L I B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 HI8331
 
 JtiM

 
 THE LAST OF THE CORNETS. 
 
 VOL. I. a
 
 THE 
 
 LAST OF THE CORNETS. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 COLONEL EOWAN HAMILTON. 
 
 What is fame to him that founders struggling with a quicksand chance : 
 What is all the gold that glitters to the fool of circumstance? 
 Round him rush the eddying waters, on his face the sea winds play, 
 And afar on roseate summits melts the solitary day.''— F. W. Myers. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 F. V. WHITE & CO., 
 
 31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 
 
 18 90.
 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY 
 
 PRINTERS
 
 ^A3 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTEE I., 
 CHAPTER II., 
 
 
 CHAPTER III., 
 
 
 CHAPTER IV., 
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER v., 
 
 CHAPTER YI., 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII., 
 
 K 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL, 
 
 \ 
 
 CHAPTER IX., 
 
 
 CHAPTER X., 
 
 CHAPTER XL, 
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER XII., 
 
 L 
 
 CHAPTER XIII., 
 
 1 
 
 14 
 
 36 
 
 52 
 
 65 
 
 73 
 
 89 
 
 104 
 
 123 
 
 137 
 
 154 
 
 163
 
 THE LAST OF THE CORNETS.
 
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 ERRATA.— VOL. I. 
 
 Page 66, line 6, for Eodeiick read Randolph. 
 Page 95, line 16, for colours read standard. 
 Page 160, line 18, for provo read provo'.
 
 THE 
 
 LAST OF THE CORNETS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Read his destinies 
 In the full brow o'erarching kingly eyes, 
 In the strong hands grasping both rein and sword." 
 
 Even after many years, I cannot recall, 
 the scenes I wish to depict, or gather the 
 scattered threads of the brief memoir I 
 am putting together, without much regret 
 on my part for to me an irreparable loss 
 and sore disappointment at the recollec- 
 tion of a life that was literally thrown 
 away. I may have overrated the last of 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 the Comets,* Allan MacDonagh ; perhaps 
 I did, but I still believe he was above 
 the average of men for good, and that, 
 under other circumstances, his ability, his 
 courage, his Quixotic perception of what 
 was honourable and just, would have 
 enabled him to distinguish himself. 
 
 That everything comes to those that 
 wait is but a half truth. In soldiering, 
 as in other professions, success may — -I 
 say it advisedly — may attend conscientious 
 work, in conjunction with ability ; some 
 attain it, others — equally deserving — plod 
 on in an uneventful groove, unrewarded 
 by it, till the curtain falls upon their 
 earthly drama. There are those, too, who 
 
 * The titles of Cornet and Ensign were abolished in 
 1871, and the meaner designations of second or sub-lieu- 
 tenant substituted for them, with what object no one has 
 ever yet been able to explain satisfactorily.
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 3 
 
 find themselves enmeshed in the web of 
 untoward circumstances — partly, be it 
 granted, from faults and follies of their 
 own — out of which there can be no rising; 
 upwards and onwards. 
 
 But it does sometimes happen that, 
 early in his career, to the young soldier 
 is given the opportunity for distinction, 
 when command and responsibility are sud- 
 denly thrust upon him. 
 
 Once or twice in a generation, within 
 the trenches of a Eorke's Drift, the blood- 
 stained messenger of life and death calls 
 forth in the breast of the young com- 
 mander the genius of resource, the frantic 
 resistance, "when all the corpse - piled 
 plain is pale with death," that proves his 
 innate greatness, and makes him live in 
 history. Be this as it may, chance, fate,
 
 4 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 and circumstances are the largest factors 
 in our lives. Inherited wealth, the school 
 he was at, the friend he made at the out- 
 set of his career, have contributed to make 
 that man a Cabinet Minister, and that 
 man an eminent General. Doubtless they 
 have had the opportunity given them, and 
 they " knew to take occasion by the hand." 
 
 Let me then describe my boy, as I knew 
 him when he joined the Dragoons. My 
 boy ! I still love to call him my boy ; 
 and, indeed, to me, who had neither kith 
 nor kin worth naming, he was that, and 
 perhaps more endeared to me than are 
 many sons or daughters to their parents. 
 
 Allan MacDonagh was tall, and of a 
 well-knit figure, yet fell something short 
 of the heroic standard of six feet high 
 in his stocking-soles ; nor was he, strictly
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 5 
 
 speaking, handsome — not according to the 
 orthodox standard of beauty, certainly not 
 as you saw his features in repose, nor as 
 he stood before you in profile. His nose, 
 you would say, was short and thick, the 
 nostrils a bit too wide, and the cheek- 
 bones a fault too high ; but the hand of 
 no ordinary painter could have limned 
 the proud outline of his short upper-lip, 
 till now hardly darkened by the shadow 
 that proclaimed his manhood ; for him no 
 camera could have given back or repro- 
 duced the sunny smile of gladness which 
 in those days used to suffuse his face, not 
 otherwise than when the sunbeams strike 
 upon the ripples of the pool. 
 
 His crisp brown hair lay curled " about 
 his temples like a god's, " and underneath 
 straight brows, the honest grey-blue eyes
 
 6 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 looked fearlessly upon you, and held, or 
 seemed to hold, you while be spoke. 
 Was it from their strong magnetic in- 
 flaence, or that unconsciously it was pleas- 
 ure to return their gaze? But it was by 
 liis gait, his manner, the toss of his liead, 
 and the quick gesture while he spoke, that 
 he revealed the restlessness which pervaded 
 his character ; and this, too, you saw in 
 the nervous clenching of his shapely hand. 
 
