stop; so, being a long-armed man, he leant well forward, and placing his hands over its eyes, completely blinded his horse, and brought him to a standstill, if we may be allowed the expression, in a twinkling!! We are not all, however, gifted with such long limbs as this imperturbable equestrian, and must make up, if we can, for deficiency of arm by increased fineness of hand; and here we lay it down as an established rule, that no horse can go properly with hounds if he pulls. Let him lean upon his bit, to that extent which enables us to draw him into a collected form; let him get his head up, or down, or sideways, or into any other position he pleases, with a proper feeling of resentment at undue interference with his mouth, and we freely forgive him; but for a boring, dead, stiffnecked puller, we confess to an insuperable aversion. Common riding, as Colonel Greenwood's book truly points out, is but common sense, and the whole object of bitting and bridling is, after all, but to get the horse's hind legs into their proper place under his quarters, through the medium of his head. The animal is so formed, that when he bends his neck and tucks his nose in, he brings his hocks and hind-feet well under his body, and vice versd; hence it is that horses with well-made, powerful quarters, have for the most part light mouths. Should that sensitive organ, however, have been hardened by a bad education or bad usage, it must be our study to apply such an instrument as by giving us additional power, or in other words inflicting a severer pressure, shall make up for this want of sensitiveness without giving pain, and thereby causing irritation at the time, and increased callousness afterwards. This is the whole art of bitting, and on this depends the skilful touch we term "hand." Thut such power is obtained over the horse by an almost innumerable diversity of bridles, we have only to look into any saddler's window to observe; and it is impossible to establish any of these as the best, inasmuch as the grey horse will only go pleasantly in one that would drive the chesnut mad, while that which brings the brown instantaneously on his haunches is a mere halter in the mouth of the bay. Different men, too, would ride the same animal in different bridles, so various are the methods in which people deem it safe and expedient to handle their horses. The large plain double-bridle, with a thick bridoon, a low port, and a very long cheek, more particularly should the bit be made to slide up and down for an inch or so on the cheek aforesaid, will be found admirably adapted to three horses out of four; but then it may render the fourth totally unrideable: so, as we have already said, it is impossible to lay down any rule on the subject. But that it is absolutely necessary to find out the bridle in which he goes most pleasantly, to get a horse quickly along over a country, it needs but little argument to demonstrate, For mere galloping, we should be able to turn and twist him anywhere. The very fact of pulling up short to open a gate, and consequently keeping up the steam till within a few yards of that friendly egress, will give one man an immense advantage over another, who although riding a second Eclipse, cannot quite command him, and if he means to stop at all, must begin hauling long ere he is half-way across a fifty-acre field. What, too, can be more provoking, when jammed into a lane amongst a hundred dear friends, from whom you would willingly give five pounds to make your escape, than to spy a weak place in the fence, through which if you could but hustle, you might be alone with the hounds; and to find that, pressed as you are by the galloping crowd around you, it is impossible to pull up or turn, till several hundred yards past the only practicable gap for miles ?-though the hounds are running at right angles to you, it would take more time to turn round than to keep forward, and you are carried on by the tide till you find yourself in a turnpike road, from which, as we all know, there is no escape. All this is rectified by having horses, what is called "handy ;" and to make them so, should be the first object of any man who wishes to ride well to hounds, more particularly in the grass countries, where the crowd of his fellow-sportsmen is one of the greatest difficulties he has to encounter. A fast slug, if he has courage enough to face large fences, will generally slip away quicker than any other description of hunter; and it is extraordinary how many horses that have been ridden by good men become so quiet and temperate that we might almost call them slugs. When thus mounted, and in a good place with hounds, a really fine rider seems to glide over a country, almost like a bird upon the wing. It is beautiful to ride behind such a one, and watch his performance. How quietly he sits down in his saddle, giving and taking with every motion of his horse; how judiciously he selects the soundest ground, and at what a rattling pace he makes play when its inclination is at all in his favour; with what patience he waits at a slow canter, or pulls completely to a trot in the ploughs; what skill he shows in angling the ridge and furrow, or avoiding it altogether by making at once for the headland; how he seems to anticipate every turn of the hounds, and thereby gains a timely pull almost whenever he stands in need of a moment's breathing-space; and above all, with what determination he crosses the severe fences, which in every good run we may be pretty sure it will be his lot