A scarlet bird circled the scene of the wreck, the dead beast, the stalled jeep, the man and the woman sprawled by the side of the path. "Miyo! Miyo! Miyo!" cried the blabrigar: "See! See! See!"
That little incident safely over, we turned to tea.
"Don't worry about Georges. He's a realist, like you. He's prepared to deal in facts. Hard facts, in this case."
“You are very kind, Admiral, and we can only
"Often!" replied Mrs. Greaves, unashamed. Despite this admission, she did all she could for Mrs. Coventry during the next few weeks, having regard to the bride's youth and inexperience, for the colonel of Captain Coventry's regiment was a bachelor, and just then, as it happened, there were no other ladies with the battalion. She was rather missing Ellen Munro, and was glad
When we were alone, Mr. O'Rourke burst out, blaming himself for leaving me alone with such a man, calling himself every name he could lay his tongue to for being taken in with the first scoundrel he picked up. "'Tis a pretty ass I have made of myself, turning up my nose at your consorting with a poor, harmless Jew, and then to take up myself with a picaroon of a captain, and perhaps play second fiddle to the hangman! Job no doubt had me in his eye when he said that 'multitude of years should teach wisdom' (et annorum multitudo doceret sapientiam), but my wisdom was a fool to your folly."
I was a young light-weight jockey then who had won his spurs in more than one hotly-contested field, and to-day am perhaps the only living turfman who witnessed this great match, for nearly sixty years have passed since then; yet in memory’s mirror, I can see that fearful finish as distinctly as my young eyes saw it that day. I can see two horses half-way down the stretch coming as true and even as two arrows from one bow. I can see two outstretched necks and heads, a sorrel and a brown, a blaze and a star. I can see their powerful haunches gathered under them and drive them forward as if they were shot from the mouth of a cannon. I can see the hard-trained muscles playing beneath their thin skins like oiled machinery, and as they come nearer and nearer I see their ears lying back and their bloodshot eyes gleaming with the light of the battle and undying courage. I hear their labored breathing and can see the red flush up their widely-distended nostrils glowing like heated furnaces. I can see Johnny Hartman, pale as death, riding as if for his life, drive the merciless steel again and again in the panting sides of Duane, and at each time the blood spurting from the wounds. I can see the black face of Cornelius, drawn as if in mortal agony, his lips parted, his white teeth shining and his eyes fixed on the finishing point only a few yards away. I can see him swing the cowhide, already crimsoned with the royal blood of Boston, high over his head and bring it down on the quivering flank of his horse, then, quick as lightning, lift him with the bit. I can see the great son of Timoleon crouch lower to the ground, gather his powerful quarters further under him and make the final rush just as Cornelius lifts him, and I can see the golden head and white nose cross the wire in front of the bronze and the star. Boston wins, but only by a head. Then the pent-up excitement broke forth. “Boston wins!” “Boston wins!” was the shout. Yes, he had won, but could he do so again? This was only a heat apiece. Another heat was necessary to decide the race, and in the peerless brown stallion he had found a foeman well worthy of his steel, and one that had shown him he could take his measure in any part of the four miles. Both horses had been fearfully punished and were dreadfully distressed, and so were the riders. Of the two latter Hartman was much the freshest, for after weighing out Cornelius had to be rubbed out, drenched with brandy and altogether requiring almost as much attention as his horse. But he would have died in the saddle rather than have relinquished his mount, and when they were called for the last heat he came out with his bloody whip, looking as determined as ever.
In Connaught, in my youth, the exception in remote districts was where the person spoke both English and Irish. In 1851, when we first took a census of the Irish-speaking population, after the country had lost three-quarters of a million of people, chiefly of the Irish race, we had then (to speak in round numbers) one and a half millions of Irish-speaking population. In 1861 they had fallen off by nearly half a million; and upon the taking343 of the last census in 1871 the entire Irish-speaking population was only 817,865. The percentages, according to the total population in our different provinces, were these: in Leinster 1.2, in Munster 27.7, in Ulster 4.6, and in Connaught 39.0; for the total of Ireland 15.1. Kilkenny and Louth are the counties of Leinster where the language is most spoken. In Munster they are Kerry, Clare, and Waterford; in Ulster, Donegal, where 28 per cent. of the population speak Irish; but in Connaught, to which I have already alluded as containing the remnant of the early Irish races, we have no less than 56 per cent. of Irish-speaking population in the counties of Mayo and Galway respectively. Of my own knowledge I can attest that a great many of these people cannot speak English. We thus see that of the population of Ireland, which in the present day might be computed at about five and a half millions, there were, at the time of taking the census in April, 1871, only 817,865; and I think I may prophesy that that is the very largest number that in future we will ever have to record. On the causes of this decadence it is not my province to descant. These Celts have been the great pioneers of civilization, and are now a power in the world. Are they not now numerically the dominant race in America? and have they not largely peopled Australia and New Zealand?
"Why, one would think that Lady Caroline was in love with Walter Joyce herself!"
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