 Words are misleading, and I liad not 
 thus mentally pictured him ; for, dining 
 out at a neighbouring country house, I 
 had come across a fellow-student of his 
 at Oxford, and had naturally proceeded 
 to draw him on the subject of Allan 
 MacDonagh, then recently gazetted to 
 the old ''Black Horse," as it was generally 
 desio;nated in the service.
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 7 
 
 I imagined a fair and ordinary-looking 
 youth, overdressed (he did always dress 
 but in the best of taste), and in whom 
 " the House " had fostered self-sufficiency 
 which it would take some months of 
 riding-school, weary days wdth the belt 
 on as orderly officer, and much general 
 sitting upon to take out of him. I 
 gathered he had been a sap at Eton, 
 and did most things fairly. " I could 
 never get him to train," said my friend, 
 an enthusiastic boating man. "Just as I 
 thought I had him in my toils, and was 
 about to make an excellent oar of him, 
 he was on for something else, reading for 
 honours, or hunting with the Heythorp, 
 and dining at the good old Mitre after- 
 wards. He seemed to have lots of friends 
 in all the different sets, and he never
 
 8 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 seemed to care whether his temporary 
 devotion to science or sport was success- 
 ful or not. Camaraderie esprit de corps 
 he had, but what corresponds to it per- 
 sonally (is it a phase of selfishness ?) ho 
 had not. 
 
 It is not of material consequence to 
 this story that I should give a descrip- 
 tion of myself, or wear " my heart upon 
 my sleeve for daws to peck at," but in 
 these days, when nothing is sacred to 
 that chartered libertine of society, the 
 modern interviewer, from the colour of a 
 man's hair to his appetite, and how it is 
 appeased, from the number of hours he 
 sleeps, and what he sleeps in, to his 
 opinions on the deepest subjects of theo- 
 logy, the general reader may ask to be 
 informed of some further particulars of
 
 The Last of the Cornets. g 
 
 my life than those he may glean from 
 this memoir during its progress. And at 
 this date, as I, John Merrilis, sit in my 
 favourite arm-chair in my favourite club, 
 and chew the cud of sweet and bitter, I 
 must admit that Time is laying his hand 
 heavily upon me. But the aforesaid in- 
 terviewer, if favourably inclined, would 
 describe me as about fifty- five years old, 
 and as an average specimen of the class 
 that haunts the military clubs. He would 
 state that my own grey hairs, etc., no 
 longer " clustered " — I would not let it if 
 it could (as we advance in life our hair is 
 better short ; let us be thankful if we 
 retain it). He would describe me as 
 considerably above the average height, 
 and proportionately under the average 
 weight, giving the amount in pounds ; of
 
 lo The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 my features and face, a favourable inter- 
 viewer, recollect, would say that I had 
 dark brown reflective eyes, a large and 
 slightly aquiline nose, a kindly mouth, 
 and a clear cut chin, clean shaved, and 
 surmounted by a dark and well-waxed 
 moustache, which divided the two lower 
 provinces of the face. Burns must have 
 referred more especially to the moral 
 characteristics when he uttered his well- 
 worn prayer, " To see ourselves as others 
 see us." But many a man has been 
 startled by the close proximity of what 
 he imagined for a second to be a stranger, 
 when he has caught for the first time 
 some unfamiliar view of himself in some 
 extraordinary side reflector at a tailor's 
 shop, and I am told that people yery 
 frequently do not recognise their own
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 1 1 
 
 voices in tliat wonderful invention of 
 modem times, the phonograph. 
 
 But let us suppose, the interviewer dis- 
 missed, he has left me my recollections 
 intact, he has not discovered my ardent 
 and lifelong attachment to the violin, nor 
 did I admit to him my extravagant taste 
 for books, of which I am an omnivorous 
 reader, devouring or testing everything 
 between Macaulay and Mark Twain. i 
 have had other tastes and other occupa- 
 tions ; the facts and fancies connected 
 with them are not dead, but live as I 
 ruminate in this old arm - chair. Hi 
 health, want of means, want of energy 
 and what not, conspire to prevent my 
 entering the active lists again. Never- 
 theless, my faithful valet still preserves 
 my pink in lavender, or maybe camphor,
 
 12 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 and my boots and breeches in the tem- 
 jDerature best suited to their requirements. 
 He lays the flattering unction to his soul 
 that I shall want them again some day. 
 I don't. The breechloaders have been 
 thrown aside ; there remains to me, how- 
 ever, that king of sports, the catching 
 of the ''saumon fish," and golf, that 
 "last infirmity of noble minds." 
 
 My infantry and cavalry swords (I 
 served in the Mutiny with the Welsh 
 Fusiliers) hang crossed above the photos 
 and pipes that adorn the chimney-piece 
 of my chambers in Half Moon Street ; 
 whilst, surrounded by small mementos of 
 the service, the badge of the Fusiliers, 
 the eagle of the 87th, the castle of the 
 Inniskilling Dragoons, there stands on 
 my writing-table, in its velvet frame, a
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 13 
 
 speaking likeness of her who was the 
 well-beloved of my youth, the glory and 
 idol of my manhood, and whose sacred 
 presence, enshrined within my heart, no 
 second loved one shall usurp in my 
 declining years.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 " Eager-hearted as a boy when fiist he leaves his 
 father's field." 
 
 Allan had joined at Barchester in Septem- 
 ber, a few days before the regiment left 
 for Hilltown, on the east coast ; and I, 
 not having had any leave since the old 
 corps returned from India, had managed 
 to combine first leave with an extra six 
 weeks, commencing that month, so as to 
 do a bit of mountaineering in Switzerhmd 
 before the cold weather set in, and did 
 not therefore make his acquaintance till 
 the end of December that year. Allan 
 was oblig-ed to make the aforesaid ex- 
 change of quarters — " Marcli by rail dis-
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 15 
 
 mounted," as he described it, with the 
 hospital contingent — the women and 
 children, the sick horses, the guard-room 
 prisoners, and the mess baggage — at par- 
 liamentary rate and pace, too, stopping at 
 every station, his sole companion in arms 
 being a somewhat senior and grumpy 
 lieutenant, of a taciturn frame of mind, 
 and who hustled him out at every station 
 as if he were a field officer, or at the least 
 a captain, with messages to that station- 
 master, or an order to that sergeant. 
 
