e Devil, a black horse, that would have carried a
sixteen stoner over a six-foot wall, following Will Wrixon's hounds at
the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and singing out, 'Go it, my trumps.'
These are the recollections that bring tears in a man's eyes."

There were none visible in Bob's, but as he here finished his dram, it
is perhaps a convenient opportunity for concluding a chapter.

CHAPTER II.

HOW ENSIGN BRADY WENT TO DRINK TEA WITH MISS
THEODOSIA MACNAMARA.

"The day of that hunt was the very day that led to my duel with Brady.
He was a long, straddling, waddle-mouthed chap, who had no more
notion of riding a hunt than a rhinoceros. He was mounted on a
showy-enough-looking mare, which had been nerved by Bodolphus Bootiman,
the horse-doctor, and though 'a good 'un to look at, was a rum 'un to
go;' and before she was nerved, all the work had been taken out of her
by long Lanty Philpot, who sold her to Brady after dinner for fifty
pounds, she being not worth twenty in her best day, and Brady giving his
bill at three months for the fifty. My friend the ensign was no judge of
a horse, and the event showed that my cousin Lanty was no judge of a
bill--not a cross of the fifty having been paid from that day to this;
and it is out of the question now, it being long past the statute of
limitations, to say nothing of Brady having since twice taken the
benefit of the Act. So both parties jockeyed one another, having that
pleasure which must do them instead of profit.

"She was a bay chestnut, and nothing would do Brady but he must run her
at a little gap which Miss Dosy was going to clear, in order to show his
gallantry and agility; and certainly I must do him the credit to say
that he did get his mare _on_ the gap, which was no small feat, but
there she broke down, and off went Brady, neck and crop, into as fine a
pool of stagnant green mud as you would ever wish to see. He was ducked
regularly in it, and he came out, if not in the jacket, yet in the
colours, of the Rifle Brigade, looking rueful enough at his misfortune,
as you may suppose. But he had not much time to think of the figure he
cut, for before he could well get up, who should come right slap over
him but Miss Dosy herself upon Tom the Devil, having cleared the gap
and a yard beyond the pool in fine style. Brady ducked, and escaped
the horse, a little fresh daubing being of less consequence than the
knocking out of his brains, if he had any; but he did