
 " Is it sober ! God help us ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 M6loney with an upward rolling of her eye to 
 the Recording Angel ; " I'll tell your honour the
 
 Occasional Licenses 257 
 
 
 
 truth. I'm his wife, now, fifteen years, and I 
 never seen the sign of dhrink on Michael only 
 once, and that was when he went out o' good- 
 nature helping Timsy Ryan to whitewash his 
 house, and Timsy and himself had a couple o' 
 pots o' porther, and look, he was as little used 
 to it that his head got light, and he walked away 
 out to dhrive in the cows and it no more than 
 eleven o'clock in the day 1 And the cows, the 
 craytures, as much surprised, goin' hither and 
 over the four corners of the road from him ! 
 Faith, ye'd have to laugh. ' Michael/ says I to 
 him, ' ye're dhrunk ! ' 'I am,' says he, and the 
 tears rained from his eyes. I turned the cows from 
 him. * Go home,' I says, ' and lie down on Willy 
 Tom's bed ' " 
 
 At this affecting point my wife came out of 
 the grocer's with a large parcel to be strapped 
 to my handlebar, and the history of Mr. Moloney's 
 solitary lapse from sobriety got no further than 
 Willy Tom's bed. 
 
 " You see," I said to Philippa, as we bicycled 
 quietly home through the hot June afternoon, 
 " we've settled we'll give no licenses for the sports. 
 Why even young Sheehy, who owns three pubs 
 in Skebawn, came to me and said he hoped the 
 magistrates would be firm about it, as these one- 
 day licenses were quite unnecessary, and only 
 led to drunkenness and fighting, and every man 
 on the Bench has joined in promising not to 
 grant any." 
 
 " How nice, dear ! " said Philippa absently. " Do 
 
 R
 
 258 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 you know Mrs. McDonnell can only let me have 
 three dozen cups and saucers ; I wonder if that 
 will be enough ? " 
 
 " Do you mean to say you expect three dozen 
 people ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh, it's always well to be prepared," replied 
 my wife evasively. 
 
 During the next few days I realised the true 
 inwardness of what it was to be prepared for an 
 entertainment of this kind. Games were not at 
 a high level in my district. Football, of a wild, 
 guerilla species, was waged intermittently, blended 
 in some inextricable way with Home Rule and 
 a brass band, and on Sundays gatherings of 
 young men rolled a heavy round stone along 
 the roads, a rudimentary form of sport, whose 
 fascination lay primarily in the fact that it was 
 illegal, and, in lesser degree, in betting on the 
 length of each roll. I had had a period of 
 enthusiasm, during which I thought I was go- 
 ing to be the apostle of cricket in the neigh- 
 bourhood, but my mission dwindled to single 
 wicket with Peter Cadogan, who was indulgent 
 but bored, and I swiped the ball through the 
 dining-room window, and some one took one of 
 the stumps to poke the laundry fire. Once a 
 year, however, on that festival of the Roman 
 Catholic Church which is familiarly known as 
 " Pettier and Paul's day," the district was wont 
 to make a spasmodic effort at athletic sports, 
 which were duly patronised by the gentry and 
 promoted by the publicans, and this year the
 
 Occasional Licenses 259 
 
 honour of a steward's green rosette was con- 
 ferred upon me. Philippa's genius for hospitality 
 here saw its chance, and broke forth into un- 
 bridled tea-party in connection with the sports, 
 even involving me in the hire of a tent, the 
 conveyance of chairs and tables, and other large 
 operations. 
 
 It chanced that Flurry Knox had on this occa- 
 sion lent the fields for the sports, with the proviso 
 that horse-races and a tug-of-war were to be added 
 to the usual programme ; Flurry's participation 
 in events of this kind seldom failed to be of an 
 inflaming character. As he and I planted larch 
 spars for the high jump, and stuck furze-bushes 
 into hurdles (locally known as (t hurrls "), and 
 skirmished hourly with people who wanted to 
 sell drink on the course, I thought that my next 
 summer leave would singularly coincide with the 
 festival consecrated to St. Peter and St. Paul. 
 We made a grand stand of quite four feet high, 
 out of old fish-boxes, which smelt worse and worse 
 as the day wore on, but was, none the less, as 
 sought after by those for whom it was not in- 
 tended, as is the Royal enclosure at Ascot ; we 
 broke gaps in all the fences to allow carriages on 
 to the ground, we armed a gang of the worst 
 blackguards in Skebawn with cart-whips, to keep 
 the course, and felt that organisation could go no 
 further. 
 
 The momentous day of Pether and Paul opened 
 badly, with heavy clouds and every indication of 
 rain, but after a few thunder showers things
 
 260 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 brightened, and it seemed within the bounds of 
 possibility that the weather might hold up. When 
 I got down to the course on the day of the sports 
 the first thing I saw was a tent of that peculiar 
 filthy grey that usually enshrines the sale of porter, 
 with an array of barrels in /a crate beside it ; I 
 bore down upon it in all the indignant majesty 
 of the law, and in so doing came upon Flurry 
 Knox, who was engaged in flogging boys off the 
 Grand Stand. 
 
 " Sheehy's gone one better than you ! " he said, 
 without taking any 'trouble to conceal the fact 
 that he was amused. 
 
 " Sheehy 1 " I said ; " why, Sheehy was the man 
 who went to every magistrate in the country to 
 ask them to refuse a license for the sports." 
 
 " Yes, he took some trouble to prevent any one 
 else having a look in," replied Flurry ; " he asked 
 every magistrate but one, and that was the one 
 that gave him the license." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that it was you ? " 
 I demanded in high wrath and suspicion, -remem- 
 bering that Sheehy bred horses, and that my friend 
 Mr. Knox was a person of infinite resource in the 
 matter of a deal. 
 
 "Well, well," said Flurry, rearranging a dis- 
 ordered fish-box, "and me that's a churchwarden, 
 . and sprained my ankle a month ago with running 
 downstairs at my grandmother's to be in time for 
 prayers ! Where's the use of a good character in 
 this country ?" 
 
 " Not much when you keep it eating its head
 
 Occasional Licenses 261 
 
 off for want of exercise," I retorted ; " but if it 
 wasn't you, who was it?" 
 
 " Do you remember old Moriarty out at Castle 
 Ire ? " 
 
 I remembered him extremely well as one of 
 those representatives of the people with whom 
 a paternal Government had leavened the effete 
 ranks of the Irish magistracy. 
 
 "Well," resumed Flurry, "that license was as 
 good as a five-pound note in his pocket." 
 
 I permitted myself a comment on Mr. Moriarty 
 suitable to the occasion. 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing," said Flurry easily ; "he . 
 told me one day when he was half screwed that 
 his Commission of the Peace was \vorth a hundred 
 and fifty a year to him in turkeys and whisky, and 
 he was telling the truth for once." 
 
 At this point Flurry's eye wandered, and follow- 
 ing its direction I saw Lady Knox's smart 'bus 
 cleaving its way through the throng of country 
 people, lurching over the ups and downs of the 
 field like a ship in a sea I was too blind to make 
 out the component parts of the white froth that 
 crowned it on top, and seethed forth from it when 
 it had taken up a position near the tent in which 
 Philippa was even now propping the legs of the 
 tea-table, but from the fact that Flurry addressed 
 himself to the door, I argued that Miss Sally had 
 gone inside. 
 
 Lady Knox's manner had something more than 
 its usual bleakness. She had brought, as she 
 promised, a large contingent, but from the way
 
 262 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 that the strangers within her gates melted im- 
 palpably and left me to deal with her single-handed, 
 I drew the further deduction that all was not 
 well. 
 
 " Did you ever in your life see such a gang of 
 women as I have brought with me ? " she began 
 with her wonted directness, as I piloted her to 
 the Grand Stand, and placed her on the stoutest 
 looking of the fish-boxes. "I have no patience 
 with men who yacht ! Bernard Shute has gone off 
 to the Clyde, and I had counted on his being a man 
 at my dance next week. I suppose you'll tell me 
 you're going away too." 
 
 I assured Lady Knox that I would be a man to 
 the best of my ability. 
 
 "This is the last dance I shall give," went on her 
 ladyship, unappeased ; " the men in this country 
 consist of children and cads." 
 
 I admitted* that we were but a poor lot, "but," I 
 said, "Miss Sally told me " 
 
 " Sally's a fool ! " said Lady Knox, with a falcon 
 eye at her daughter, who happened to be talking to 
 her distant kinsman, Mr. Flurry of that ilk. 
 
 The races had by this time begun with a 
 competition known as the " Hop, Step, and Lep"; 
 this, judging by the yells, was a highly interesting 
 display, but as it was conducted between two 
 impervious rows of onlookers, the aristocracy on 
 the fish-boxes saw nothing , save the occasional 
 purple face of a competitor, starting into view 
 above the wall of backs like a jack-in-the-box. 
 For me, however, the odorous sanctuary of the
 
 Occasional Licenses 
 
 263 
 
 fish-boxes was not to be. I left it guarded by 
 Slipper with a cart-whip of flail-like dimensions, 
 as disreputable an object as could be seen out of 
 low comedy, with some one's old white cords on his 
 bandy legs, butcher-boots three sizes too big for 
 him, and a black eye. The small boys fled before 
 him ; in the glory of his 
 office he would have flailed 
 his own mother off the fish- 
 boxes had occasion served. 
 I had an afternoon of 
 decidedly mixed enjoyment. 
 My stewardship blossomed 
 forth like Aaron's rod, and 
 added to itself the duties of 
 starter, handicapper, general 
 referee, and chucker - out, 
 besides which I from time 
 to time strove with emis- 
 saries -who came from Phil- 
 ippa with messages about 
 water and kettles. Flurry 
 and I had to deal single- 
 handed with the foot-races, 
 (our brothers in office being 
 
 otherwise engaged at Mr. Sheehy's), a task of 
 many difficulties, chiefest being that the spectators 
 all swept forward at the word "Go!" and ran 
 the race with the competitors, yelling curses, 
 blessings, and advice upon them, taking short 
 cuts over anything and everybody, and ming- 
 ling inextricably with the finish. By fervent appli- 
 
 KE WOULD. HAVE FLAILED 
 HIS OWN MOTHER HAD 
 OCCASION SERVED
 
 264 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 cations of the whips, the course was to some 
 extent purged for the quarter-mile, and it would, 
 I believe, have been a triumph of handicapping 
 had not an unforeseen disaster overtaken the 
 favourite old Mrs. Knox's bath - chair boy. 
 Whether, as was alleged, his braces had or had 
 not been tampered with by a rival was a matter 
 that the referee had subsequently to deal with 
 in the thick of a free fight"; but the painful fact 
 remained that in the course of the first lap 
 what were described as " his galluses " abruptly 
 severed their connection with the garments for 
 whose safety they were responsible, and the 
 favourite was obliged to seek seclusion in the 
 crowd. 
 