 " But I had my pull of you all at Hill- 
 town," he rejoined. " I put on a lot of 
 side at the head inn for a couple of 
 days, escorted the brave troop to the 
 Cathedral, took stock of all the expectant 
 damosels inside, guessed at which were 
 the best worth cultivatim^, and classed the
 
 1 6 The Last of the Cor7iets. 
 
 heavy fathers into those who had a for- 
 bidding aspect, and those who looked like 
 dinners and shooting." 
 
 The Cornet had not been long in har- 
 ness before Teddy Burton took him in 
 hand, initiated him into the mystery of 
 getting leave from Friday till Monday — 
 even while going through the " school," 
 and not dismissed his drills ; insisted on 
 his making Limmers' his pot-house in town, 
 vice Eawlings', which had been his hotel 
 hitherto ; had a high trial with him at 
 the pigeons, procured by Mat O'Halloran, 
 and pronounced him '' good enough for 
 Hurlingham ; " advised him about his 
 horses and his trap ; and, at the end of a 
 month, had him fit to drive the regi- 
 mental coach down the crowded Queen^s 
 Parade of an afternoon. So, when I
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 17 
 
 joined, on 30th December, 1 found him 
 " formed," as Peter Godsall, commonly 
 called the Squire, termed it, and " going 
 strong on the bit ; " and, as he knocked 
 at my quarters and marched in boldly 
 with a military salute and a quiet smile on 
 his face, as if he thought the ceremony 
 rather superfluous, and, as orderly officer, 
 handed me an official document which 
 concerned me — for, at the moment I was 
 the senior officer in barracks — I reckoned 
 him up and down, and came to the con- 
 clusion that, in appearance at any rate, 
 he would do. After a quasi-official intro- 
 duction had followed, I insisted on his 
 sitting down and narrating, for my benefit, 
 his military experiences hitherto. In the 
 conversation that ensued, I gathered that 
 
 he had already had a try at most things 
 VOL. I. B
 
 1 8 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 — a few days' hunting on the Saturdays, 
 his only holidays, alternated by a run up 
 to town with Burton, and a dinner at Lim- 
 mers', with a theatre afterwards. He hoped, 
 by the way, that that celebrated hostelry 
 was my own also ; and as he left the room 
 we had so far advanced — at least I had, 
 in his good graces — that he was good 
 enough to offer to take me, with the Squire 
 and himself, to a country-house dance on 
 the 31st — this, however, with the utmost 
 deference due to seniority and rank ; and 
 so I was to enter Hilltown society under the 
 wing and vouched for by my own Cornet. 
 
 The 30th was always a great night with 
 us, for, by an old regimental custom, 
 introduced in former days, it was ordained 
 that all the officers should dine together 
 that evening. On that day first leave was
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 19 
 
 held to terminate, and not till after muster 
 parade, 31st, was second leave allowed to 
 commence. The originator of this innova- 
 tion laid it down that it w^as most desirable 
 that the officers should, if not elsewhere, 
 at least meet for some hours together in 
 barracks, when all affairs connected with 
 the corps could more easily be arranged 
 and debated on. 
 
 This idea was quite congenial to the views 
 of the then commanding officer, and he wns 
 rigid in the carrying out thereof, except in 
 the special cases when leave had been granted 
 light into January. Imagine therefore that 
 on this occasion, out of two-and-thirty offi- 
 cers chronicled in the army list as presum- 
 ably present at headquarters, there being no 
 detachments out, about seven-ancl-twenty 
 would sit down to dinner. And what a
 
 20 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 coup dJoeil the scene presents. The white 
 expanse of damask is set with regimental 
 cups, and glass ; and flowers and gleaming 
 silver contrast with the uniforms of the 
 dragoons, to-night an unbroken border of 
 scarlet round the table ; and while the band 
 discourses the softer music of Gounod, 
 or in louder notes more martial strains, 
 high spirits not unmixed with banter 
 prevail, and questions regarding leave to 
 be, or already enjoyed, are rapidly inter- 
 changed ; the latest regimental story or 
 good thing is passed about for the delecta- 
 tion of those who have just come back, 
 while they, in return, throw into the con- 
 versation their experiences on the Con- 
 tinent, or the record of a country-house 
 visit, where "they do 3^ou about the best." 
 The promise and proclivities of the new
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 21 
 
 Cornets are bracketed with those of the 
 new horses and chargers. Presently, how- 
 ever, the conversation drifts into the usual 
 channels, and differs little from what you 
 might hear at the London clubs or a 
 country dinner-party. But, readers, this 
 is not a typical night, but the night of 
 nights in the regiment ; and, after the 
 "Queen" has been drunk, the ''Black 
 Horse," coupled with the name of Lord 
 Ligionier, is always toasted. To-morrow, 
 out of a possible remainder of thirteen or 
 fourteen, the table will most likely be laid 
 for nine, two of whom will have forgotten 
 to '' warn out ; " and, of the remaining 
 seven, one will be "a little late," and 
 come in with the cutlets and profuse 
 apologies to the mess president. The 
 dinner, moreover, like Jawleyford's cele-
 
 2 2 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 brated feasts, will show a diminished num- 
 ber of lights, and a lower scale of enter- 
 tainment ; and, alas, there will be no band ! 
 Not a few things that are bright and pleas- 
 ant end in smoke — a mess dinner always; 
 and the lighting of cigarettes, and the pro- 
 duction of cigar cases (who ever allowed that 
 the cigars in his mess or his club, with the 
 exception, perhaps, of one out of four or 
 five brands, are as good as those he selects 
 and buys himself?) now betokens the be- 
 ginning of the end. Glradually the sitters 
 break up into groups ; the majority make 
 their way into the ante-room, a few disap- 
 pear to their quarters — there making final 
 arrangements for their departure on the 
 morrow, — while a small but senior party is 
 left chatting, with just one more bottle of 
 champagne and second cigars.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Come saddle my horses, come call up my men," 
 
