on the Monday morning to excite the Ballinrobe tailor to undertake the almost impossible task of completing him a pair of doeskin by the Tuesday morning.  The work was done, and the breeches home at Castletown by eight—­though the doeskin had to be purchased in Tuam, and an assistant artist taken away from his mother’s wake, to sit up all night over the seams.  But then the tailor owed a small trifle of arrear of rent for his potato-garden, and his landlord was Jerry Blake’s cousin-german [34].  There’s nothing carries one further than a good connexion, thought both Jerry and the tailor when the job was finished.

     [FOOTNOTE 34:  cousin-german—­first cousin]

Among the other invitations sent was one to Martin Kelly,—­not exactly worded like the others, for though Lord Ballindine was perhaps more anxious to see him than anyone else, Martin had not yet got quite so high in the ladder of life as to be asked to breakfast at Kelly’s Court.  But the fact that Frank for a moment thought of asking him showed that he was looking upwards in the world’s estimation.  Frank wrote him a note himself, saying that the hounds would throw off at Kelly’s Court, at eleven; that, if he would ride over, he would be sure to see a good hunt, and that he, Lord Ballindine, had a few words to say to him on business, just while the dogs were being put into the cover.  Martin, as usual, had a good horse which he was disposed to sell, if, as he said, he got its value; and wrote to say he would wait on Lord Ballindine at eleven.  The truth was, Frank wanted to borrow money from him.

Another note was sent to the Glebe, requesting the Rector to come to breakfast and to look at the hounds being thrown off.  The modest style of the invitation was considered as due to Mr Armstrong’s clerical position, but was hardly rendered necessary by his habits; for though the parson attended such meetings in an old suit of rusty black, and rode an equally rusty-looking pony, he was always to be seen, at the end of the day, among those who were left around the dogs.

On the Tuesday morning there was a good deal of bustle at Kelly’s Court.  All the boys about the place were collected in front of the house, to walk the gentlemen’s horses about while the riders were at breakfast, and earn a sixpence or a fourpenny bit; and among them, sitting idly on the big steppingstone placed near the door, was Jack the fool, who, for the day, seemed to have deserted the service of Barry Lynch.

And now the red-coats flocked up to the door, and it was laughable to see the knowledge of character displayed by the gossoons in the selection of their customers.  One or two, who were known to be “bad pays,” were allowed to dismount without molestation of any kind, and could not even part with their steeds till they had come to an absolute bargain as to the amount of gratuity to be given.  Lambert Brown was one of these unfortunate characters—­a younger brother who had a little, and but a very little