TIM O'LEARY'S HARE 



THE little village of Longbally was gay with bunting, 

 and a huge bonfire blazed on Raven's Hill, for the 

 young Squire had returned to the home of his fathers 

 that day after completing his education on the Continent. 

 A brisk trade was being done at the " Egan Arms," where 

 the members of the local pack of trencher-fed beagles 

 had met to arrange the opening meet of the season, which 

 was to take place on the following Saturday. 



" An' is it thrue what ye tell us, Tim, that the young 

 Squire has put his hand in his pocket and given five 

 goulden sovereigns to the dogs ? " 



" An' why shouldn't it be thrue? " answered Timothy 

 O'Leary, a veteran hare hunter of some fifty-five winters. 

 " An' why shouldn't it be thrue, Mickey ? Sure, an' you're 

 dhrinkin' his honour's health out of that same five pounds 

 this very minute as is ; an' isn't it the illigant green coat 

 wid the gilt buttons I've just been afther ordherin' wid 

 Tim Daly, to lade the pack in for the Squire this saison ? " 



" An' did the Squire ordher you breeches to match? " 

 asked one of the company. 



" Did ye iver see a rispectable huntsman in green 

 breeches, ye gossoon?" replied Timothy scornfully, 

 " One would think that ye grudged me the trifle for the 

 coat, afther me tachin' ye all ye know about hare- 

 huntin'." 



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