to encounter-these obstacles it would be impossible to describe seriatim: we should prefer to take them as they come, just as we like to have them in a run, and for that purpose must defer what we have to say on jumps and jumping-powder to a future number. (To be continued.) ERNEST ATHERLEY; OR, SCENES AT HOME AND A BROAD. BY LORD WILLIAM LENNOX. CHAPTER XVIII. "No care, no stop! so senseless of expense, -SHAKSPEARE, An episode on poverty-London before sunrise Journey to Ireland-Dublin as it was-Arrest of O'Crohon. The days glided rapidly away. O'Crohon's presence rendered the remaining part of our séjour in London truly delightful. That generous man, with the proverbial liberality of his countrymen, was profuse in his presents. A handsome travelling-carriage, turned out in Adams's best style, was the first proof of his liberality. And to show the nobleness of his nature, I must mention one trait. Knowing by my transaction with Hawksley that I required a thousand pounds, he placed that sum to my account at the agent's, without making a comment; a letter from the head of the firm announced the fact to me, adding that I was to be credited with the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds quarterly, by order of Patrick O'Crohon, Esq. All now was sunshine and happiness, with the exception of one dark spot-the silence of my parents. A letter from a maiden aunt informed me that their inveteracy against the family into which I had married remained unabated. This antiquated spinster (I grieve to speak ill of my own kith and kin) delivered a severe lecture against runaway matches (the poor creature never had a chance herself!), ending her epistle by lamenting that the pure stream of ancient aristocratic blood should have been polluted by the admixture of a plebeian puddle, and assuring me that no offence was personally meant towards Mrs. Atherley, who, she understood, was a most charming person-barring the brogue! In the mean time, Mr. Joyce had been very busily engaged with Mr. Hawksley in recovering my bills. At first the usurer threatened law, but fear of exposure prevented his taking that step; he next stood out for commission and interest, but these were strenuously opposed; and the affair was finally settled by the money-lender restoring my acceptances upon the payment of the sum advanced, and the price of the stamps. It was now arranged that our happy trio, Kate, O'Crohon, and myself, were to post to Bristol, to cross from that port to Waterford. Upon reaching Kilkenny we were to be joined by my mother and sisterin-law, when, after a few days at Mahala, the whole party were to proceed to Dublin for the winter season. I had myself suggested this plan, not wishing to pass near Atherley Manor in company with a wife who, for no fault of her own, was denounced by my relations, and treated as if she was one of the outcasts of society. Fashion, with its despotic sway, does not tolerate the alliance of a warm-hearted Irish girl with a scion of patrician birth; at least, if the crime of poverty can be brought home to her. Had Kate been heiress to a wealthy tradesman, a rich stockjobber, an affluent shareholder, an extortionate contractor, an unscrupulous millionaire, a landed money-lender, an opulent pawnbroker, she would have been hailed with delight by what are self-termed the exclusives. La crême de la crême would have fetéed her; she would have been the pet of the peeresses-especially of those who had large progenies and small possessions; she would have been the star, around which all the fortune-hunting satellites would have revolved; she would have been the "observed of all speculating observers ;" she would have been the idol in the Temple of Mammon, to whom all knees—even gartered ones-would have bent; she would have been like the fabled garden of the Hesperides, where, despite of dragon chaperons, every fortune-hunting youth would have boldly ventured, in hopes of robbing the orchard of the golden fruit. Money! all-powerful money! like fuller's earth, can take out stains in birth or pedigree-can figuratively, if not literally, wash the blackamoor white-can hide defects-can conceal blemishes-can make vice appear virtue-can shape deformity. As De Balzac, a shrewd observer, writes, "Il vit le monde comme il est. Les lois et la morale impuissantes chez les riches. Il vit dans la fortune L'ultima ratio mundi.' La fortune est la vertu.” Our arrangements were now completed for the journey; the imperials and a bonnet-boxes were packed, the hotel bill paid, the waiter, chambermaid, and boots satisfied; and at a quarter before six in the morning, the travelling-carriage, with four of Newman's best horses, was at the door. 66 There is nothing more wretched than the appearance of a London hotel before the day has been well ushered in. The slatternly females, who, with hair in paper, are carrying out the process of "dusting,' which is accomplished by flapping cloths about, to the detriment of the glass, china, and ornaments, and extracting all the dust from the rugs by beating them against the doors, filling the passages and rooms with grains of different-coloured pulverized material; the slipshod waiters, looking if possible more seedy" than the worn-out coats and waistcoats which they have hastily thrown on; the boots, with hands and face begrimed with dirt, collecting the "Wellingtons," "Bluchers," laced "highlows" and shoes of those sojourning in the hotel to be cleaned, marking each pair with the number of the owner's room, and giving a cross in