 The tug-of-war followed close on this contretemps, 
 and had the excellent effect of drawing away, like 
 a blister, the inflammation set up by the grievances 
 of the bath-chair boy. I cannot at this moment 
 remember of how many men each team consisted ; 
 my sole aim was to keep the numbers even, and 
 to baffle the volunteers who, in an ecstasy of 
 sympathy, attached themselves to the tail of the 
 rope at moments when their champions weakened. 
 The rival forces dug their heels in and tugged, 
 in an uproar that drew forth the innermost line 
 of customers from Mr. Sheehy's porter tent, and 
 even attracted "the quality" from the haven of 
 the fish-boxes, Slipper, in the capacity of Squire 
 of Dames, pioneering Lady Knox through the 
 crowd with the cart-whip, and with language 
 whose nature was providentially veiled, for the
 
 Occasional Licenses 16$ 
 
 most part, by the din. The tug-of-war continued 
 unabated. One team was getting the worst of 
 it, but hung doggedly on, sinking lower and lower 
 till they gradually sat down ; nothing short of 
 the trump of judgment could have conveyed to 
 them that they were breaking rules, and both teams 
 settled down by slow degrees on to their sides, 
 with the rope under them, and their heels still 
 planted in the ground, bringing about complete 
 deadlock. I do not know the record duration for 
 a tug-of-war, but I can certify that the Cullinagh 
 and Knockranny teams lay on the ground at full 
 tension for half-an-hour, like men in apoplectic 
 fits, each man with his respective adherents howl- 
 ing over him, blessing him, and adjuring him to 
 continue. 
 
 With my own nauseated- eyes I saw a bearded 
 countryman, obviously one of Mr. Sheehy's best 
 customers, fling himself on his knees beside one of 
 the combatants, and kiss his crimson and stream- 
 ing face in a rapture of encouragement. As he 
 shoved unsteadily past me on his return journey 
 to Mr. Sheehy's, I heard him informing a friend 
 that " he cried a handful over Danny Mulloy, 
 when he seen the poor" brave boy so shtubborn, 
 and, indeed, he couldn't say why he cried." 
 
 " For good - nature ye'd cry," suggested the 
 friend. 
 
 "Well, just that, I suppose," returned Danny 
 Mulloy' s admirer resignedly ; " indeed, if it was 
 only two cocks ye seen fightin' on the road, yer 
 heart'd take part with one o' them ! "
 
 266 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 I had begun to realise that I might as well 
 abandon the tug-of-war and occupy myself else- 
 where, when my wife's much harassed messenger 
 brought me the portentous tidings that Mrs. Yeates 
 wanted me at the tent at once. When I arrived 
 I found the tent literally bulging with Philippa's 
 guests ; Lady Knox, seated on a hamper, was 
 taking off her gloves, and loudly announcing her 
 desire for tea, and Philippa, with a flushed face 
 and a crooked hat, breathed into my ear the 
 awful news that both the cream and the milk 
 had been forgotten. 
 
 V But Flurry Knox says he can get me some," 
 she went on ; " he's gone to send people to milk 
 a cow that lives near here. Go out and see if 
 he's coming." 
 
 I went out and found, in the first instance, Mrs. 
 Cadogan, who greeted me with the prayer that 
 the divil might roast Julia McCarthy, that legged 
 it away to the races like a wild goose, and left 
 the cream afther her on the servants' hall table. 
 " Sure, Misther "Flurry's gone looking for a cow, 
 and what cow would there be in a backwards place 
 like this ? And look at me shtriving to keep the 
 kettle simpering on the fire, and not as much coals 
 undher it as'd redden a pipe ! " 
 
 "Where's Mr. Knox?" Tasked. 
 
 " Himself and Slipper's galloping the counthry 
 like the deer. I believe it's to the house above 
 they went, sir." 
 
 I followed up a rocky hill to the house above, 
 and there found Flurry and Slipper engaged in
 
 Occasional Licenses 267 
 
 the patriarchal task of driving two brace of coupled 
 and spancelled goats into a shed. 
 
 " It's the best we can do," said Flurry briefly ; 
 "there isn't a cow to be found, and the people 
 
 are all down at the sports. Be d d to you, 
 
 Slipper, don't let them go from you I " as the 
 goats charged and doubled like football players. 
 
 " But goats' milk 1 " I said, paralysed by hor- 
 rible memories of what tea used to taste like 
 at Gib. 
 
 " They'll never know it ! " said Flurry, corner- 
 ing a venerable nanny ; " here, hold this divil, 
 and hold her tight ! " 
 
 I have no time to dwell upon the pastoral 
 scene that followed. Suffice it to say, that at 
 the end of ten minutes of scorching profanity 
 from Slipper, and incessant warfare with the 
 goats, the latter had reluctantly yielded two 
 small jugfuls, and the dairymaids had exhibited 
 a nerve and skill in their trade that won my 
 lasting respect. 
 
 " I knew I could, trust you, Mr. Knox ! " said 
 Philippa,. with shining eyes, as we presented her 
 with the two foaming beakers. I suppose a 
 man is never a hero to his wife, but if she 
 could have realised the bruises on my legs, I 
 think she would have reserved a blessing for me 
 also. 
 
 What was thought of the goats' milk I gathered 
 symptomatically from a certain fixity of expres- 
 sion that accompanied the first sip of the tea, and 
 from observing that comparatively few ventured
 
 268 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 on second cups. I also noted that after a brief 
 conversation with Flurry, Miss Sally poured hers 
 secretly on to the grass. Lady Knox had through- 
 out the day preserved an aspect so threatening 
 that no change was perceptible in her demeanour. 
 In the throng of hungry guests I did not for 
 some time notice that Mr. Knox had withdrawn 
 until something in Miss Sally's eye summoned me 
 to her, and, she told me she had a message from 
 him for me. 
 
 "Couldn't we come outside ?" she said. 
 
 Outside the tent, within less than six yards of 
 her/nother, Miss Sally confided to me a scheme 
 that made my hair stand on end. Summarised, it 
 amounted to this : That, first, she was in the 
 primary stage of a deal with Sheehy for a four- 
 year-old chestnut colt, for which Sheehy was 
 asking double its value on the assumption that 
 it had no rival in -the country,; that, secondly, 
 they had just heard it was going to run in the 
 first race ; and, thirdly and lastly, that as there 
 was no other horse available, Flurry was going 
 to take old Sultan out of the 'bus and ride him 
 in the race ; and that Mrs. Yeates had promised 
 to keep mamma safe in the tent, while the race 
 was going on, and "you know, Major Yeates, it 
 would be delightful to beat Sheehy after his get- 
 ting the better of you all about the license ! " 
 
 With this base appeal to my professional feelings, 
 Miss Knox paused, and looked at me insinuat- 
 ingly. Her eyes were greeny-grey, and very 
 beguiling.
 
 Occasional Licenses 269 
 
 " Come on," she said ; " they want you to start 
 them ! " 
 
 Pursued by visions of the just wrath of Lady 
 Knox, I weakly followed Miss -Sally to the farther 
 end of the second field, from which point the 
 race was to start. The course was not a serious 
 one : two or three natural banks, a stone wall, 
 and a couple of " hurrls." There were but four 
 riders, including Flurry, who was .seated com- 
 posedly on Sultan, smoking a cigarette and talking 
 confidentially to Slipper. Sultan, although some- 
 thing stricken in years and touched in the wind, 
 was a brown horse who in his day had been a 
 hunter of no mean repute ; even now he occa- 
 sionally carried Lady Knox in a sedate an'd gentle- 
 manly manner, but it struck me that it was trying 
 him rather high to take him from the pole of 
 the 'bus after twelve miles on a hilly road, and 
 hustle him over a country against a four-year- 
 old. My acutest anxiety, however, was to start 
 the race as quickly as possible, and to get back 
 to the tent in time to establish an alibi; there- 
 fore I repressed my private sentiments, and, tying 
 my handkerchief to a stick, determined that no 
 time should be fashionably frittered away in false 
 starts. 
 
 They got away somehow ; I believe Sheehy's 
 colt was facing the wrong way at the moment 
 when I dropped the flag, but a friend turned 
 him with a stick, and, with a cordial and timely 
 whack,, speeded him on his way on sufficiently 
 level terms, and then somehow, instead of return-
 
 270 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 ing to the tent, I found myself with Miss Sally on 
 the top of a tall narrow bank, in a precarious 
 line of other spectators, with whom we toppled 
 and swayed, and, in moments of acuter emotion, 
 held on to each other in unaffected comradeship. 
 
