WITH THE KILLING KILDARES. 107 



that hill and up Tallaght, sadly blowing our horses. 

 Fortunately they had checked, and we had a little law 

 before they fresh found him in a furzy ditch. 



This time he set his mask for the fair city herself, 

 which lay spread out below us like a map, and 

 reaching the plain near Johnville, led us over big 

 fields and bigger fences to ground at Newlands, near 

 Clondalkin. Is that five miles from the Mansion 

 House ? Not more, I fancy ; but a few years later 

 they ran to the cemetery by Rathmines, which bears 

 to Dublin the relative position of Wormwood Scrubbs 

 to London. 



How memory makes the pen run on ! I had not 

 meant to describe this day at all, but this run it was 

 that made me vow I would have a season with the 

 Kildares yet, which vow I was enabled to keep some 

 few years later. 



When I returned to Kildare, Goodall still carried 

 the horn, and Major St. Leger Moore, who had 

 safely steered his way through the Land League 

 troubles, still held the reins of Mastership. 



If Meath is a country where blood and "scope" 

 are as necessary as in Leicestershire, Kildare is 

 assuredly the one of all others where a clever horse 

 is necessary. In fact the cleverest of them tumble 

 about in Kildare. Nothing strikes the Saxon so 

 much as the number of falls he sees when hunting 

 in Ireland. To be sure, nine times out of ten a 

 fall over a bank is nothing, whereas an " imperial 

 crowner " over timber is very often something to 

 remember for life. 



