observed, "Really !" "Oh, indeed!" "You don't say so!" or made use of some such cold conventional expression to denote languid attention, not thoroughly aroused; but the Irish girl's "Did ye now?” identified her at once with her companion and his doings, started them both incontinently on that path of congenial partnership, which is so seductive to the traveller, smooth, pleasant, all down-hill, and leading-who knows where? Perhaps neither deep liquid eyes, nor dark lashes, nor arched brows, nor even smiles and blushes, and shapely graceful forms, would arm these Irish ladies with such unequalled and irresistible powers, were it not for their kindly womanly nature that adapts itself so graciously to those with whom it comes in contact-their encouraging "Did ye now?" that despises no trifle, is wearied with no details, and asks only for his confidence whom they honour with their regard. Perhaps, also, it is this faculty of sympathy and assimilation, predominant in both sexes, that makes Irish society the pleasantest in the world. Thus encouraged, Daisy went off again at score, described each fence to his eager listener, dwelt on every stride, and explained the catastrophe of the woman and child, observing, in conclusion, with a philosophy all his own, that it was "hard lines to be done just at the finish, and lose a hatful of money by three-quarters of a yard!" She looked up anxiously. "Did ye make such heavy bets now?" she said, in a tone of tender reproach. "Ah! Captain Walters, ye told me ye never meant to run these risks again!" "It was for the last time," he answered rather mournfully. "If the old woman had been at home and in bed, I should have been my own master at this moment, and then-never mind what then! It's no use bothering about that now!" She blushed to the very roots of her hair-why, she would have been at a loss to explain-crumpled her race-card into a hundred creases, and observed innocently "Why should it make any difference now? Do ye think we'd like you better for being a hundred times a winner? I wouldn't then, for one !" He was sitting very close, and nobody but herself heard the whisper, in which he asked "Then you don't despise a fellow for losing, Miss Macormac, do you?" "Despise him?" she answered with flashing eyes. "Never say the word! If I liked him before, d'ye think I wouldn't like him ten times better after he'd been vexed by such a disappointment as that! Ye're not understanding what I mean, and maybe I'm not putting it into right words, but it seems to me -Yes, dear mamma, I'm minding what you say! Sure enough, it is raining in here fit to drown a fish! I'm obliged to ye, Captain. Will ye kindly shift the cloak and cushions to that dry place yonder by Lady Mary. How wet the poor riders will be in their silk jackets! I'm pleased and thankful now-indeed I am-that ye're sheltered safe and dry in the stand." The last remark in a whisper, because of Lady Mary's supervision, who, thinking the tête-a-tête between Daisy and her daughter had lasted long enough, took advantage of a driving shower and the state of the roof to call pretty Miss Norah into a part of the stand which she considered in every respect more secure. The sky had again darkened, the afternoon promised to be wet. Punchestown weather is not proverbial for sunshine, and Mrs. Lushington, who had done less execution than she considered rightly due to a new toilette of violet and swansdown, voted the whole thing a failure and a bore. The last race was run off in a pelting shower, the Lord Lieutenant's carriages and escort had departed, people gathered up their shawls and wrappings with little interest in anything but the preservation of dry skins. Ladies yawned and began to look tired, gentlemen picked their way through the course ankle-deep in mud, to order up their several vehicles, horse and foot scattered themselves over the country in every direction from a common centre, the canvas-booths flapped, the wind blew, the rain fell, the great day's racing was over, and it was time to go home. Norah Macormac's ears were very sharp, but they listened in vain for the expected invitation from Lady Mary, asking Daisy to spend a few days with them at the castle. Papa, whose hospitality was unbounded and uncontrollable, would have taken no denial under any circumstances; but papa was engaged with the race committee, and intended, moreover, to gallop home across country by himself. There seemed nothing for it but to put as much cordiality into her farewell as was compatible with the presence of bystanders and the usages of society. Miss Norah no doubt acquitted herself to Daisy's satisfactionand her own. Mr. Sullivan, whose experience enabled him to recover his losses on the great handicap by a judicious selection of winners in two succeeding races, did not, therefore, depart without a final glass of comfort, which he swallowed in company with the Roscommon farmer. To him he expounded his views on steeple-chasing, and horses in general, at far greater length than in the forenoon. It is matter of regret that, owing to excitement, vexation, and very strong punch, Denis should have been much too drunk to understand a word he said. The only idea this worthy seemed clearly to take in, he repeated over and over again in varying tones of grief and astonishment, but always in the same terms :— "The mare can do it, I tell ye! an' the Captain rode her beautiful! Isn't it strange, now, to see little Shaneen comin' in like that at the finish, an' givin' her a batin' by a neck!" THE SPORTSMAN'S SPRING SONG. AREWELL, my gallant hunter, rest My "pink" is thrown into the chest, Eight moons until once more we spin By covert, tilth and grass; I trust with plenty in the bin Those months will quickly pass. Farewell, my gun, whose central fire And ye, my skates, a long farewell! Have perished-(hark! their fitting knell On Zephyr-wings is tost Where thrush-songs peal so blithe and bold); I drop an oily tear Upon you, then the case will hold You safe for another year. But welcome, Spring, with sapphire skies Come down, come down, my trusty rod, The willows by the river nod, With dews the ferns are wet ; The sweet south sweeps away morn's clouds, That please both trout and me! We'll hie forth to the eddies pure And moralise what deadly joys They find, who spend their powr's Chasing ambition's gaudy toys Ah well! perhaps a cynic, I A rush a struggle-now he yields! His silvery beauty praise; Welcome once more, ye streams and fields, Thrice-welcome fishing days! M. G. W. |