room at Ballycloran.

There were to be three races. Had there been a prospect of thirty,
and among them a trial of speed between all the favourites of the
Derby, there could not have been a greater crowd, or more anxiety;
every ragged, bare-footed boy there knew the names of each horse,
and to whom he belonged, and believed in the invincibility of some
favourite beast,--probably from attachment to its owner,--and were
as anxious as if the animals were their own. Among this set, McKeon
or little Larry Kelly were booked to win;--they were kind, friendly
masters, and these judges thought that kind men ought to have winning
horses.

"Shure thin," said one half-naked urchin, stuck up in a small tree,
growing just out of one of the banks over which the horses were to
pass; "shure thin, Playful's an illigant swate baste entirely. I'll
go bail there's nothin 'll come nigh her this day!"

"That Tony may win the day thin!" said another. "It's he is the fine
sportsman."

"Bedad, ye're both out," said a third, squatting as close on the
bank as the men would let him; "it's Mr. Larry 'll win, God bless
him!--and none but him--and he the weight all wid him, and why not?
There's none of 'em in the counthry so good as the Kellys. Hoorroo
for the Kellys! them's the boys."

"They do say," said the second speaker, who was only half way up the
tree, "that Conqueror 'll win. By Jasus, av he do, won't young Brown
be going it!"

"Is it Conqueror?" said the higher, and more sanguine votary of
McKeon. "Is it the Brown Hall horse? He can't win, I tell ye! I saw
him as Paddy Cane was leading him down, and he didn't look like
winning; he hasn't got it in him. That he may fall at the first lep,
and never stir again! Tony 'll win, boys! Hurroo for Tony McKeon."

The weighing was now accomplished, and jockeys mounted. Major
McDonnell had to look after this part of the business, of which
he knew as much as he did of Arabic. However, he was shoved about
unmercifully for half an hour--had his toes awfully trodden on, for
he was told he should dismount to see the weighing--narrowly escaped
a half-hundredweight, which was dropped within three inches of his
foot, and did, I daresay, as much good as stewards usually do on such
occasions.

Counsellor Webb was to start them, and, though a counsellor, he was
an old hand at the work. He always started the horses at the Carrick
races, and usually one of his own among the lot. The Counsellor, by
the by