 Flurry started well, and from bur commanding 
 position we could see him methodically riding at 
 the first fence at a smart hunting, canter, closely 
 attended by James Canty's brother on a young 
 black mare, and by an unknown youth on a big 
 white horse. The hope of Sheehy's stable, a leggy 
 chestnut, ridden by a cadet of the house of Sheehy, 
 went away from the friend's stick like a rocket, 
 and had already refused the first bank twice before 
 old Sultan decorously changed feet on it and 
 dropped down into the next field with tranquil 
 precision. The white horse scrambled over it on 
 his stomach, but landed safely, despite the fact 
 that his rider clasped iiim round the neck during 
 the process ; the black mare and the chestnut 
 shouldered one another over at the hole the white 
 horse had left, and the whole party went away 
 in a bunch and jumped the ensuing hurdle with- 
 out disaster. Flurry continued to ride at the same 
 steady hunting pace, accompanied respectfully by 
 the white horse and by Jerry Canty on the black 
 mare. Sheehy's coit had clearly the legs of the 
 party, and did some showy galloping between the 
 jumps, but as he refused to face the banks with- 
 out a lead, the end of the first round found the 
 field still a sociable party personally conducted 
 by Mr. Knox.
 
 Occasional Licenses 271 
 
 "That's a dam nice horse/' said one of my 
 hangers-on, looking approvingly at Sultan as he 
 passed us at the beginning of the second round, 
 making a good deal of noise but apparently going 
 at his ease \ " you might depind your life on 
 him, and he have the crabbedest jock in the globe 
 of Ireland on him this minute." 
 
 " Canty's mare's very sour," said another ; " look 
 at her now, baulking the bank ! she's as cross as a 
 bag of weasels." 
 
 " Begob, I wouldn't say but she's a little sign 
 lame," resumed the first ; " she was going light on 
 one leg on the road a while ago." 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said Miss Salty, very 
 seriously, in my ear, " that chestnut of Sheehy's 
 is settling down. I'm afraid he'll gallop away from 
 Sultan at the finish, and the wall won't stop him. 
 Flurry can't get another inch out of Sultan. He's 
 riding him well," she ended in a critical voice, 
 which yet was not quite like her own. Perhaps 
 I should not have noticed it but for the fact that 
 the hand that held my arm was trembling. As 
 for me, I thought of. Lady Knox, and trembled 
 too. 
 
 There now remained but one bank, the trampled 
 remnant of the furze hurdle, and the stone wall. 
 The pace was beginning to improve, and the other 
 horses drew away from Sultan ; they charged the 
 bank at full gallop, the black mare and the chest- 
 nut flying it perilously, with a windmill flourish of 
 legs and arms from their riders, the white horse 
 racing up to it with a gallantry that deserted him at
 
 272 Some Experiences of an Irish 9^. AT. 
 
 the critical moment, with the result that his rider 
 turned a somersault over his head and landed, 
 amidst the roars of the onlookers, sitting on the 
 fence facing his horse's hose. With creditable 
 presence of mind he remained on the bank, towed 
 the horse over, scrambled on to his back again and 
 started afresh. Sultan, thirty yards to the bad, 
 pounded doggedly on, and Flurry's cane and heels 
 remained idle ; the old horse, obviously blown, 
 slowed cautiously coming in at the jump. Sally's 
 grip tightened on my arm, and the crowed yelled as 
 Sultan, answering to a hint from the spurs and a 
 touch at his mouth, heaved himself on to the bank. 
 Nothing but sheer riding on Flurry's part got him 
 safe off it, and saved him from the consequences of 
 a bad peck on landing ; none the less, he pulled 
 himself together and went away down the hill for 
 the stone wall as stoutly as ever. The high-road 
 skirted the last two fields, and there was a gate 
 in the roadside fence beside the place where the 
 stone wall met it at right angles. I had noticed 
 this gate, because during the first round Slipper 
 had been sitting on it, demonstrating with his 
 usual fervour. Sheehy's. colt was leading, with 
 his nose in the air, his rider's hands going like a 
 circular saw, and his temper, as a bystander re- 
 marked, " up on end " ; the black mare, half mad 
 from spurring, was going hard at his heels, com- 
 pletely out of hand ; the white horse was steering 
 steadily for the wrong side of the flag, and 
 Flurry, by dint of cutting corners and of saving 
 every yard of ground, .was close enough to keep
 
 Occasional Licenses 273 
 
 his antagonists' heads over their shoulders, while 
 their right arms rose and fell in unceasing flagel- 
 lation. 
 
 "There'll be a smash when they come to the 
 wall 1 If one falls they'll all go ! " panted Sally. 
 Oh! Now! Flurry! Flurry! " 
 
 What had happened was that the chestnut colt 
 had suddenly perceived that the gate at right 
 angles to the wall was standing wide open, and, 
 swinging away from the jump, he had bolted 
 headlong out on to the road, and along it at top 
 speed for his home. After him fled Canty's black 
 mare, and with her, carried away by the spirit of 
 stampede, went the white horse. 
 
 Flurry stood up in his stirrups and gave a 
 view-halloa as he cantered down to the wall. 
 Sultan came at it with the send of the hill behind 
 him, and jumped it with a skill that intensified, 
 if that were possible, the volume of laughter 
 and yells around us. By the time the black 
 mare and the white horse had returned and 
 ignominiously bundled over the wall to finish 
 as best they might, Flurry was leading Sultan 
 towards us. 
 
 "That blackguard, Slipper!" he said, grinning ; 
 " every one'll say I told him to open the gate ! 
 But look here, I'm afraid we're in for trouble. 
 Sultan's given himself a bad over -reach ; you 
 could never drive him home to - night. And 
 I've just seen Norris lying blind drunk under a 
 wall ! " 
 
 Now Norris was Lady Knox's coachman. We 
 
 s
 
 274 S me Experiences of an Irish 
 
 stood aghast at this " horror on horror's head," 
 the blood trickled down Sultan's heel, and the 
 lather lay in flecks on his dripping, heaving sides, 
 in irrefutable witness to the iniquity of Lady Knox's 
 only daughter. Then Flurry said : 
 
 "Thank the Lord, here's the rainj" 
 
 At the moment I admit that I failed to see 
 any cause for gratitude in this occurrence, but 
 later on I appreciated Flurry's grasp of circum- 
 stances. 
 
 That appreciation was, I think, at its highest 
 development about half-an-hour afterwards, when 
 I, an unwilling conspirator (a part with which 
 my acquaintance with Mr. Knox had rendered 
 me but too familiar) unfurled Mrs. Cadogan's 
 umbrella over Lady Knox's head, and hurried 
 her through the rain from the tent to the 'bus, 
 keeping it and my own person well between her 
 and the horses. I got her in, with the rest of 
 her bedraggled and exhausted party, and slammed 
 the door. 
 
 " Remember, Major Yeates," she said through 
 the window, "you are the only person here in 
 whom I have any confidence. I don't wish 
 any one else to touch the reins ! " this with 
 a glance towards Flurry, who was standing 
 near. 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm only a moderate whip," I 
 said. 
 
 "My dear man," replied Lady Knox testily, 
 " those horses could drive themselves 1 " 
 
 I slunk round to. the front of the 'bus. Two
 
 Occasional Licenses 275 
 
 horses, carefully rugged, were in it, with the in- 
 evitable Slipper at their heads. 
 
 "Slipper's going with you," whispered Flurry, 
 stepping up to me ; " she won't have me at any 
 price. He'll throw the rugs over them when 
 you get to the house, and if you hold the umbrella 
 well over her she'll never see. I'll manage to get 
 Sultan over somehow, when N orris is sober. That 
 will be all right." 
 
 I climbed to the box without answering, my soul 
 being bitter within me, as is the soul of a man 
 who has been persuaded by womankind against his 
 judgment. 
 
 "Never again!" I said to myself, picking up 
 the reins; 'Met her marry him or Bernard Shute, 
 or both of them if she likes, but I won't be roped 
 into this kind of business again ! " 
 
 Slipper drew the rugs from the horses, revealing 
 on the near side Lady Knox's majestic carriage 
 horse, and on the off, a thick-set brown mare of 
 about fifteen hands. 
 
 "What brute is this?" said I to Slipper, as he 
 swarmed up beside me. 
 
 " I don't rightly know where Misther Flurry 
 got her," said Slipper, with one of his hiccoughing 
 crows of laughter; "give her the whip, Major, 
 and " here he broke into song : 
 
 " Howld to the shteel, 
 Honamaundhiaoul ; she'll run off like an eel ! " 
 
 " If you don't, shut your mouth," said I, with 
 pent-up ferocity, " I'll chuck you off the 'bus,"
 
 276 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Slipper was but slightly drunk, and, taking this 
 delicate rebuke in good part, he relapsed into 
 silence. 
 
 Wherever the brown mare came from, I can 
 certify that it was not out of double harness. 
 Though humble and anxious to oblige, she pulled 
 away from the pole as if it were red hot, and at 
 critical moments had a tendency to sit down. How- 
 ever, we squeezed without misadventure among the 
 donkey carts and between the groups of people, and 
 bumped at length in safety out on to the high-road. 
 
 Here I thought it no , harm to take Slipper's 
 advice, and I applied the whip to the brown mare, 
 who seemed inclined to turn round. She imme- 
 diately fell into an uncertain canter that no effort 
 of mine could frustrate ; I could only hope that 
 Miss Sally would foster conversation inside the 
 'bus and create a distraction ; but judging from 
 my last view of the party, and of Lady Knox in 
 particular, I thought she was not likely to be 
 successful. Fortunately the rain was heavy and 
 thick, and a rising west wind gave every promise 
 of its continuance. I had little doubt but that I 
 should catch cold, but I took it to my bosom 
 with gratitude as I reflected how it was drum- 
 ming on the roof of the 'bus and blurring the 
 windows. 
 
