CHARLIE BRINDLE V 77 



shall remember our happy days with the ' ould Wards.' 

 They were days ! 



Poor Charlie Brindley, few ever came up to him, 

 and none ever more worthily carried a horn, and those 

 who know best have often said the same. As a hunts- 

 man, whether with fox or staghounds, he was un- 

 equalled. Should any of my old friends peruse these 

 lines, may I ask them, can they ever forget that ' 'Old 

 'ard, gentlemen,' ' Oh I be Gob, sir, you are not fit to 

 be hout with 'ounds ; between the flags is the place for 

 you !' etc. ? On one occasion, during a ' quick thing,' 

 a loose horse got between us at a fence just too late to 

 pull up if he swerved, I yelled to Charlie ' Look out !' 

 and we all three took it in our stride, the loose horse 

 being none other than the celebrated Grey Friar, 

 belonging to a Mr. McCan, ' What on earth has 

 happened to Mr. McCan ? however could he fall with 

 such a horse ?' I remarked to Charlie. ' Oh, sir,' he 

 replied, 'you see, first of hall 'e lost 'is 'at, then 'e lost 

 'is 'ed, and then, be Gob, sir, 'e lost 'orse and hall.' 

 No matter what he was on, Charlie was always in his 

 place, and but seldom came to grief, although during 

 the commencement of his career he was by no means 

 well mounted. He never over-rode his horse, but, like 

 a cautious deer-stalker, kept slowly and quietly creep- 

 ing up to his hounds, passing by the ' flash-in-the-pan ' 

 division with a quiet expression of commiseration ; but 

 if he saw a 'good man' come to grief his own grief 

 was very real as he passed on his way to be up at a 

 check, as he invariably was. We have often run for 

 twenty-five Irish miles with the Ward, and, as every 

 experienced person is aware, it takes a deal of discretion 

 on the part of the rider to see the end of such runs, but 