 The 31st is muster-day, and it is as equally 
 obligatory upon the officers to attend it 
 as the parade at mess the previous even- 
 ing. Therefore, at 10 a.m., on the great 
 plain that stretched away from the bar- 
 racks right on to the Downs proper, the 
 corps is drawn up in " watering order," and 
 stand in column of troops, but in single 
 rank. Upon the right flank are the dis- 
 mounted men ; on the left, the band, with 
 their instruments ; and these are quickly 
 dismissed after the roll-call has been read 
 and answered to. The men and horses
 
 24 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 now, by order, file past the colonel and 
 officers, who stand in a group together — 
 the colonel occasionally questioning the cap- 
 tain or lieutenant of the troop, as they pass 
 him in review. Last come the remounts 
 of this and the preceding year, each care- 
 fully led by a dismounted dragoon ; and, 
 last of all, when these have been inspected, 
 and praised or condemned, the officers' 
 chargers, each ridden by a trooper bold, 
 are brought upon the scene. A more care- 
 ful scrutiny is here demanded, and they are 
 ordered to walk, trot, and canter succes- 
 sively in a circle round the colonel and his 
 staff of officers, who, while they hazard no 
 remark aloud, do not forbear to draw the 
 attention of one another to the fact that 
 Johnston's charger must have been down, 
 or fail to observe, with a smile, that surely
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 25 
 
 (for they are very human) Harrington's 
 mare is trotting lame. 
 
 After that short parade was over, a 
 rumour gained erround that Davidson had 
 heard, from a friend at Court that morning, 
 that we should probably be moved before 
 the leave season was over, on account of 
 another cavalry regiment being required in 
 Ireland, and its being necessary to repair 
 the Sheffield Barracks ; and the 'pros and 
 cons of this intelligence were discussed 
 about the mess quarters before the stable 
 trumpets sounded — viz., whether we were 
 most likely to go north, and thence to Ire- 
 land — avoiding Aldershot altogether that 
 " turn ; " and whether, if we went north, 
 we would follow the Lancers to York and 
 Manchester, or the Greys to Leeds and 
 Edinburgh ; or, going south, whether we
 
 26 The Last of the Coronets, 
 
 should relieve the Hussars at ShornclifFe, 
 or the Bays at Brighton ; and if so, where 
 the Aldershot year would come in ; one 
 thing, at any rate, was certain, and this 
 was dwelt upon, that those who were just 
 starting had better not go away very far, 
 as they were sure to be recalled. This 
 prophecy was, however, a false one. At 
 stables I found the Cornet ; and, as he 
 handed me the morning state, with his 
 usual very military salute, and, by invita- 
 tion, paced with me the very narrow cause- 
 way that lay between the two black rows of 
 a portion of Her Majesty's stud, he volun- 
 teered to me the virtues and vices of this 
 horse and that horse, pointed out the best 
 and the worst of our remounts, stated what 
 he thought of this man and the other, as- 
 sured me Sergeant Wilson was the smartest
 
 The Last of the Cor^iets. 27 
 
 sergeant in the regiment, and while he nar- 
 rated details of the misdemeanour for which 
 Private Ward was now '' doing seven days," 
 on the sergeant-major even, himself, he 
 ventured to express an opinion ; so that 
 when feed sounded, and the men " stood at 
 their horses" in solemn silence, and with 
 their feed-bags in their hands, while I had 
 my own little private inspection, I found I 
 had very little to learn from my sergeant- 
 major of what had occurred to horse and 
 man during my absence on leave. The 
 free-and-easy meal of luncheon, which so 
 surely follows stables, beginning at or any 
 time after one o'clock, was always patron- 
 ised at discretion. To - day Alhxn was 
 specially advised to make a good square 
 meal — " nothing like it to make you show 
 up well in sword exercise and halloo pro-
 
 28 The Last of t lie Cornets. 
 
 perly to your imaginary troops ; '' for lie 
 was that afternoon to be ''shown up" for 
 dismissal from foot parades, sword exercise, 
 etc. ; and, as he buckled on his belts, pre- 
 paratory to departure, he was severely 
 heckled about having lost his temper in 
 the school that morning, and having re- 
 plied to the riding - master, which, his 
 brother subs averred, would entail the 
 most serious consequences — possibly arrest, 
 stoppage of leave, and w^hat not — besides 
 the lasting enmity of the martinet, who 
 wielded his long, embossed, and silver- 
 mounted w^hip — fitting emblem of his office 
 — within the closed doors and narrow walls 
 of the riding;-school, and the sis^ht of which 
 invariably made certain high-bred chargers 
 wince, and break from trot to canter. 
 
 The o'ood old chief seldom or ever came
 
 The Last of the Cojmets. 29 
 
 into lunch, and if so, generally late — when 
 he would withdraw his chin-strap, push his 
 forage-cap on to the back of his head, eat 
 a few mouthfuls of cold meat hurriedly, 
 drink a glass or two of claret, and enquire 
 all round into the projects of his officers, 
 what was coming off next, and what was 
 best to be done that afternoon. Colonel 
 John Layton took a sincere interest in his 
 officers persoually — their occupations, their 
 pastimes, and their prowess in this or that 
 direction, as also the well-being of his men, 
 which lie sedulously looked after and 
 catered for ; often had they to thank him 
 for extra comforts and arrans^ements tend- 
 ing to their benefit, in barracks, or camp, or 
 flying column. He was not one of those 
 who, as he left the orderly-room or stables 
 at 1 P.M., put off the commanding officer
 
 30 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 and its cares with his uniform, or merely 
 meted out justice and the words of com- 
 mand with the reguhxrity of clock-work. 
 