 We had reached the foot of a hill, about a 
 quarter of a mile from the racecourse ; the Castle 
 Knox horse addressed himself to it with dignified 
 determination, but the mare showed a sudden and 
 alarming tendency to jib.
 
 Occasional Licenses 277 
 
 " Belt her, Major ! " vociferated Slipper, as she 
 hung back from the pole chain, with the collar 
 half-way up her ewe neck, "and give it to the 
 horse, too ! He'll dhrag her ! " 
 
 I was in the act of "belting," when a squealing 
 whinny struck upon my ear, accompanied by a 
 light pattering gallop on the road behind us ; there 
 was an answering roar from the brcwn mare, a 
 roar, as I realised with a sudden drop of the 
 heart, of outraged maternal feeling, and in another 
 instant a pale, yellow foal sprinted up beside us, 
 with shrill, whickerings of joy. Had there at this 
 moment been a boghole handy, I should have 
 turned the 'bus into it without hesitation ; as there 
 was no accommodation of the kind, I laid the 
 whip severely into everything I could reach, in- 
 cluding the foal. The result was that we topped 
 the hill at a gallop, three abreast, like a Russian 
 troitska ; it was like my usual luck that at this 
 identical moment we should meet the police patrol, 
 who saluted respectfully. 
 
 " That the divil may blisther Michael Moloney 1 " 
 ejaculated Slipper, holding on to the rail; "didn't 
 I give him the foaleen and a halther on him to 
 keep him! 'I'll howld you a pint 'twas the wife 
 let him go, for she being vexed about the license ! 
 Sure that one's a March foal, an' he'd run from 
 here to Cork ! " 
 
 There was no sign from my inside passengers, 
 and I held on at a rojund pace, the mother and 
 child galloping absurdly, the carriage horse pulling 
 hard, but behaving like a gentleman. I wildly
 
 278 Sonie Experiences of an Irish 
 
 revolved plans of how I would make Slipper turn 
 the foal in at the first gate -we came to, of what 
 I should say to Lady Knox supposing the worst 
 happened and the foal accompanied us to her 
 hall door, and of how I would have Flurry's blood 
 at the earliest possible opportunity, and here the 
 fateful sound of galloping behind us was again 
 heard. 
 
 " It's impossible ! " I said to myself ; "she can't 
 have twins ! " 
 
 The galloping came nearer, and Slipper looked 
 back. 
 
 "Murdher alive!" he said in a stage whisper; 
 "Tom Sheehy's afther us on the butcher's 
 pony ! " 
 
 " What's that to me ? " I said, dragging my team 
 aside to let him pass ; " I suppose he's drunk, like 
 every one else ! " 
 
 Then the voice of Tom Sheehy made itself 
 heard. 
 
 " Shtop ! Shtop thief ! " he was bawling ; "give 
 up my mare ! How will I get me porther 
 home ! " 
 
 That was the closest shave I have ever had, and 
 nothing could have saved the position but the 
 torrential nature of the rain and the fact that 
 Lady Knox had on a new bonnet. I explained 'to 
 her at the door of the 'bus that Sheehy was drunk 
 (which was the one unassailable feature of the 
 case), and had come after his foal, which, with the 
 fatuity of its kind, had escaped from a field and
 
 Occasional Licenses 
 
 279 
 
 followed us, I did not mention to Lady Knox 
 that when Mr. Sheehy retreated, apologetically, 
 dragging the foal after him in a halter belonging 
 to one of her own carriage horses, he had a sove- 
 reign of mine in his pocket, and during the 
 
 SHTOP ! SHl'OP THIEF ! " 
 
 narration I avoided Miss Sally's eye as carefully as 
 she avoided mine. 
 
 The only comments on the day's events that are 
 worthy of record were that Philippa said to me 
 that she had not been able to understand what 
 the curious taste in the tea had been till Sally 
 told her it was turf-smoke, and that Mrs. Cadogan
 
 280 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 said to Philippa that night that "the Major was 
 that dhrinched that if he had a shirt between his 
 skin and himself he could have wrung it," and that 
 Lady Knox said to a mutual friend that though 
 Major Yeales had been extremely kind and obliging, 
 he was an uncommonly **? whip.
 
 XII 
 
 "OH LOVE! OH FIRE!" 
 
 IT was on one of the hottest days of a hot August 
 that I walked over to Tory Lodge to inform 
 Mr. Flurry Knox, M.F.H., that the limits of human 
 endurance had been reached, and that either 
 Venus and her family, or I and mine, must quit 
 Shreelane. In a moment of impulse I had ac- 
 cepted her and her numerous progeny as guests 
 in my stable-yard, since when Mrs. Cadogan 
 had given warning once or twice a week, and 
 Maria, lawful autocrat of the ashpit, had had I 
 quote the kitchenmaid " tin battles for every male 
 she'd ate." 
 
 The walk over the hills was not of a nature to 
 lower the temperature, moral or otherwise. The 
 grassy path was as slippery as glass, the rocks 
 radiated heat, the bracken radiated horseflies. 
 There was no need to nurse my wrath to keep it 
 warm. 
 
 I found Flurry seated in the kennel-yard in a 
 long and unclean white linen coat, engaged in 
 clipping hieroglyphics on the ears of a young 
 outgoing draft, an occupation in itself unfavourable 
 to argument. The young draft had already mono-
 
 282 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 polised all possible forms of remonstrance, from 
 snarling in the obscurity behind the meal sack 
 in the boiler-house, to hysterical yelling as they 
 were dragged forth by the tail ; but through these 
 alarms and excursions I denounced Venus and 
 all her works, from slaughtered Wyandottes to 
 broken dishes. Even as I did so I was conscious 
 of something chastened in Mr. Knox's demeanour, 
 some touch of remoteness and melancholy with 
 which I was quite unfamiliar ; my indictment 
 weakened and my grievances became trivial when 
 laid before this grave and almost religiously gentle 
 young man. 
 
 " I'm sojry you and Mrs. Yeates should be 
 vexed by her. Send her "back when you like. 
 I'll keep her. Maybe it'll not be for so long 
 after all." 
 
 When pressed to expound this dark saying, Flurry 
 smiled wanly and snipped a second line in the 
 hair of the puppy that was pinned between his 
 legs. I was almost relieved when a hard try to 
 bite on the part of the puppy imparted to Flurry's 
 language a transient warmth ; but the reaction was 
 only temporary. 
 
 " It'd be as good for me to make a present of 
 this lot to old Welby as to take the price he's 
 offering me," he went on, as he got up and took 
 off his highly-scented kennel-coat ; " but I couldn't 
 be bothered fighting him. Come on in and have 
 something. I drink tea myself at this hour." 
 
 If he had said toast and water it would have 
 seemed no more than was suitable to such a frame
 
 Ok Love ! Oh Fire! 283 
 
 of mind. As I followed him to the house I thought 
 that when the day came that Flurry Knox could 
 not be bothered with fighting old Welby things 
 were becoming serious, but I kept this opinion to 
 myself and merely offered an admiring comment 
 on the roses that were blooming on the front of 
 the house. 
 
 " I put up every stick of that trellis myself with 
 my own hands," said Flurry, still gloomily ; " the 
 roses were trailing all over the place for the want 
 of it. Would you like to have a look at the garden 
 while they're getting tea ? I settled it up a bit 
 since you saw it last." 
 
 I acceded to this almost alarmingly ladylike sug- 
 gestion, marvelling greatly. 
 
 Flurry certainly was a changed man, and his 
 garden was a changed garden. It was a very old 
 garden, with unexpected arbours madly overgrown 
 with flowering climbers, and a flight of grey steps 
 leading to a terrace, where a moss-grown sundial 
 and ancient herbaceous plants strove with nettles 
 and briars ; but I chiefly remembered it as a place 
 where washing was wont to hang on black-currant 
 bushes, and the kennel terrier matured his bones 
 and hunted chickens. There was now rabbit wire 
 on the gate, the walks were cleaned, the beds 
 weeded. There was even a bed of mignonette, a 
 row of sweet pea, and a blazing party of sun- 
 flowers, and Michael, once second in command 
 in many a filibustering expedition, was now on 
 his knees, ingloriously tying carnations to little 
 pieces of cane.
 
 284 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 We walked up the steps to the terrace. Down 
 below us the rich and southern blue of the sea 
 filled the gaps between scattered fir-trees ; the hill- 
 side above was purple with heather ; a bay mare 
 and her foal were moving lazily through the 
 bracken, with the sun glistening on it and them. 
 I looked back at the house, nestling in the hollow 
 of the hill, I smelled the smell of the mignonette 
 in the air, I regarded Michael's labouring back 
 among the carnations, and without any connec- 
 tion of ideas I seemed to see Miss Sally Knox, 
 with her golden-red hair and slight figure, standing 
 on the terrace beside her kinsman. 
 
 "Michael ! Do ye know where's Misther Flurry ?" 
 squalled a voice from the garden gate, the untram- 
 melled voice of the female domestic at large among 
 her fellows. " The tay's, wet, and there's a man 
 over with a message from Aussolas. He was tellin' 
 me the owld hairo beyant is givin' out invita- 
 tions " ) 
 
 A" stricken silence fell, induced, no doubt, by 
 hasty danger signals from Michael. 
 
 "Who's 'the old hero beyant'?" I asked, as 
 we turned toward the house. 
 
 " My grandmother," said Flurry, permitting him- 
 self a smile that had about as much sociability in 
 it as skim milk ; " she's giving a tenants' dance at 
 Aussolas. She gave one about five years ago, and 
 I declare you might as well get the influenza into 
 the country, or a mission at the chapel. There 
 won't be a servant in the place will be able to 
 answer their name for a week after it, what with
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire/ 285 
 
 toothache and headache, and blathering in the 
 kitchen 1 " 
 
 We had tea in the drawing-room, a solemnity 
 which I could not but be aware was due to the 
 presence of a new carpet, a new wall-paper, and 
 a new piano. Flurry made no comment on these 
 things, but something told me that I was expected 
 to do so, and I did. 
 
