'There's Burton Pearse—that's the darling of a man!
It's he that's good to the poor, and takes his walls flying. It isn't a lock of bacon or a bag of meal he cares for—be-gorra, it's not that, nor a double ditch would ever stop him. Hurroo! I think I'm looking at him throwing up his whip-hand this way, going over a gate and calling out to the servant, “Make Joe go in for his dinner, and give him half-a-crown”—devil a less! And then there's Mr. Power of Kilfane—maybe your honour knows him? Down in Kilkenny, there. He's another of them—one of the right sort. I wish you see him facing a leap—a little up in his stirrups, just to look over and see the ground, and then—hoo! he's across and away. A beautiful place he has of it, and an elegant pack of dogs, fourteen hunters in the stable, and as pleasant a kitchen as ever I broke my fast in. The cook's a mighty nice woman—a trifle fat, or so; but a good sowl, and a raal warrant for an Irish stew.' 'And Mr. Ulick Burke, Joe, do you know him?' 'Is it blazing Burke? Faix, I do know him! I was as near him as I am to you when he shot Matt Callanan at the mills. “There, now,” says he, when he put a ball in his hip, and lamed him for life, “you were always fond of your trade, and I'll make you a hopper.” And sure enough, this is the way he goes ever since.'
'He is a good horseman, they tell me, Joe?' 'The best in Ireland; for following the dogs, flat race, or steeplechase, show me his equal. Och! it's himself has the seat in a saddle. Mighty short he rides with his knees up, this way, and his toes out. Not so purty to look at, till you are used to it; but watch him fingering his baste—feeling his mouth with the snaffle—never tormenting, but just letting him know who is on his back. It 's raal pleasure to look at him; and then to see him taking a little canter before he sets off, with his hand low, and just tickling the flanks with his spurs, to larn the temper of the horse. May I never! if it isn't a heavenly sight!' 'You like Mr. Burke, then, I see, Joe?' 'Like him! Who wouldn't like him a-horseback? Isn't he the moral of a rider, that knows his baste better than I know my Hail Mary? But see him afoot, he's the greatest divil from here to Croaghpatrick—nothing civiller in his mouth than a curse and a “bloody end” to ye! Och! it's himself hates the poor, and they hate him; the beggars run away from him as if he was the police; and the blind man that sits on Banagher Bridge takes up his bags, and runs for the bare life the minit he hears the trot of his horse. Isn't it a wonder how he rides so bowld with all the curses over him? Faix, myself wouldn't cross that little stream there, if I was like him. Well, well, he'll have a hard reckoning at last. He's killed five men already, and wounded a great many more; but they say he won't be able to go on much further, for when he kills another the divil's to come for him. The Lord be about us! by rason he never let's any one kill more nor six.'
Thus chatting away, the road passed over; and as the sun was setting we came in sight of the town, now not above a mile distant.
'That's Loughrea you see there—it's a mighty fine place,' said Joe. 'There's slate houses, and a market and a barrack; but you 'll stop a few days in the town?'
'Oh, certainly; I wish to see this race.'
'That will be the fine race. It is a great country entirely—every kind of fence, gates, ditches, and stone walls, as thick as they can lie. I'll show you all the course, for I know it well, and tell you the names of all the gentlemen, and the names of their horses, and their servants; and I'll bring you where you 'll see the whole race, from beginning to end, without stirring an inch. Are you going to bet any money?'
'I believe not, Joe; but I'm greatly interested for a friend.'
'And who is he?'
'Captain O'Grady.'