chalk to those good customers who pay extra for an additional polish. The attempt, too, at an early breakfast is usually a failure: the water in the urn is tepid and smoky, owing to the kitchen-maid having overslept herself; the milkman happens to be late, so the remains of the previous day's cream is doubly diluted; the bread is stale, the butter not fresh, the eggs overboiled. But I pass over the discomfort of an early departure, and proceed to state, that punctually to a moment, O'Crohon, Kate as bodkin, and myself, entered the carriage, and having fee'd the ostler, ordered the boys to make the best of their way to the George, at Hounslow. What a strange appearance London has before the world have risen! Yawning housemaids scrubbing the steps; sleepy-looking youths opening the shutters of some shop or counting-house; milkmen hurrying to and fro, crying Mi-eau, which words, if referred to the erudite writers of Notes and Queries, would probably be pronounced to mean mi-eau (half water), a most significant solution to the question; chimney-sweepers with brushes and bags, singing out "Soot ho;" perambulating Israelites chaunting forth "Old clo;" purveyors of canine and feline food, joining in the tuneful cry-"Dog's meat, cat's meat;" apple and orange women rending the air with their barrowtone notes; cookmaids, with caps awry, opening the area-gate to the proprietress of some neighbouring "black doll" establishment, who soon returns loaded with kitchen perquisites; the butcher's apprentice stopping to toss a halfpenny or play at marbles with the baker's lad; the potboy, slinging the cmpty pewterware upon his leathern strap, "whistles as he walks, for want of thought." These human sounds, occasionally intermingled with the trampling of horses, rambling of waggons, creaking of marketcarts, and rattling of hackney-coaches, give a faint outline of London en déshabillé. O'Crohon having passed the word to the drivers, "five shillings or the smallest coin in the realm," we had little time to reflect on the state of the "deserted village," and in a few moments were off the stones, bowling away at the rate of eleven miles an hour. Nothing worthy of remark occurred during our journey. We stopped for twenty-minutes at the Crown Inn, Reading, for a hasty lunch, and at a little before seven drove up to the celebrated York House Hotel at Bath. Here we remained the night, and upon the following morning reached Bristol. Our passage from this port to Waterford was a tolerably prosperous one, and we again landed on the shores of "Ould Ireland." As we approached Mahala, the whole of the neighbouring landowners and tenantry came out to welcome us home. Triumphal arches, bands of music, illuminations, and bonfires proved how popular the O'Crohons were not alone with the gentry, but with the "bold peasantry." Upon reaching the castle we found the hostess and her daughter Mary anxiously awaiting our arrival. Nor were others less interested in our return, as might be proved by the warm and affectionate greeting that took place between my old friend Phelim O'Shea and his betrothed Molly Colloony. I pass over our happy visit to this hallowed spot, where first I met my beloved Kate. At every step memories rose up around me, and spoke most eloquently to my vivid recollection. But I have digressed, and am touching upon forbidden ground-love making. So drawing on my seven-league boots, I will bring my readers to the day when, my leave of absence having expired, we arrived at Morrison's Hotel, Dublin. Ireland, at the period I refer to, was in its glory. Political agitation had not been the means of spreading anarchy and confusion abroad; the deadly feuds between the Orange party and Roman Catholic faction had not broken out in civil warfare, heartburning, or bloodshed; spiritual republicanism, that Hydra-headed monster of error, had not reared its hateful form; life and property had not been sacrificed to reckless and lawless revenge and sordid avarice; illegal combinations, dangerous alike to the commonwealth, to property, life, liberty, and the well-being of society; sullen rebellion, still sedition, the machinations of Socialists and Chartists, did not exist; and the slumbers of the peaceful inhabitants were not scared away by Rockite notices, or their sleep disturbed by murderous or marauding attacks. The result of this peaceful state of affairs was, that Dublin enjoyed prosperity to an extent now unfortunately unknown. Country families flocked to the capital, to pass the winter months in gaiety and amusement. Englishmen in search of pleasure came for a few days, and remained for months. The Lord Lieutenant, unbiassed by political parties, opened the Castle and Viceregal Lodge to all whose position in society entitled them to such a mark of distinction; and the whole city teemed with life and spirit. The garrison, under the command of a most truly popular and distinguished officer, consisted of several regiments of cavalry, infantry, artillery and engineers. The Theatre Royal was open, under the able management of a gentleman whom I had known at Valenciennes as a Lieutenant in the 21st Fusiliers, during the occupation of the British army in France, and whose acquaintance I had the greatest pleasure in renewing. Having duly reported myself at head-quarters, where I was most kindly received by Colonel Douglas and my brother officers, I looked about for a house large enough to contain the O'Crohon's and ourselves; and as money never seems to be an object to a newly-married couple, I |