 "I'd sell you the Jot to-morrow for half what 
 I gave for them," said my host, eyeing them with 
 morose respect as he poured out his third cup 
 of tea. 
 
 I have all my life been handicapped by not 
 having the courage of my curiosity. Those who 
 have the nerve to ask direct questions on matters 
 that do not concern them seldom fail to extract 
 direct answers, but in my lack of this enviable gift 
 I went home in the dark as to what had befallen 
 my landlord, and- fully aware of how my wife 
 would despise me for my shortcomings. Philippa 
 always says that she never asks questions, but she 
 seems none the less to get a lot of answers. 
 
 On my own avenue I met Miss Sally Knox riding 
 away from the house on her white cob ; she had 
 found no one at home, and she would not turn 
 back with me, but she did not seem to be in any 
 hurry to ride away. I told her that I had just been 
 over to see her relative, Mr. Knox, who had in- 
 formed me that he meant to give up the hounds, 
 a fact in which she seemed only conventionally 
 interested. She looked pale, and her eyelids were 
 slightly pink ; I checked myself on the verge of
 
 286 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 asking her if she had hay-fever, and inquired in- 
 stead if she had heard of the tenants' dance at 
 Aussolas. She did not answer at first, but rubbed 
 her cane up and down the cob's clipped toothbrush 
 of a mane. Then she said : 
 
 " Major Yeates look here there's a most awful 
 row at home 1 " 
 
 I expressed incoherent regret, and wished to my 
 heart that Philippa had been there to cope with 
 the situation. 
 
 " It began when mamma found out about Flurry's 
 racing Sultan, and then came our dance " 
 
 Miss Sally stopped ; I nodded, remembering cer- 
 tain episodes of Lady Knox's dance. 
 
 " And mamma says she says " 
 
 I waited respectfully to hear what mamma had 
 said ; the cob fidgeted under the attentions of the 
 horseflies, and nearly trod on my toe. 
 
 "Well, the end of it is," she said with a gulp, 
 " she said such things to Flurry that he can't come 
 near the house again, and I'm to go over to 
 England to Aunt Dora, next week. Will you tell 
 Philippa I came to say good-bye to her ? I don't 
 think I can get over here again." 
 
 Miss Sally was a sufficiently old friend of mine 
 for me to take her hand and press it in a fatherly 
 manner, but for the life of me I could not think 
 of anything to say, unless I expressed my sympathy 
 with her mother's point of view about detrimentals, 
 which was ^obviously not the thing to do. 
 
 Philippa accorded to my news the rare tribute 
 of speechless attention, and then was despicable
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire I 287 
 
 enough to say that she had foreseen the whole 
 affair from the beginning. 
 
 "From the day that she refused him in the 
 ice-house, I suppose," said I sarcastically. 
 
 " That was the beginning," replied Philippa. 
 
 "Well," I went on judicially, "whenever it 
 began, it was high time for it to end. She can 
 do a good deal better than Flurry." 
 
 Philippa became rather red in the face. 
 
 " I call that a thoroughly commonplace thing 
 to say," she said. " I dare say he has not many 
 ideas beyond horses, but no more has she, and 
 he really does come and borrow books from 
 me " 
 
 "Whitaker's Almanack," I murmured. 
 
 "Well, I don't care, I like him very much, and 
 I know what you're going to say, and you're wrong, 
 and I'll tell you why " 
 
 Here Mrs. Cadogan came into the room, her 
 cap at rather more than its usual warlike angle 
 over her scarlet forehead, and in her hand a kitchen 
 plate, on which a note was ceremoniously laid 
 forth. 
 
 " But this is for you, Mrs. Cadogan," said Philippa, 
 as she looked at it. 
 
 " Ma'am," returned Mrs. Cadogan with immense 
 dignity, " I have no learning, and from what the 
 young man's afther telling me that brought it from 
 Aussola, I'd sooner yerself read it for me than 
 thim gerrls." 
 
 My wife opened the envelope, and drew forth a 
 gilt-edged sheet of pink paper,
 
 288 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " Miss Margaret Nolan presents her compliments 
 to Mrs. Cadogan," she read, "and I have the 
 pleasure of telling you that the servants of Aussolas 
 is inviting you and Mr. Peter Cadogan, Miss Mul- 
 rooney, and Miss Gallagher" Philippa's voice 
 quavered perilously " to a dance on next Wednes- 
 day. Dancing to begin at seven o'clock, and to 
 go on till five. Yours affectionately, MAGGIE 
 NOLAN." 
 
 " How affectionate she is 1 " snorted Mrs. Cado- 
 gan ; " them's Dublin manners, I dare say ! " 
 
 " P.S.," continued Philippa ; " steward, Mr. Denis 
 O'Loughlin; stewardess, Mrs. Mahony." 
 
 " Thoughtful provision," I remarked ; " I sup- 
 pose Mrs. Mahony's duties will begin after supper." 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Cadogan," said Philippa, quelling 
 me with a glance, " I suppose you'd all like to 
 go?" 
 
 "As for dancin'," said Mrs. Gadogan, with her 
 eyes fixed on a level with the curtain-pole, " I 
 thank God I'm a widow, and the only dancin' I'll 
 do is to dance to my grave." 
 
 "Well, perhaps Julia, and Annie, and Peter " 
 
 suggested Philippa, considerably overawed. 
 
 "I'm not one of them that holds with loud 
 mockery and harangues," continued Mrs. Cadogan, 
 "but if I had any wish for dhrawing down talk 
 I could tell you, ma'am, that the like o' them has 
 their share of dances without going to Aussolas ! 
 Wasn't it only last Sunday week I wint follyin' the 
 turkey that's layin' out in the plantation, and the 
 whole o' thim hysted their sails and back with
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire/ 289 
 
 them to their lovers at the gate-house, and the 
 kitchenmaid having a Jew-harp to be playing for 
 them ! " 
 
 "That was very wrong," said the truckling 
 .Philippa. "I hope you spoke to the kitchenmaid 
 about it." 
 
 " Is it spake to thim ? " rejoined Mrs. Cadogan. 
 "No, but what I done was to dhrag the kitchen- 
 maid round the passages by the hair o' the head ! " 
 
 " Well, after that, I think you might let her go to 
 Aussolas," said I venturously. . 
 
 The end of it was that every one in and about 
 the house went to Aussolas on the following 
 Wednesday, including Mrs. Cadogan. Philippa 
 had gone over to stay at the Shutes, ostensibly to 
 arrange about a jumble sale, the real object being 
 (as a matter of history) to inspect the Scotch young 
 lady before whom Bernard Shute had dumped his 
 affections in his customary manner. Being alone, 
 with every prospect of a bad dinner, I accepted 
 with gratitude an invitation to dine and sleep at 
 Aussolas and see the dance ; it is only on very 
 special occasions that I have the heart to remind 
 Philippa that she had neither part nor lot in what 
 occurred it is too serious a matter for trivial 
 gloryings. 
 
 Mrs. Knox had asked me to dine at six o'clock, 
 which meant that I arrived, in blazing sunlight 
 and evening clothes, punctually at that hour, and 
 that at seven o'clock I was still sitting in the library, 
 reading heavily-bound classics, while my hostess 
 held loud conversations down staircases with Denis 
 
 . T
 
 290 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 O'Loughlin, the red-bearded Robinson Crusoe who 
 combined in himself the offices of coachman, butler, 
 and, to the best of my belief, valet to the lady o 
 the house. The door opened at last, and Denis, 
 looking as furtive as his prototype after he had 
 sighted the footprint, put in his head and beckoned 
 to me. 
 
 "The misthress says will ye go to dinner with- 
 out her," he said very confidentially ; " sure she's 
 greatly vexed ye should be waitin' on her. 'Twas 
 the kitchen chimney cot fire, and faith she's afther 
 giving Biddy Mahony the sack, on the head of it ! 
 Though, indeed, 'tis little we'd regard a chimney 
 on fire here any other day." 
 
 Mrs. Knox's woolly dog was the sole occupant 
 of the dining-room when I entered it ; he was 
 sitting on his mistress's chair, with all the air of 
 outrage peculiar to a small and self -important 
 dog when routine has been interfered with. It 
 was difficult to discover what had caused the 
 delay, the meal, not excepting the soup, being 
 a cold collation ; it was heavily flavoured with 
 soot, and was hurled on to the table by Crusoe 
 in spasmodic bursts, contemporaneous, no doubt, 
 with Biddy Mahony's fits of hysterics in the 
 kitchen. Its most memorable feature was a noble 
 lake trout, which appeared in two jagged pieces, 
 a matter lightly alluded to by Denis as the result 
 of "a little argument" between himself and Biddy 
 as to the dish on which it was to be served. 
 Further conversation elicited the interesting fact 
 that the combatants had pulled the trout in two
 
 0/2 Love/ Oh Fire! 
 
 291 
 
 before the matter was settled. A brief glance at 
 my attendant's hands decided me to let the woolly 
 
 THE MEAL WAS HURLED ON TO THE TABLE BY CRUSOE 
 
 dog justify his existence by consuming my portion 
 for me, when Crusoe left the room. 
 
 Old Mrs. Knox remained invisible till the end
 
 292 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 of dinner, when she appeared in the purple velvet 
 bonnet that she was reputed to have worn since 
 the famine, and a dun-coloured woollen shawl 
 fastened by a splendid diamond brooch, that 
 flashed rainbow fire against the last shafts of 
 sunset. There was a fire in the old lady's eye, 
 too, the light that I had sometimes seen in Flurry's 
 in moments of crisis. 
 
