est one. My mother
always drove out in Dublin in a carriage-and-four, with postilions and
two out-riders. We had always used black carriage-horses, and East, the
well-known job-master, had provided us for Dublin with twenty-two
splendid blacks, all perfect matches. Our family colour being crimson,
the crimson barouche, with the six blacks and our own black and crimson
liveries, made a very smart turn-out indeed. O'Connor, the
wheeler-postilion, a tiny little wizened elderly man, took charge of
the carriage, and directed the outriders at turnings by a code of sharp
whistles. It was my consuming ambition to ride leader-postilion to my
mother's carriage, and above all to wear the big silver coat-of-arms
our postilions had strapped to the left sleeves of their short jackets
on a broad crimson band. I went to O'Connor in the stable-yard, and
consulted him as to my chance of obtaining the coveted berth. O'Connor
was distinctly encouraging. He thought nine rather young for a
postilion, but when I had grown a little, and had gained more
experience, he saw no insuperable objections to my obtaining the post.
The leader-postilion was O'Connor's nephew, a smart-looking,
light-built boy of seventeen, named Byrne. Byrne was less hopeful about
my chance. He assured me that such a rare combination of physical and
intellectual qualities were required for a successful leader-rider,
that it was but seldom that they were found, as in his case, united in
the same person. That my mother had met with no accident whilst driving
was solely due to his own consummate skill, and his wonderful presence
of mind. Little Byrne, however, was quite affable, and allowed me to
try on his livery, including the coveted big silver arm-badge and his
top-boots. In my borrowed plumes I gave the stablemen to understand
that I was as good as engaged already as postilion. Byrne informed me
of some of the disadvantages of the position. "The heart in ye would be
broke at all the claning them leathers requires." I was also told that
after an extra long drive, "ye'd come home that tired that ye'd be
thinking ye were losing your life, and not knowing if ye had a leg left
to ye at all."

I often drove with my mother, and when we had covered more ground than
usual, upon arriving home, I always ran round to the leaders to inquire
anxiously if my friend little Byrne "had a leg left to him, or if he
had lost his life," and was much relieved at finding him sitting on his
ho