 John Layton w\as a man of commanding 
 stature and fine proportions, of fair com- 
 plexion, and light-grey eyes ; so that, with 
 his closely-cropped hair, short moustache, 
 and clean-shaved cheeks, he never looked 
 more than forty ; and when I meet him in 
 the " Rag" at this date, he hardly seems to 
 have turned the half-century. An untiring 
 sportsman and a keen shot, he had secured 
 many good heads and fine skins in India 
 before he left the Hussars, and came to the 
 '' Black Horse," wearing the medal for the 
 Mutiny upon his breast. On the best of 
 terms with his officers, he was not above 
 saying to a couple of his subalterns, " Not 
 going on leave ? " perhaps for the Liverpool,
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 31 
 
 or Two Thousand, or some Hunt meeting in 
 the county, which involved a two days' 
 absence — ''Well, no more am I." Then, 
 turning to his adjutant, " There is nothing 
 to do to-morrow or next day, is there, Mr 
 Davidson ? " (he always used the mister to 
 him when speaking on matters connected 
 with duty). " Well, I will tell you what— 
 we'll all three run up to town, and you 
 shall both dine with me at the ' Kag ; ' and 
 I'll take a box for us at the theatre." This 
 especially if he knew the officers in question 
 were not overburdened with this world's 
 goods. But it did occur sometimes that, 
 returning by the midnight mail, after 
 having held bad cards at the Arlington, 
 and having been roused from fitful slum- 
 bers at 4 or 5 a.m., the field-day did not 
 appear at all a success. Then the squad-
 
 32 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 rons would be halted, and the officers' call 
 sounded, and it would be intimated to them 
 that the commands had been badly carried 
 out, that the subalterns seemed to have for- 
 gotten their drill ; and then, turning to the 
 adjutant, he would say, *' You, Mr David- 
 son, must have them in future ; every one 
 below the rank of captain on all parades." 
 And, addressing the assembled body of 
 officers, who stood with horses reined back 
 in a semicircle round him, he would tell 
 them that they were all riding carelessly, 
 with the exception of certain field officers, 
 and perhaps a senior captain, w^hom he 
 would mention, and that there would be 
 riding-school every day for all the officers, 
 and no more leave till further orders. A few 
 days after this, perhaps, the sun shone upon 
 his honest countenance, the men trotted
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 33 
 
 past with j^i'ecision ; on their pivot-flank, 
 swiftly and truly, the troops came round 
 at a gallop, and while the sunlight glit- 
 tered upon burnished bit and flashing sword 
 and brazen helmet, the evolutions of troop 
 and squadron and wing, as thej^ parted 
 and locked again, were performed in a way 
 that brought a smile of pleasure into 
 the face of the commanding oflicer, and 
 resulted in the embargo on leave being 
 removed, and the drills taking place in 
 their usual rotation. With the exception 
 of muster parade, the 31st was, nine times 
 out of ten, an uneventful day in barracks ; 
 nor did this particular one distinguish itself 
 in any way from many that went before or 
 succeeded it. A soldier's life, in time of 
 peace and in barracks, is not so full of 
 
 change and excitement as is generally sup- 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 The Last of the Coj^nets. 
 
 posed, varied as it is, perhaps more than in 
 any other profession. Yet, to many of the 
 less fortunate officers, there are periods 
 during the leave season, when scattered 
 days with maybe distant packs, short visits 
 at country-houses (for few of them can he 
 spared from the requisite duties), are the 
 only variations from a round of ''stables," 
 " route marching," " outpost duty," and the 
 inevitable boards upon damaged carbines, 
 and "necessaries" made away with. 
 
 Sometimes, even in these duller quarters, 
 there is little to mark the guest-night, bar- 
 ring the couple of black coats present and 
 the strains of the band. So, when I be- 
 thought myself how I should put in the 
 afternoon, I found I had the choice of a 
 seat on the drag, or a ride with Teddy 
 Burton across the Downs. I elected to do
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 35 
 
 neither, but to smoke a quiet cigar with the 
 Colonel, and then, after an hour with my 
 always present violin, meet the society cap- 
 tains and cornets at Mrs Bouverie's. There 
 I found them, and I know not which — the 
 aroma of souchong or the mutual incense of 
 flattery which was ascending to the ceiling 
 — was, if analysed, the strongest ; and if 
 the bevy of beauty round " the Squire" was 
 the largest, I perceived my Cornet was evi- 
 dently holding his own, and an adept at 
 giving and taking the badinage of society. 
 The captains, old soldiers, were less con- 
 spicuous, in bay windows or semi-detached 
 alcoves, but none the less in danger, as 
 they balanced their teacups, and reiterated 
 the shibboleth they had tutored themselves 
 in since the day when they too were Cornets.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " With burnished brand and musketoon, 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold dragoon, 
 That lists the tuck of drum." 
 
 Towards the end of April we received our 
 orders to proceed from Hilltown to Seaforde, 
 in the south of England, a march of eight 
 or nine days, and, I think, on the whole we 
 were most of us glad of the change. 
 
 My troop and Burton's were to march 
 with headquarters, so we would have the 
 Colonel and Staff with us, and, a great 
 element on the march, the Band. Alto- 
 gether we would be about nine officers, 
 including Fitzgerald, a nice young fellow, 
 tall and very fair, with irregular features.
 
 The Last of the Cornets, '^^ 
 
 but all the same of a taking appearance, 
 and his cheery laugh and pleasing smile 
 did not belie his heart ; he was one of 
 Burton's subalterns, and quite after his 
 own pattern, being always ready to take a 
 part in everything that went on. 
 
 Not many days after the order came 
 down, we were drawn up, at 7 a.m. on a 
 fine May morning, ready for the start ; the 
 other wing had preceded us, and our re- 
 maining squadron started with us, but was 
 to diverge a few miles out of the town, and 
 take a different route during the whole of 
 the march to Seaforde. The barrack-yard 
 did not look like itself at all. Great cases 
 of mess property, stable chests, packing 
 cases, chairs and tables to be returned to 
 the local upholsterer, were about in all 
 directions, while matting, straw, and paper
 