 "I have no apologies to offer that are worth 
 hearing," she said, "but I have come to drink a 
 glass of port wine with you, if you will so far 
 honour me, and then we must go out and see 
 the ball. My grandson is late, as usual." 
 
 She crumbled a biscuit with a brown and 
 preoccupied hand ; her claw-like fingers carried 
 a crowded sparkle of diamonds upwards as she 
 raised her glass to her lips. 
 
 The twilight was falling when we left the room 
 and made our way downstairs. I followed the 
 little figure in the purple bonnet through dark 
 regions of passages and doorways, where strange 
 lumber lay about ; there was a rusty suit of 
 armour, an upturned punt, mouldering pictures, 
 and finally, by a door that opened into the yard, 
 a lady's bicycle, white with the dust of travel. 
 I supposed this latter to have been imported from 
 Dublin by the fashionable Miss Maggie Nolan, but 
 on the other hand it was well within the bounds 
 of possibility that it belonged to old Mrs. Knox. 
 The coach-house at Aussolas was on a par with the 
 rest of the establishment, being vast, dilapidated, 
 and of unknown age. Its three double doors were
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire! 293 
 
 wide open, and the guests overflowed through 
 them into the cobble-stoned yard ; above their 
 heads the tin reflectors of paraffin lamps glared 
 at us from among the Christmas decorations of 
 holly and ivy that festooned the walls. The 
 voices of a fiddle and a concertina, combined, 
 were uttering a polka with shrill and hideous 
 fluency, to which the scraping and stamping of 
 hobnailed boots made a ponderous bass accom- 
 paniment. 
 
 Mrs. Knox's donkey-chair had been placed in 
 a commanding position at the top of the room, 
 and she made her way slowly to it, shaking hands 
 with all varieties of tenants and saying right things 
 without showing any symptom of 'that flustered 
 boredom that I have myself exhibited when I 
 went round the men's messes on Christmas Day. 
 She took her seat in the donkey-chair, with the 
 white dog in her lap, and looked with her hawk's 
 eyes round the array of faces that hemmed in 
 the space where the dancers were solemnly bobbing 
 and hopping. 
 
 " Will you tell me who that tomfool is, Denis ? " 
 she said, pointing to a young lady in a ball dress 
 who was circling in conscious magnificence and 
 somewhat painful incongruity in the arms of Mr. 
 Peter Cadogan. 
 
 " That's the lady's-maid from Castle Knox, yer 
 honour, ma'am," replied Denis, with something 
 remarkably like a wink at Mrs. Knox. 
 
 " When did the Castle Knox servants come ? " 
 asked the old lady, very sharply.
 
 294 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " The same time yer honour left the table, and 
 Pillilew ! What's this ? " 
 
 There was a clatter of galloping hoofs in the 
 courtyard, as of a troop of cavalry, and out of 
 the heart of it Flurry's voice shouting to Denis 
 to drive out the colts and shut the gates before 
 they had the people killed. I noticed that the 
 colour had risen to Mrs. Knox's face, and I put 
 it down to anxiety about her young horses. I 
 may admit that when I heard Flurry's voice, 
 and saw him collaring his grandmother's guests 
 and pushing them out of the way as he came 
 into the coach-house, I rather feared that he was 
 in the condition so often defined to me at Petty 
 Sessions as " not dhrunk, but having dhrink taken." 
 His face was white, his eyes glittered, there was 
 a general air of exaltation about him that sug- 
 gested the solace of the pangs of love according 
 to the most ancient convention. 
 
 "Hullo !" he said, swaggering up to the 
 orchestra, " what's this humbugging thing they're 
 playing ? A polka, is it ? Drop that, John Casey, 
 and play a jig." 
 
 John Casey ceased abjectly. 
 
 " What'll I play, Masther Flurry ? " 
 
 "What the devil do I care? Here, Yeates, 
 put a name on it ! You're a sort of musicianer 
 yourself 1 " 
 
 I know the names of three or four Irish jigs ; 
 but on this occasion my memory clung exclusively 
 to one, I suppose because it was the one I felt 
 to be peculiarly inappropriate.
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire! 295 
 
 "Oh, well, ' Haste to the Wedding,'" I said, 
 looking away. 
 
 Flurry gave a shout of laughter. 
 
 " That's it ! " he exclaimed. " Play it up, John ! 
 Give us ' Haste to the Wedding.' That's Major 
 Yeates's fancy 1 " 
 
 Decidedly Flurry was drunk. 
 
 "What's wrong with you all that you aren't 
 dancing ? " he continued, striding up the middle 
 of the room. " Maybe you don't know how. 
 Here, I'll soon get one that'll show you 1 " 
 
 He advanced upon his grandmother, snatched 
 her out of the donkey-chair, and, amid roars 
 of applause, led her out, while the fiddle squealed 
 its way through the inimitable twists of the tune, 
 and the concertina surged and panted after it. 
 Whatever Mrs. Knox may have thought of her 
 grandson's behaviour, she was evidently going 
 to make the best of it. She took her station 
 opposite to him, in the purple bonnet, the dun- 
 coloured shawl, and the diamonds, she picked 
 up her skirt at each side, affording a view of 
 narrow feet in elastic-sided cloth boots, and for 
 three repeats of the tune she stood up to her 
 grandson, and footed it on the coach-house 
 floor. What the cloth boots did I could not 
 exactly follow ; they were, as well as I could 
 see, extremely scientific, while there was hardly 
 so much as a nod from the plumes of *he 
 bonnet. Flurry was also scientific, but his dancing 
 did not alter my opinion that he was drunk ; 
 in fact, I thought he was making rather an
 
 296 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 exhibition of himself. They say that that jig 
 was twenty pounds in Mrs. Knox's pocket at 
 the next rent day ; but though this statement is 
 open to doubt, I believe that if she and Flurry 
 had taken the hat round there and then .she 
 would have got in the best part of her arrears. 
 
 After this the company settled down to busi- 
 ness. The dances lasted a sweltering half-hour, 
 old w r omen and young dancing with equal and 
 tireless zest. At the end of each the gentlemen 
 abandoned their partners without ceremony or 
 comment, and went out to smoke, while the 
 ladies retired to the laundry, where families of 
 teapots stewed on the long bars of the fire, and 
 Mrs. Mahony cut up mighty " barm-bracks," and 
 the tea-drinking was illimitable. 
 
 At ten o'clock Mrs. Knox withdrew from the 
 revel ; she said that she was tired, but I have 
 seldom seen any one look more wide awake. I 
 thought that I might unobtrusively follow her 
 example, but I was intercepted by Flurry. 
 
 " Yeates," he said seriously, " I'll take it as a 
 kindness if you'll see this thing out with me. 
 We must keep them pretty sober, and get them 
 out of this by daylight. I I have to get home 
 early." 
 
 I at once took back my opinion that Flurry was 
 drunk ; I almost wished he had been, as I could 
 then have deserted him without a pang. As it was, 
 I addressed myself heavily to the night's enjoyment. 
 Wan with heat, but conscientiously cheerful, I 
 danced with Miss Maggie Nolan, with the Castle
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire! 197 
 
 Knox lady's-maid, with my own kitchenmaid, w r ho 
 fell into wild giggles of terror whenever I spoke io 
 her, with Mrs. Cadogan, who had apparently post- 
 poned the interesting feat of dancing to her grave, 
 and did what she could to dance me into mine. 
 I am bound to admit that though an ex-soldier 
 and a major, and therefore equipped with a ready- 
 made character for gallantry, Mrs. Cadogan was 
 the only one of my partners with whom I con- 
 versed with any comfort. 
 
 At intervals I smoked cigarettes in the yard, 
 seated on the old mounting-block by the gate, and 
 overheard such conversation about the price of 
 pigs in Skebawn ; at intervals I plunged again into 
 the coach-house, and led forth a perspiring wall- 
 flower into the scrimmage of a polka, or shuffled 
 meaninglessly opposite to her in the long double 
 line of dancers who were engaged with serious 
 faces in executing a jig or a reel, I neither knew 
 nor cared which. Flurry remained as undefeated 
 as ever ; I could only suppose it was his method of 
 showing that his broken heart had mended. 
 
 " It's time to be making the punch, Masther 
 Flurry," said Denis, as the harness-room clock 
 struck twelve ; " sure the night's warm, and the 
 men's all gaping for it, the craytures ! " 
 
 "What'll we make it in?" said Flurry, as we 
 followed him into the laundry. 
 
 "The boiler, to be sure," said Crusoe, taking up 
 a stone of sugar, and preparing to shoot it into the 
 laundry copper. 
 
 " Stop, you fool, it's full of cockroaches 1 ' shouted
 
 298 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 Flurry, amid sympathetic squalls from the throng 
 of countrywomen. " Go get a bath ! " 
 
 " Sure yerself knows there's but one bath in it," 
 retorted Denis, "and that's within in the Major's 
 room. Faith, the tinker got his own share yesther- 
 clay with the same bath, sthriving to quinch the 
 holes, and they as thick in it as the stars in the sky, 
 and 'tis weeping still, afther all he done ! " 
 
 " Well, then, here goes for the cockroaches ! " 
 said Flurry. "What doesn't sicken will fatten ! 
 Give me the kettle, and come on, you Kitty Collins, 
 and be skimming them off ! " 
 
 There were no complaints of the punch when 
 the brew was completed, and the dance thundered 
 on with a heavier stamping and a louder hilarity 
 than before. The night wore on ; I squeezed 
 through the unyielding pack of frieze coats and 
 shawls in the doorway, and with feet that 
 momently swelled in my pumps I limped over 
 the cobble-stones to smoke my eighth cigarette 
 on the mounting-block. It was a dark, hot night. 
 The old castle loomed above me in piled-up roofs 
 and gables, and high up in it somewhere a window 
 sent a shaft of light into the sleeping leaves of 
 a walnut-tree that overhung the gateway. At 
 the bars of the gate two young horses peered 
 in at the medley of noise and people ; away in 
 an outhouse a cock crew hoarsely. The gaiety 
 in the coach-house increased momently, till, amid 
 shrieks and bursts of laughter, Miss Maggie Nolan 
 fled coquettishly from it with a long yell, like a 
 train coming out of a tunnel, pursued by the
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire! 299 
 
 fascinating Peter Cadogan brandishing a twig of 
 mountain ash, in imitation of mistletoe. The 
 young horses stampeded in horror, and immedi- 
 ately a voice proceeded from the lighted window 
 above, Mrs. Knox's voice, demanding what the 
 noise was, and announcing that if she heard any 
 more of it she would have the place cleared. 
 
