100 



THE BEST OF THE FUN 



in this letter, to the effect that it is difficult to knock a gap 

 in an Irish bank. This by no means applies to county 

 Cork, many of whose stony banks, perhaps from insuffi- 

 cient strength in the first instance, generally from chronic 

 damp and neglect afterwards, crumble only too readily 

 to the footfall. The broader and sturdier banks, say the 

 hard riders of the country (and who is there who does not 

 ride hard with the United, or can follow these hounds at 

 all without jumping almost incessantly?) — ^the sounder, 

 bigger banks are safe enough, at all events for the first 

 man, less so for his immediate followers : and they take 

 them almost at speed. 



The weak, half- wall half-bank fences, though not 

 likely to put you down when going slow-, are risky to gallop 

 over. But when taken at leisure they offer the most 

 curious spectacle, as a leap, ever invented for the edifica- 

 tion of an ignorant Englishman. The horse of the 

 country jumps them one leg at a time ; and if this mode 

 of procedure is not sufficient to disperse the unnecessary 

 stones, he presses down upon them with his stomach (I 

 have no more delicate term handy at the moment) until 

 the structure melts beneath his weight. The sensation to 

 a novice is as if he might be riding a horse suffering from 

 a severe attack of internal pain ; and he longs to get off, 

 till he finds by experience that, by sitting still, it all comes 

 right in the end. 



I consider that, much sport or little sport this day, 

 I was fortunate enough to see a great deal of the United 

 country. They met at Dundallerick — pretty nearly the 

 centre of it. And, driving from Cork, one rose gradually 

 during a dozen miles until one reached the higher ground 

 whence wide views could be obtained — as, for instance, 

 during the day, from Knockeen Mountain across a fine open 

 valley of several miles to Fermoy. Do not imagine, by- 

 the-bye, that Knockeen or many another gentle eminence 

 in the same category are in reality any more worthy of 

 being dignified by the name of " mountains " than, say, 

 Tilton Hill or Robin-a-Tiptoe — certainly not more than the 

 Hemplow Hills of the Pytchley. Far be it from me to 

 venture to hint that a proneness to exaggeration is in the 



