MEMORIES OF THE COUNTRY PEOPLE 79 



In the old days rides home were nothing. I 

 have ridden in from Dromard, seventeen miles off, 

 and from BalHngarry. We worked for hunting 

 then. Came a black cold morning with a dog- 

 cart at the door. Eighteen miles to Ballingarry, 

 and a ride of six on. My old black mare used to 

 trot down in an hour and three-quarters. My 

 one horse, probably only a four year old, was on 

 overnight to lodge in close stables and eat in- 

 different forage at some pub. 



I remember sending on once and finding my 

 horse absolutely unfit next morning. He panted 

 and puffed and lathered as he toiled up a hill. 

 Down I came to my ubiquitous groom, we were 

 only running round the hill. 



" Cuthbert, what's wrong with Jerry ? Didn't 

 he feed ? " 



** Feed is it," said Cuthbert. " Indeed he did, 

 mam. It was butiful new soft oats an' he ate a 

 power of it." 



Luxurious motorists now. How should we 

 like to get off a horse at four o'clock and into a 

 dog-cart, with storms of bitter rain teaming down 

 and drive eighteen miles to Limerick. But we 

 had merry teas then before we all started, now we 

 race home for these as often as not — until the days 

 lengthen. 



It was in one of our haunts, some time ago — 

 which, I shall not say — that the landlady hearing 

 the huntsmen coming in, bundled the dead man 