 An awful silence fell, to which the young horses' 
 fleeing hoofs lent the final touch of consternation. 
 Then I heard the irrepressible Maggie Nolan say: 
 " Oh God !. Merry-come-sad ! " which I take to 
 be a reflection on the mutability of all earthly 
 happiness. 
 
 Mrs. Knox remained for a moment at the 
 window, and it struck me as remarkable that at 
 2.30 A.M. she should still have on her bonnet. I 
 thought I heard her speak to some one in the 
 room, and there followed a laugh, a laugh that 
 was not a servant's, and was puzzlingly familiar. 
 I gave it up, and presently dropped into a 
 cheerless doze. 
 
 With the dawn there came a period when even 
 Flurry showed signs of failing. He came and 
 sat down beside me with a yawn ; it struck me 
 that there was more impatience and nervousness 
 than fatigue in the yawn. 
 
 " I think I'll turn them all out of this after the 
 next dance is over," he said ; " I've a lot to do, and 
 I .can't stay here." 
 
 I grunted in drowsy approval. It must have 
 been a few minutes later that I felt Flurry grip 
 my shoulder.
 
 300 Some .Experiences of an Irish 
 
 " Yeates ! " he sard, " look up at the roof. 
 Do you see anything up there by the kitchen 
 chimney ? " 
 
 He. was pointing at a heavy stack of chimneys 
 in a tower that stood up against the grey and pink 
 of the morning sky. At the angle where one of 
 them joined the roof smoke was oozing busily 
 out, and, as I stared, a little wisp of flame stole 
 through. 
 
 The next thing that I distinctly remember is 
 being in the van of a rush through the kitchen 
 passages, every one shouting " Water 1 Water ! "' 
 and not knowing where to find it, then up several 
 flights of the narrowest and darkest stairs it has 
 ever been my fate to ascend, with a bucket of 
 water that I snatched from a woman, spilling 
 as I ran. At the top of the stairs came a ladder 
 leading to a trap-door, and up in the dark loft above 
 was the roar and the wavering glare of flames. 
 
 " My God ! That's sthrong fire ! " shouted Denis, 
 tumbling down the ladder with a brace of empty 
 buckets ; " we'll never save it ! The lake won't 
 quinch it ! " 
 
 The flames were squirting out through the 
 bricks of the chimney, through the timbers, 
 through the slates ; it was barely possible to get 
 through the trap-door, and the booming and 
 crackling strengthened every instant. 
 
 "A chain to the lake !" gasped Flurry, coughing 
 in the stifling heat as he slashed the water at 
 the blazing rafters ; " the well's no good ! Go on, 
 Yeates I "
 
 Oh Love/ Oh Fire/ 301 
 
 The organising of a double chain out of the 
 mob that thronged and shouted and jammed in 
 the passages and yard was no mean feat of 
 generalship ; but it got done somehow. Mrs. 
 Cadogan and Biddy Mahony rose .magnificently 
 to the occasion, cursing, thumping, shoving ; and 
 stable buckets, coal buckets, milk pails, and kettles 
 were unearthed and sent swinging down the 
 grass slope to the lake that lay in glittering un- 
 concern in the morning sunshine. Men, women, 
 and children worked in a way that only Irish 
 people can work on an emergency. All their 
 cleverness, all their good-heartedness, and all 
 their love of a ruction came to the front ; the, 
 screaming and the exhortations were incessant, 
 but so were also the buckets that flew from 
 hand to hand -up to the loft. I hardly know how 
 long we were at it, but there came a time when 
 I looked up from the yard and saw that the 
 billows of reddened smoke from the top of the 
 tower were dying down, and I bethought me of 
 old Mrs. Knox. 
 
 I found her at the door of her room, engaged 
 in tying up a bundle of old clothes in a sheet ; 
 she looked as white as a corpse, but she was not 
 in any way quelled by the situation. 
 
 " I'd be obliged to you all the same, Major 
 Yeates, to throw this over the balusters," she 
 said, as I advanced with the news that the fire 
 had been got under. "Ton my honour, I don't 
 know when I've been as vexed as I've been this 
 night, what with one thing and another 1 'Tis
 
 302 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 a monstrous thing to use a guest as we've used 
 you, but what could we do ? I threw all the 
 silver out of the dining-room window myself, 
 and the poor peahen that had her nest there 
 was hurt by an entree dish, and half her eggs 
 were " 
 
 There was a curious sound not unlike a titter 
 in Mrs. Knox's room. 
 
 " However, we can't make omelettes without 
 breaking eggs as they say " she went on rather 
 hurriedly; "I declare I don't know what I'm 
 saying ! My old head is confused " 
 
 Here Mrs. Knox went abruptly into her room 
 and shut the door. Obviously there was nothing 
 further to do for my hostess, and I fought my 
 way up the dripping back staircase to the loft. 
 The flames had ceased, the supply of buckets 
 had been stopped, and Flurry, standing on a 
 ponderous crossbeam, was poking his head and 
 shoulders out into the sunlight through the hole 
 that had been burned in the roof. Denis and 
 others were pouring water over charred beams, 
 the atmosphere was still stifling, everything was 
 black, everything dripped with inky water. Flurry 
 descended from his beam and stretched himself, 
 looking like a drowned chimney-sweep. 
 
 " We've made a night of it, Yeates, haven't 
 we ? " he said, " but we've bested it anyhow. 
 We were done for only for you!" There was 
 more emotion about him than the occasion seemed 
 to warrant, and his eyes had a Christy Minstrel 
 brightness, not wholly to be attributed to the
 
 Oh Love! Oh Fire/ 303 
 
 dirt on his face. " What's the time ? I must get 
 home." 
 
 The time, incredible as it seemed, was half-past 
 six. I could almost have sworn that Flurry 
 changed colour when I said so. 
 
 "I must be off," he said ; " I had no idea it was 
 so late." 
 
 "Why, what's the hurry ?" I asked. 
 
 He stared at me, laughed foolishly, and fell 
 to giving directions to Denis. Five minutes after- 
 wards he drove out of the yard and away at a 
 canter down the long stretch of avenue that skirted 
 the lake, with a troop of young horses flying on 
 either hand. He whirled his whip round his head 
 and shouted at them, and was lost to sight in a 
 clump of trees. It is a vision of him that remains 
 with me, and it- always carried with it the bitter 
 smell of wet charred wood. 
 
 Reaction had begun to set in among the volun- 
 teers. The chain took to sitting in the kitchen, 
 cups of tea began mysteriously to circulate, and 
 personal narratives of the fire were already fore- 
 shadowing the amazing legends that have since 
 gathered round the night's adventure. I left to 
 Denis the task of clearing the house, and went 
 up to change my wet clothes, with a feeling that 
 I had not been to bed for a year. The ghost 
 of a waiter who had drowned himself in a bog- 
 hole would have presented a cheerier aspect than 
 I, as I surveyed myself in the prehistoric mirror 
 in my room, with the sunshine falling on my 
 unshorn face and begrimed shirt-front.
 
 304 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 I made my toilet at considerable length, and, 
 it being now nearly eight o'clock, went down- 
 stairs to look for something to eat. I had left 
 the house humming with people ; I found it 
 silent as Pompeii. The sheeted bundles con- 
 taining Mrs. Knox's wardrobe were lying about 
 the hall ; a couple of ancestors who in the first 
 alarm had been dragged from the walls were 
 leaning drunkenly against the bundles ; last night's 
 dessert was still on -the dining-room table. ,1 
 went out on to the hall-door steps, and saw the 
 entree-dishes in a glittering heap in a nasturtium 
 bed, and realised that there was no breakfast for 
 me this side of lunch at Shreelane. 
 
 There was a sound of wheels on the avenue, 
 and a brougham came into view, driving fast up 
 the long open stretch by the lake. It was the 
 Castle Knox brougham, driven by Norris, whom 
 I had last seen drunk at the athletic sports, and 
 as it drew up at the door I saw Lady Knox 
 inside. 
 
 " It's all right, the fire's out," I said, advancing 
 genially and full of reassurance. 
 
 " What . fire ? " said Lady Knox, regarding me 
 with an iron countenance. 
 
 I explained. 
 
 "Well, as the house isn't burned down," said 
 Lady Knox, cutting short my details, "perhaps 
 you would kindly find out if I could see Mrs. 
 Knox." 
 
 Lady Knox's face was many shades redder 
 than usual. I began to understand that some-
 
 " Oh Love ! Oh Fire ! " 305 
 
 thing awful had happened, or would happen, and 
 I wished myself safe at Shreelane, with the bed- 
 clothes over my head. 
 
 " If 'tis for the misthress you're looking, me 
 lady," said Denis's voice behind me, in tones of 
 the utmost respect, "she went out to the kitchen 
 garden a while ago to get a blasht o' the fresh air 
 afther the night. Maybe your ladyship would 
 sit inside in the library till I call her ?" 
 
 Lady Knox eyed Crusoe suspiciously. 
 
 "Thank you, I'll fetch her myself," she said. 
 