 38 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 defiled the heretofore well-kept gravel. 
 Servants, dismounted men, women and 
 children, artisans and the convalescent who 
 were to proceed by train, stand about, along 
 with civilians who have penetrated into the 
 Square to see the final start. Alone of the 
 officers, the Colonel had slept in barracks, 
 and, as he swallows his tea and toast in the 
 deserted ante-room, all are keen to be off. 
 The appropriate air of the ruling comic song 
 takes us into the town, whose streets, even 
 at that early hour, are thronged to see the 
 departure of the soldiers. The principal 
 shops have not been opened yet, but that 
 only affords an excuse for the good-looking 
 shop-girls to show themselves on the foot- 
 paths. Just passing the bridge at the 
 bottom of the town, the regiment is halted 
 for five minutes, that farewells may be taken
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 39 
 
 and given by the men to the sweethearts 
 whom they will not see again, and to the 
 wives whom they will. As we get a mile or 
 two into the country, sometimes the little 
 son of a house where we have visited is at 
 the gate to call out to us, and sometimes too 
 he is accompanied by his sister to speed us 
 on our journey. The day is quite spring- 
 like, and it is a treat to ride a fine, well- 
 bitted charger with the troops " at tuck of 
 drum," through the leafy lanes of England, 
 p:ist hall and farm and cottage, past the 
 stately homes of her aristocracy, with their 
 ancient oaks and beech en walks, and 
 gardens trim with flowers, and their lily- 
 skirted lakes. Yonder, through the net- 
 work foliage of the linden trees, you see 
 the red-brick manor-house of the time of 
 the great Elizabeth, and at the back you
 
 40 The Last of the Co7niets, 
 
 descry the square courtyard, with its hell 
 and weathercock upon the roof where you 
 know the stables are ; you can see the red- 
 l)rick walls that enclose the old-fashioned 
 garden, you can see the little frog-inhabited 
 green pond in the centre ; and that post 
 that stands near it is surely an antiquated 
 sun-dial ; that water in the corner too, must 
 be an artificial tank for pike, or perch. 
 You have beo;un to think about the south 
 wall and its peaches, when the dip of your 
 descent excludes it from your vision, and 
 presently the iron gates of trellis-work give 
 to you a full front view of the mansion. 
 You have no need to speculate which is the 
 dining and which is the drawing-room, for, 
 on the left of the hall door (recollect it is 
 not ten o'clock yet), you can see, not eighty 
 yards olf, into the breakfast-room ; you can
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 41 
 
 make out the silver urn and the feminine 
 dispenser of tea, and the bald-headed old 
 gentleman at the other extremity of the 
 table ; you discover a boy and a couple 
 of young ladies, as they turn their faces 
 to the windows. But the trot is sounding 
 now, and two miles of it is not enough for 
 you. A "halt," and a sit-at-ease follow the 
 trot, and you go round your horses and 
 enquire after backs, and feet, and fetlock 
 joints, and the members of your troop in 
 general. You expect to arrive about twelve, 
 and what with smoking, chatting, and two 
 or three long trots more, you find it is after 
 eleven, and that it is advisable to send Mat 
 O'Halloran on ahead to order for man and 
 beast. All are not to be at the same hotel, 
 but it is arranged that all shall breakfast 
 together, and a host of orders are promul-
 
 42 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 gated. One wants a bath, another some 
 gruel for his charger, who has been fretting, 
 but Mat is equal to the occasion. To-day- 
 he is travelling^ on Fitzgerald's little Irish 
 car, with a "trapper" of Burton's in it, and 
 before he commences to forge ahead, he 
 draws from his breast-coat a laro-e leather 
 pocket-book, black, with a golden horse 
 upon the back of it, which he considers 
 emblematic of the corps, and enters therein, 
 with the stump of a pencil, the various 
 orders given him. Without this pocket- 
 book he never leaves home ; it contains an 
 entry of any bets he makes or has com- 
 missions to make, addresses of dealers, 
 forage contractors, pigeon breeders, and dog 
 f mciers, bills receipted and otherwise, and 
 probably a threatening letter from a trades- 
 man, and a dishonoured bill or cheque.
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 43 
 
 For larger transactions, he carries a little 
 horn inkstand in one of his outside pockets, 
 and the stump of a quill pen in his waist- 
 coat one. We were to be billeted at Screw- 
 ton that day, and not long after our arrival 
 were seated, washed and refreshed, at the 
 plenteous board of mine host of the " Black 
 Bear." No one required very much press- 
 ing to begin, and of the four or five hot 
 dishes of fish, flesh and fowl, two at least 
 were tried by every one, and we felt we had 
 merited our repast ; and '' Now, here," when 
 we had all nearly done, exclaimed Teddy 
 Burton, '' I think it is just about time to 
 throw in a couple of eggs on the top to 
 lubricate the whole." 
 
 After this square meal, I visited the 
 billets with MacDonagh, the "Pig and 
 Whistle," the ^^ Bald - Faced Stacr," the
 
 44 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 " Goat and Compasses," and other inns of 
 ancient and curious signs. When properly 
 performed, this duty is no sinecure, and 
 takes a pretty long time. 
 
 Dinner on these occasions is uncere- 
 monious as regards dress ; indeed, although 
 the dog-cart may accompany the line, one 
 carries little in it but a military change, 
 clean linen, and toilet necessaries, and 
 clothing, etc., for the horses. 
 
 The march the following day does not 
 call for any special description, and on the 
 third day we lay at Leytonstone. We may 
 call it a London suburb, where we were also 
 to put in Sunday. The billets were far 
 apart, and took, as Fitzgerald termed it, a 
 great deal of doing. Naturally he and 
 Teddy Burton and Allan could not be so 
 near the gay Metropolis without having a
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 45 
 
 look in, and there they spent the Sabbath 
 day, dining at the house of some relative of 
 Burton's, and arranging for the party, in- 
 cluding a very pretty cousin of Burton's, to 
 meet on London Bridge. Therefore, amidst 
 the crowd and bustle, and the tramp of 
 scarlet-clad warriors, two fair young faces 
 looked up and smiled at three dragoons, who 
 had barely room or time to halt, half turn, 
 and condole with them on their early start, 
 and to be told in return how magnificent 
 they all looked, and how flattered they 
 ought to be at their coming so far to meet 
 them in such a horrid crowd. And so the 
 gallant troopers went on through the busi- 
 ness streets, now on asphalt, now on wood, 
 now on greasy paving stones, slipping and 
 recovering themselves, till the friendly 
 macadam of the more suburban districts
 
