48 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



Mr. Humble on Rose, a chestnut mare, and Mr. 

 Burke on something which was sure to be good. 



The Wizard, if I rode him, wasn't quite fast 

 enough across the more open country down there. 

 The Witch was all right. I never went down to 

 Carlow to have a day with old Mr. Robert Watson, 

 he used to come to Kilkenny. People often 

 asked us to, but we had not many horses. 



Mr. Watson came down one day in spring, a 

 day with a blazing sun, with the ground ringing 

 like iron under horses' feet, with the roads clouds 

 of dust, and March's hunting shroud spread 

 dryly over everything. No one thought or hoped 

 for a hunt, we stood about longing for straw hats 

 and covert coats. I had come out on a grey three 

 year old just to show him hounds, when the un- 

 expected happened ; we found in a wood, hounds 

 ran fairly fast out across the grass and they ran 

 on, not fast after the beginning but going. They 

 were at fault more than once over plough. Twice 

 Mr. Langrishe lifted them and was right. It was 

 one of the best bits of the country, big sound 

 banks and going which would have been un- 

 pleasantly heavy in wet weather but carried a 

 scent now. Old Mr. Watson absolutely beamed, 

 his grey hair flying out under his hunting cap, 

 going at his fences with a schoolboy's zest. We 

 ran for about six miles at quite a fair pace and we 

 killed our fox close to Gowran just before he got 

 to the woods. 



