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 thirt