 46 The Last of the Corjiets. 
 
 gave surer footiug. Kingston and Surbiton 
 were that clay's destination, and, after leav- 
 ing London, the march was pleasaDt enough, 
 and scarcely, indeed, were we out of the 
 suburbs when, on Wandsworth Common, we 
 discovered from afar the moving body of 
 horsemen that was coming^ to meet us, 
 Hussars, and who would take up the quarters 
 we had left. They are at the "trot" when 
 we descry them first. Through the dust 
 we see the glint of scabbard and burnished 
 bit, and hear the jingle and the tramp of a 
 hundred horses, but as they come nearer, 
 we catch the stentorian tones of their Chief, 
 as he orders " the walk," and the horses toss 
 the foam that flecks their lips, and, snorting, 
 blow the dust from out their nostrils, and, 
 as w^e meet, the Hussars pay us the compli- 
 ment due to our seniority. But the two
 
 The Last of the Co7'nets. 47 
 
 Colonels are old cronies, and a mutual halt 
 is agreed upon, while the officers mix with 
 each other, and give such valuable informa- 
 tion as they may, relative to their respective 
 quarters, and when the regimental call of the 
 "Black Horse" is sounded, and the Chief 
 has thundered the command to " walk," 
 "march," the band of the Hussars strikes 
 up the air that the Dragoon Guards marcji 
 past to, "Money Musk." 
 
 That evening MacDonagh was hospitably 
 entreated, for I bethought me that near the 
 little town where we lay that night, was 
 the country residence of very great friends 
 of mine, the Singletres, and at whose house 
 in former years I had often been a welcome 
 guest. To send a note by Mat O'Halloran 
 on the little car was no trouble at all, and 
 a request that, if at home, I might bring my
 
 48 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 Cornet to dinner also, met with a pressing 
 invitation for us both to come out at once. 
 So, whenever we could get away, we started, 
 and drove to Hazleton Heath, and were 
 just in time to be regaled with tea in the 
 summer-house, and the view of heath and 
 heather hills and pine trees stretching in 
 all directions, and seeming to make their 
 presence felt in the aroma they disseminated. 
 It was a warm day for May, and tea and 
 country cream were not to be despised 
 after a course of hotel ditto, and a long 
 tour of outlying stables ; but the real 
 charm to us lay in our hostess. About 
 eight-and-twenty, she looked considerably 
 younger, her head and face were small 
 but beautifully shaped, every feature be- 
 ing perfectly and delicately carved, and 
 " eyes, dark with the liquid tenderness
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 49 
 
 of night, flashed forth the radiant glad- 
 ness of the light." Her complexion was 
 of the pale olive that so often accom- 
 panies very dark brown hair, but it had 
 the bloom and sheen of health upon it. 
 I have not seen her for years, but in 
 those days she did not torture her hair 
 with tongs, and heap up her head with 
 all sorts of puffs and frisettes, etc., etc., 
 but wore it plainly parted down the 
 middle, and brushed back. With all this 
 she was very charming, gave herself no 
 airs, nor did she ever pose as a "pro- 
 fessional beauty." They were but a small 
 party — herself, her husband, and a couple 
 of visitors ; but it was a most delight- 
 ful change to be there, to see and talk 
 to her again in her tastefully furnished 
 rooms, with flowers and books and orna- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 The Last of the Coi^nets, 
 
 merits, after the cheerless contents of 
 many hotels. It was late when we left, 
 and we drove home by the light of star 
 and moon, or should never have found 
 our way. After two more marches, one 
 of them in pouring rain, we arrived 
 at Seaforde, and there we were left for 
 about two years. 
 
 It would have been a pleasure to me 
 to record many of the various events 
 which occurred while we were quartered 
 there, to have brought to the mind of 
 those who have left, some of the country 
 house parties, race meetings, or regimental 
 balls, in which they were participators. 
 But I am principally concerned in giv- 
 ing a general outline of Allan's career 
 in the Black Horse, and of the events 
 which later on led indirectly to its ter-
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 51 
 
 mination, and this the reader will be 
 able to gather without my trenching 
 upon our garrison life at Seaforde. I 
 may say, however, that my loving friend- 
 ship and strong attachment to Allan 
 strengthened with time, and I believe 
 that his feelings towards me did also, 
 but Burton was his "fidus Achates" and 
 it was oftener with Burton he made his • 
 expeditions far or near, but I was the 
 recipient of their history as he smoked 
 and chatted, and I listened and played 
 the violin. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOi^ 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Better to hunt in fields for health unbought 
 Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught." 
 
 Allan, having had no long leave the pre- 
 vious year (not that he was entitled to it), 
 nevertheless, by special application and the 
 good graces of the Colonel, was compensated 
 by a grant of four months from the 1st No- 
 vember. My leave extended from the same 
 date till the end of January, and what we 
 did was this : — 
 
 We w^ent down to Weedon wdth a com- 
 bined stud, consisting of our second chargers, 
 both of them very good hunters, five or six 
 undeniable performers, and a screw obtained 
 through the instrumentality of Mat O'Hal-
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 53 
 
 loran, not much to look at, just sound 
 enough for hacking, and having an occa- 
 sional day on. We had a very good time 
 all round, and the campaign to be fully de- 
 scribed would occupy a volume ; to com- 
 press it into a page would spoil one of the 
 happiest chapters of my life. My recollec- 
 tions there of sport and pastime, of good 
 fellows met again, and pleasant acquaint- 
 ances made, will not easily be effaced. 
 Dance and dine out, of course, we had to 
 do occasionally ; Allan insisted on that, and 
 I enjoyed his youthful enthusiasm some- 
 what sympathetically, albeit no ancient 
 chaperon taking out a niece was ever keener 
 to get her charge home in decent hours on 
 the plea of bringing her fresh to the post 
 the next, or rather, that morning. 
 
