Hugh Gough of Clonmel, George Meara, Father Martin Flynn of 

 Waterford, Edward Roberts, and his sons Saru, Arthur, and llichard. 

 Of course there were scores of others whose names do not occur to 

 me at present, but the foregoing not alone hunted regularly, but many 

 of them were intimate friends of the Marquis. 



He defrayed all the expenses, and did everything at Curraghmore in 

 princely style. He turned out his men on the best mounts he could 

 procure for them, while his own horses carried him brilliantly. He 

 was always in the van, being, as the world knows, a brilliant 

 horseman. Long ago as it is, and although but in my teens, I well 

 remember how he sailed away on Peacock, Captain, and The Hock 

 to the tail of his hounds, in his own quiet and finished style, without 

 fuss or hurry. In fancy I see him this moment driving up to the 

 meet in mail phaeton and pair, or drag and four greys, at a great pace, 

 and with skill which the best professional coachman might equal, but 

 could not surpass. 



The records of his sport are extraordinary, but from personal 

 experience I can speak only of his last season. Tradition has, however, 

 handed down many famous foxhunts, a few of which I shall now 

 give a brief account of. 



Lord Waterford had four celebrated runs with the same fox from 

 Knockbrack into Woodstock in the season 1848-49. I often heard 

 them alluded to when I was a boy as being about the most brilliant 

 of their time. That good fox was not killed by hounds. He never 

 waited to be found, but broke before the hounds got up to the covert, 

 and went as straight as a dart to Woodstock, where he always got to 

 ground. His fame having got abroad, and Knockbrack being in 

 Sir John Power's old hunting territory, a countryman thought it 

 would please him to get hold of this good fox and let him go in 

 some covert of the northern country which the Kilkenny hounds then 

 hunted. Accordingly, when he got to ground after his last run, the 

 man dug out the fox and arrived with him in a sack next morning 

 at Kilfane. Upon telling Sir John what he had done, his recompense 

 was as great a licking as ever man got. When the sack was opened 

 the fox was found smothered in it. Sir John got him stuffed and 

 presented him to Lord Waterford, and ever since he has lain in 

 the library at Curraghmore. He is a splendid specimen of the 

 mountain greyhound fox— the very best breed to show sport. 



Another great run was had in the middle of March, 1859, which I had 

 the good luck to participate in, and I could never recall having seen a 

 finer one since. It was from Corbally, over Miltown Hill, through Killahy, 

 through Killeen Gorse, on to Coolnahaw— an eight to nine mile point 

 straight — then to the left by Kiltorcan through Kyleer Wood, across 

 the railway at the Tank, and to Killeen again. Being headed at the 

 covert, the fox ran though Carrigbannan, and an inside ring of the same 

 line he took before, and got to ground under a sleeper of the railway 

 near Ballyhale Station. He was left there after giving a run of 