 " Oh, sure, that's too throuble " began 
 
 Denis. 
 
 " Stay where you are ! " said Lady Knox, in a 
 voice like the slam of a door. 
 
 " Bedad, I'm best plased she went," whispered 
 Denis, as Lady Knox set forth alone down the 
 shrubbery walk. 
 
 "But is Mrs. Knox in the .garden ?" said I. 
 
 "The Lord preserve your innocence, sir!" re- 
 plied Denis, with seeming irrelevance. 
 
 At this moment I became aware of the in- 
 credible fact that Sally Knox was silently descend- 
 ing the stairs ; she stopped short as she got into 
 the hall, and looked almost wildly at me and 
 Denis. Was I looking at her wraith ? There 
 was again a sound of wheels on the gravel ; she 
 went to the hall door, outside which was now 
 drawn up Mrs. Knox's donkey-carriage, as well 
 as Lady Knox's brougham, and, as if overcome 
 by this imposing spectacle, she turned back and 
 put her hands over her face. 
 
 u
 
 306 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 "She's gone round to the garden, asthore," 
 said Denis in a hoarse whisper ; " go in the 
 donkey-carriage. 'Twill be all right ! " He seized 
 her by the arm, pushed her down the steps and 
 into the little carriage, pulled up the hood over 
 her to its furthest stretch, snatched the whip 
 out of the hand of the broadly-grinning Norris, 
 and with terrific objurgations lashed the donkey 
 into a gallop. The donkey -boy grasped the 
 position, whatever it might be ; he took up the 
 running on the other side, and the donkey-carriage 
 swung away down the avenue, with all its incon- 
 gruous air of hooded and rowdy invalidism. 
 
 I have never disguised the fact that I am a 
 coward, and therefore when, at this dynamitical 
 moment, I caught a glimpse of Lady Knox's hat 
 over a laurustinus, as she returned at high speed 
 from the garden, I slunk into the house and faded 
 away round the dining-room door. 
 
 "This minute I seen the misthress going down 
 through the plantation beyond," said the voice of 
 Crusoe outside the window, "and I'm afther send- 
 ing Johnny Regan to her with the little carriage, not 
 to put any more delay on yer ladyship. Sure you 
 can see him making all the haste he can. Maybe 
 you'd sit inside in the library till she comes." 
 
 Silence followed. I peered cautiously round 
 the window curtain. Lady Knox was looking 
 defiantly at the donkey -carriage as it reeled at 
 top speed into the shades of the plantation, strenu- 
 ously pursued by the woolly dog. Norris was 
 regarding his horses' ears in expressionless re-
 
 " Oh Love ! Oh Fire ! " 307 
 
 spectability. Denis was picking up the enrre"e- 
 dishes with decorous solicitude. Lady Knox 
 turned and came into the house ; she passed the 
 dining-room door with an ominous step, and went 
 on into the library. 
 
 It seemed to me that now or never was the 
 moment to retire quietly to my room, put my 
 things into my portmanteau, and 
 
 Denis rushed into the room with the entre"e- 
 dishes piled up to his chin. 
 
 " $he's diddled 1 " he whispered, crashing them 
 down on the table. He came at me with his 
 hand out. "Three cheers for Masther Flurry 
 and Miss Sally," he hissed, wringing my hand 
 up and down, "and 'twas yerself called for 
 * Haste to the Weddin' ' last night, long life to 
 ye ! The Lord save us 1 There's the misthress 
 going into the library ! " 
 
 Through the half-open door I saw old Mrs, 
 Knox approach the library from the staircase 
 with a dignified slowness ; she had on a wedding 
 garment, a long white burnous, in which she 
 might easily have been mistaken for a small, 
 stout clergyman. She waved back Crusoe, the 
 door closed upon her, and the battle of giants 
 was entered upon. I sat down it was all I 
 was able for and remained for a full minute 
 in stupefied contemplation of the entree-dishes. 
 
 Perhaps of all conclusions to a situation so 
 portentous, that which occurred was the least 
 possible. Twenty minutes after Mrs. Knox met
 
 308 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 her antagonist I was summoned from strapping my 
 portmanteau to face the appalling duty of escort- 
 ing the combatants, in Lady Knox's brougham, to 
 the church outside the back gate, to which Miss 
 Sally had preceded them in the donkey-carriage. I 
 
 EVEN FOUND RICE AND THREW IT 
 
 pulled myself together, went down stairs, and found 
 that the millennium had suddenly set in. It had 
 apparently dawned with the news that Aussolas 
 and all things therein were bequeathed to Flurry 
 by his grandmother, and had established itself 
 finally upon the considerations that the marriage
 
 " Oh Love ! Oh Fire ! " 309 
 
 was past praying for, and that the diamonds were 
 intended for Miss Sally. 
 
 We fetched the bride and bridegroom from the 
 church ; we fetched old Eustace Hamilton, who 
 married them ; we dug out. the champagne from 
 the cellar ; we even found rice and threw it. 
 
 The hired carriage that had been ordered to 
 take the runaways across country to a distant 
 station was driven by Slipper. He was shaved ; 
 he wore an old livery coat and a new pot hat ; 
 he was wondrous sober. On the following morn- 
 ing he was found asleep on a heap of stones ten 
 miles away ; somewhere in the neigbourhood 
 one of the horses was grazing in a field with a 
 certain amount of harness hanging about it. The 
 carriage and the remaining horse were discovered 
 in a roadside ditch, two miles farther on ; one 
 of the carriage doors had been torn off, and 
 in the interior the hens of the vicinity were con- 
 ducting an exhaustive search after the rice that 
 lurked in the cushions. 
 
 THE END 
 
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 to drive away the blues." 
 
 Field. " Our advice to every one with regard to the book is that he 
 or she should get it at once, and read it at the first opportunity." 
 
 AN IRISH COUSIN 
 
 45, 6d. net. 
 
 World. " A clever story brimful of humour." 
 
 Irish Monthly." This story is very clever and very well written with 
 fine bits of description and proof of keen observation." 
 
 THE REAL CHARLOTTE 
 
 45. 6d. net. 
 
 Graphic. " ' The Real Charlotte ' is indeed a book to enjoy at 
 leisure. It is full of fascinating actuality ; and it should be added that 
 the authors have united their work without leaving a single visible 
 seam." 
 
 THE SILVER FOX 
 
 45, 6d. net, 
 
 Spectator. " Broadly speaking, the novel may be said to exhibit 
 In a dramatic form the extraordinary hold which superstition still 
 possesses on the minds of the Irish peasantry, and the drawbacks, and 
 even dangers, which may result from an unsympathetic or intolerant 
 disregard of such prejudices." 
 
 ALL ON THE IRISH SHORE 
 
 With 10 Illustrations by E. CE. SOMERVILLE. 45. 6d. net. 
 
 Spectator. " The paramount duty of a reviewer in dealing with 
 this happily-named volume is one of extreme simplicity namely, to 
 advise any one who loves wit, humour, horses, and Ireland to procure 
 it without delay. The mere fact that it is by the joint authors of ' Some 
 Experiences of an Irish R.M.' will doubtless prove a ready passport 
 in the affections of all who have read and re-read that modern classic." 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO., 39 PATERNOSTER Row, LONDON 
 NEW YORK, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS.
 
 IN MR. KNOX'S COUNTRY 
 
 With "8 Illustrations in TvtO Colours by E. CE. SOMERVILLE. 
 6s. net. 
 
 Daily Chronicle. " If Lever's pen lives at all to-day it does so in the 
 hands of Miss Somerville and Miss Martin Ross." 
 
 The Times. " It is a great day for a large public when a new book is tc 
 be had by E. CE. Somerville and Martin Ross, and still greater when the ne> 
 book brings us hack to our old friends, Major Yeates, Sally, Philippa, Flurry 
 Knox and his grandmother, and the wonderful world in which they live.' 
 
 Punch. " ' In Mr. Knox's Country ' brings back again all those jolh 
 people whom one has several times enjoyed meeting before Flurry Knox 
 the fearful but fascinating old grandmother ; Philippa, and the rest." 
 
 SOME IRISH YESTERDAYS 
 STORIES AND SKETCHES 
 
 With 51 Illustrations by E. CE. SOMERVILLE. 45. 6d. net. 
 
 Western Morning News. " The only fault to find with these sketches 
 is that they are too brief they contain so much fun and merriment that 
 (like Oliver Twist, only from a different motive) the reader inevitably asks 
 for more." 
 
 Sporting Life. " So brightly written, and gives such a splendid insight 
 into Irish character that, once having taken it up, one is loth to put it down 
 again before perusing it right from cover to cover. It is as full of good 
 things as an egg is said to be of meat. . . . Irish wit is always good, and 
 here we have it at its best. . . . It is a book to read, and read, and read 
 again." 
 
 Church Times. ' ' These sketches of the West of Ireland contain some of 
 their best work, stories which make the reader laugh and weep by turns. 
 It is not a book to be missed." 
 
 IRISH MEMORIES 
 
 With 23 Illustrations frcfm Drawings by E. CE. SOMERVILLE, 
 and from Photographs. 8vo. 125. 6d. net, 
 
 The Times." The authors of ' The Irish R.M.' were in truth artists to 
 their finger tips . . . and this book of memories is not less skilful than its 
 forerunners. It abounds in vivid pictures ... it contains a chapter on 
 D gs and another on Horses and Hounds, and in the latter will be found 
 vignettes as entrancing as any of the old tales." 
 
 Punch. " It will send many to read again those delightful Volumes 
 with a new appreciation of the sympathetic and lovable personality that 
 helped in their making." 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO., 39 PATERNOSTER Row, LONDON 
 NEW YORK, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 walk 
 
 APR 91975 
 
 Form L9-Series 444
 
 3 1158 00275 5972 
 
 A 000286514 5