LITMIR.BIZ

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reverence for what they once represented.

      The deep bay of a hound now startled him, however. He turned suddenly round, and close beside him, but within the low wall of a ruined kennel-yard, lay a large foxhound, so old and feeble that, even roused by the approach of a stranger, he could not rise from the ground, but lay helplessly on the earth, and with uplifted throat sent forth a long wailing note. Lanty leaned upon the wall, and looked at him. The emotions which other objects failed to suggest, seemed to flock upon him now. That poor dog, the last of a once noble pack, whose melody used to ring through every glen and ravine of the wild mountains, was an appeal to his heart he could not withstand; and he stood with his gaze fixed upon him.

      “Poor old fellow,” said he compassionately, “it’s a lonely thing for you to be there now, and all your old friends and companions dead and gone. Rory, my boy, don’t you know me?”

      The tones of his voice seemed to soothe the animal, for he responded in a low cadence indescribably melancholy.

      “That’s my boy. Sure I knew you didn’t forget me;” and he stooped over and patted the poor beast upon the head.

      “The top of the morning to you, Mister Lawler,” cried out a voice straight over his head – and at the same instant a strange-looking face was protruded from a little one-paned window of a hay loft – “‘tis early you are to-day.”

      “Ah, Kerry, how are you, my man? I was taking a look at Rory here.”

      “Faix, he’s a poor sight now,” responded the other with a sigh; “but he wasn’t so once. I mind the time he could lead the pack over Cubber-na-creena mountain, and not a dog but himself catch the scent, after a hard frost and a north wind. I never knew him wrong. His tongue was as true as the priest’s – sorra he in it.”

      A low whine from the poor old beast seemed to acknowledge the praise bestowed upon him; and Kerry continued —

      “It’s truth I’m telling; and if it wasn’t, it’s just himself would contradict me. – Tallyho! Rory – tallyho! my ould boy;” and both man and dog joined in a deep-toned cry together.

      The old walls sent back the echoes, and for some seconds the sounds floated through the still air of the morning.

      Lanty listened with animated features and lit-up eyes to notes which so often had stirred the strongest cords of his heart, and then suddenly, as if recalling his thoughts to their former channel, cried out —

      “Come down, Kerry, my man – come down here, and unlock the door of the stable. I must be early on the road this morning.”

      Kerry O’Leary – for so was he called, to distinguish him from those of the name in the adjoining county – soon made his appearance in the court-yard beneath. His toilet was a hasty one, consisting merely of a pair of worn corduroy small clothes and an old blue frock, with faded scarlet collar and cuffs, which, for convenience, he wore on the present occasion buttoned at the neck, and without inserting his arms in the sleeves, leaving these appendages to float loosely at his side. His legs and feet were bare, as was his head, save what covering it derived from a thick fell of strong black hair that hung down on every side like an ill-made thatch.

      Kerry was not remarkable for good looks. His brow was low, and shaded two piercing black eyes, set so closely together, that they seemed to present to the beholder one single continuous dark streak beneath his forehead: a short snubby nose, a wide thick-lipped mouth, and a heavy massive under-jaw, made up an assemblage of features, which, when at rest, indicated little of remarkable or striking; but when animated and excited, displayed the strangest possible union of deep cunning and simplicity, intense curiosity and apathetic indolence. His figure was short, almost to dwarfishness, and as his arms were enormously long, they contributed to give that air to his appearance. His legs were widely bowed, and his gait had that slouching, shambling motion, so indicative of an education cultivated among horses and stable-men. So it was, in fact, Kerry had begun life as a jockey. At thirteen he rode a winning race at the Curragh, and came in first on the back of Blue Blazes, the wickedest horse of the day in Ireland. From that hour he became a celebrity, and until too old to ride, was the crack jockey of his time. From jockey he grew into trainer – the usual transition of the tadpole to the frog; and when the racing stud was given up by the O’Donoghue in exchange for the hunting field, Kerry led the pack to their glorious sport. As time wore on, and its course brought saddening fortunes to his master, Kerry’s occupation was invaded; the horses were sold, the hounds given up, and the kennel fell to ruins. Of the large household that once filled the castle, a few were now retained; but among these was Kerry. It was not that he was useful, or that his services could minister to the comfort or convenience of the family; far from it, the commonest offices of in-door life he was ignorant of, and, even if he knew, would have shrunk from performing them, as being a degradation. His whole skill was limited to the stable-yard, and there, now, his functions were unneeded. It would seem as if he were kept as a kind of memento of their once condition, rather than any thing else. There was a pride in maintaining one who did nothing the whole day but lounge about the offices and the court-yard, in his old ragged suit of huntsman. And so, too, it impressed the country people, who seeing him, believed that at any moment the ancient splendour of the house might shine forth again, and Kerry, as of yore, ride out on his thoroughbred, to make the valleys ring with music. He was, as it were, a kind of staff, through which, at a day’s notice, the whole regiment might be mustered. It was in this spirit he lived, and moved, and spoke. He was always going about looking after a “nice beast to carry the master,” and a “real bit of blood for Master Mark,” and he would send a gossoon to ask if Barry O’Brien of the bridge “heard tell of a fox in the cover below the road.” In fact, his preparations ever portended a speedy resumption of the habits in which his youth and manhood were spent.

      Such was the character who now, in the easy deshabille described, descended into the court-yard with a great bunch of keys in his hand, and led the way towards the stable.

      “I put the little mare into the hack-stable, Mr. Lawler,” said he, “because the hunters is in training, and I didn’t like to disturb them with a strange beast.”

      “Hunters in training!” replied Lanty in astonishment. “Why, I thought he had nothing but the grey mare with the black legs.”

      “And sure, if he hasn’t,” responded Kerry crankily, “couldn’t he buy them when he wants them.”

      “Oh, that’s it,” said the other, laughing to himself. “No doubt of it Kerry. Money will do many a thing.”

      “Oh, it’s wishing it I am for money! Bad luck to the peace or ease I ever seen since they became fond of money. I remember the time it was, ‘Kerry go down and bring this, or take that,’ and devil a more about it; and lashings of every thing there was. See now! if the horses could eat pease pudding, and drink punch, they’d got it for askin’; but now it’s all for saving, and saving. And sure, what’s the use of goold? God be good to us, as I heard Father Luke say, he’d do as much for fifteen shillings as for fifty pounds, av it was a poor boy wanted it.”

      “What nonsense are you talking, you old sinner, about saving. Why man, they haven’t got as much as they could bless themselves on, among them all. You needn’t be angry, Kerry. It’s not Lanty Lawler you can humbug that way. Is there an acre of the estate their own now? Not if every perch of it made four, it wouldn’t pay the money they owe.”

      “And if they do,” rejoined Kerry indignantly, “who has a better right, tell me that? Is it an O’Donoghue would be behind the rest of the country – begorra, ye’re bould to come up here and tell us that.”

      “I’m not telling you any thing of the kind – I’m saying that if they are ruined entirely – ”

      “Arrah! don’t provoke me. Take your baste and go, in God’s name.”

      And so saying, Kerry, whose patience was fast ebbing, pushed wide the stable-door, and pointed to the stall where Lanty’s hackney was standing.

      “Bring out that grey mare, Master Kerry,” said Lanty in a tone of easy insolence, purposely assumed to provoke the old huntsman’s anger, “Bring her out here.”

      “And

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