s second favourite.

Brown was next, and he got a blank; and the next, and the next.

"I've drawn Brickbat," said Fitzpatrick, "a d----d good horse; he won
the hunters' plate at Tuam last year."

"Oh! I wish you joy," said Gayner, "for he won't start to-morrow, my
boy: he's at Tuam now."

"Begad! he'll start as soon as yourself, Bob," said little Larry; "he
came to Castleknock last night, and he's at Frenchpark now: Murphy
from Frenchpark is to ride him."

These details brought Brickbat up in the market.

"They might have left him at Tuam then, and saved themselves money,"
said Gayner. "Why, he hadn't had a gallop last Tuesday week; I was in
his stable myself. If Burke's cattle had been as fat at Ballinasloe,
he'd have got better prices."

"I say, McKeon," said Fitzpatrick, "what odds will you bet Bob
doesn't buy Brickbat himself?"

The hat went round, and others got blanks. Ussher got Miss Fidget,
Larry Kelly's mare, and was advised in a whisper by that cunning
little gentleman--who meant to buy Conqueror by way of a hedge, and
who therefore wanted to swell the stakes--to be sure and buy the mare
himself, for she didn't know how to fall; "and," he added, "you know
she's no weight on her;" and when Ussher looked at Larry Kelly, who
was to ride her himself, he couldn't but think the latter part was
true.

Then Nicholas Blake drew Kickie-wickie, the officer's mare, whereupon
the gallant Captain, who knew Blake was a sporting fellow, thought
this was a good opportunity to sound that gentleman about getting him
a rider, and began whispering to him all the qualities of the mare;
how she could do everything a mare should do; how high she was bred
and how well she was trained, and how she was like the poacher, and
could "leap on anywhere;" for all which, and Kickie-wickie herself,
with her owner into the bargain, Blake did not care a straw;--for he
was confident of winning himself with the Galway horse, Thunderer.

Then some one else drew Thunderer; and Peter Dillon got Conqueror,
greatly to his joy, for he reckoned that his expenses from Castlebar
would thus be mostly paid, even if he couldn't sell the long-legged
colt. The Major drew Crom-a-boo, a Carrick horse, who had once been
a decent hunter, and whose owner had entered it at the instigation
of his fellow townsmen, and by the assurance that these sort of
races were often won by your steady old horses; and Mr. Stark, the
owner, since he had first made up his