ATHERSTONE. 299 



for the effort, nor docs the ground help him with a firm foot- 

 hold. Then it is that a field of horsemen make havoc ; and 

 then it is that we have a crop of blows, bangs, and big legs 

 throughout the winter. 



P.S. — My postscript is a very sad and sorrowful one. I have 

 seen to his grave the dear old friend, the kindly director under 

 whose mandate and sympathy it has been my privilege to 

 sketch foxhunting for nearly a score of years. Of Mr. Walsh's 

 life and good work it is written elsewhere. But from me 

 a word may not be out of place in humble, affectionate 

 tribute to the memory of one whom it was delightful to know 

 intimately, and gratifying to see frequently. He formed 

 opinions strongly and would express them incisively. But 

 sincerity and consistency were stamped on every word — and 

 the thoroughness of his kindly nature came out in every 

 sentence. Once a friend, he was always a friend — staunch and 

 unprejudiced, plainspoken but ever considerate. His clear 

 judgment and knowledge of details extended to other matters 

 beyond sport. Of whatever subject interested him he would 

 master the why-and-wherefore ; and thus, while never pros}r, 

 he spoke always with authority — never at haphazard. Misan- 

 thropes have flung their bitterness against eveiy stage of life — 

 dubbing youth as flippant, manhood as selfish and unreliable — 

 while age has come in for varied epithet of detraction. But, 

 surely, where the mind remains unimpaired— still more where, 

 as in the case of Stonehenge, it is only strengthened and 

 enriched by time — age is the period wherein heart and noble 

 nature prove themselves, endearing the owner far more readily 

 to his fellow-men than in the earlier years of existence. Mr. 

 Walsh in his old age (and twenty years ago he was old, ;is 

 ordinary men would be reckoned) was not only remarkable for 

 his wondrous clearness of intellect, but was admirable for his 

 kind, sympathetic heart. 