 But what I shall never forget were the
 
 54 TJie Last of the Cornets, 
 
 long, quiet evenings with Allan after dinner 
 — for here I had my own way, and insisted 
 upon our dining at a reasonable and early 
 hour. 
 
 '*You ought to come home hungry," I 
 said, " and if you are, w^hy spoil your dinner 
 by a little interim meal of tea and poached 
 eggs on toast to sustain you till the fashion- 
 able hour of eight o'clock, and be compelled 
 to sit over the fire with the papers, smoking 
 cigarettes, while your appetite has been par- 
 tially appeased, and the pleasure of sitting 
 down to dinner ravenous destroyed ? My 
 boy," said I, "when we hunt together, we 
 shall dine at half-past six, unless otherwise 
 specially arranged, and, if you are home 
 early, let nothing but a cup of tea and a 
 biscuit pass your lips. No, sir, the standing 
 orders are early to bed and early to rise."
 
 The Last of the Comets. 55 
 
 And 1 was a martinet in this respect. I 
 quite came the commanding officer over 
 him there. Early, therefore, as it would be 
 called in these days, we did dine, and, after 
 the things had been cleared away, I can see 
 him sitting opposite me in our snug little 
 sitting-room on the other side of the fire, 
 with its old-fashioned, brass-mounted fire- 
 place, and the shabby, low, and narrow 
 mirror, which used to distort his good-look- 
 ing face so of a morning, and make it a 
 matter of difficulty for him to see whether 
 he had folded his white hunting-scarf at the 
 correct angle, or his chin was shaved suffi- 
 ciently clean (this he need not have been 
 alarmed about), as he emerged from the much 
 darker bedroom, booted and breeched below, 
 but clad in his smartly-trimmed, dark-brown 
 smoking coat above. I can see him as he
 
 56 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 sat in the horse-hair arm-chair, while, with 
 one of his feet upon the fender, he smoked 
 a cigarette, and chatted for a time over the 
 events past and to come, the latest regimental 
 news, our horses and domestic concerns, the 
 last London gossip, etc. More often, after 
 a "real good thing," when he got excited 
 over the discussion, he would fling the 
 cigarette aside, and, rapping loudly with 
 his knuckles here and there, would empha- 
 sise some important incident, while, with 
 animated gesture and hurried speech, he 
 graphically told the fortunes of the chase, 
 and " showed how fields were won." 
 
 About the middle of December, Teddy 
 Burton joined us, with a couple of horses, 
 just gave us a look in, as he expressed it, 
 to see how we were getting on, and in what 
 sort of form the Cornet was going with the
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 57 
 
 Pytchley. Dear old Teddy, always the 
 best of company, and always ready to take 
 the sunshine with the storm, the rough with 
 the smooth, of soldiering. But he had not 
 been with us many days when an invitation 
 arrived from the Princess Charlotte's Own 
 at Coventry for a dance, and a private note 
 to Allan from Captain List, that if he chose 
 to come he would mount him the following 
 day, and that he was certain that Temple 
 would mount old Merrills, or any one we 
 brought with us. And well they might, for 
 in that year of grace the detachment at 
 Coventry numbered nearly as many hunters 
 as troopers, the seven or eight straight- 
 going, hard-riding officers with it averag- 
 ing from eight to a dozen quods a-piece, all 
 told. Moreover, they shot in great form, 
 and kept a French chef.
 
 58 The Last of the Co7'?iets. 
 
 " Now, here," said Teddy (that was his 
 infallible preface), " I am on, for one, for 
 this entertainment, and you must let the 
 Cornet go, Merrilis. I'll see that he does 
 not fall in love, and goes to bed duly sober." 
 
 So they departed, and, while en route, 
 Teddy Burton, who was at that moment 
 short of horses, proposed that after Coventry 
 they should run over to Monte Carlo, just 
 spend Christmas week there, and return in 
 time for the New Year. Nothing was easier, 
 argued Teddy. " You take your ticket one 
 morning by the express, and you lunch at 
 the Golden Mountain the next afternoon." 
 All you had to do was to put a pony in 
 your pocket to last the week, and there you 
 were. 
 
 To this the Cornet gave assent, and wrote 
 me about his horses and clothes, and I re-
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 59 
 
 plied by wire, saying, " Leave refused," and 
 wrote that I would meet him in a couple of 
 days with the Warwickshire from Rugby, 
 would send on bis horse, and bring him 
 another kit to the hotel there, where he 
 could dress. 
 
 Thus ended that proposal ; but Teddy 
 himself was no longer keen about it, for he 
 had met his fate at the Coventry ball. We 
 shall see her again before this memoir ends ; 
 a sweet girl debutante, looking as if she 
 were fresh from English country scenes, 
 and recalling sum^mer, and roses, and arbours 
 honeysuckle twined, she looked so fresh, 
 so fair, so dainty, with her pale oval face, 
 her wistful blue eyes, with their golden 
 lashes, her sweet and lovely mouth, and 
 her w^ealth of golden hair, so neglige, and 
 becomingly done up. I had a great descrip-
 
 6o The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 tion of her from Allan, and also of Teddy's 
 courtship in the two days he had witnessed 
 it. Teddy was overwhelming, almost over- 
 bearing, in his love-making. The approaches 
 and the outer works leading to the citadel 
 he was besieging were invariably carried at 
 once by storm and assault ; he had always 
 been accustomed to victory, but possibly he 
 never laid siege where his appearance in the 
 field was looked upon with coldness or in- 
 difference. 
 
 The Cornet thought that he was really in 
 love this time, and prophesied what an ex- 
 cellent husband, if it came off, he would 
 make. But I had my doubts ; I felt sure 
 that, when his ardour had cooled down, and 
 the glamour of his first impressions wore 
 off, he would consider a general sort of 
 affection and solicitude for her happiness
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 6i 
 
 quite a sufficient provand for the little heart 
 to feed on. Devoted, in the form of worship, 
 or sympathetic with women, I knew he was 
 not ; kindness he thought sufficient for them, 
 and that if one of them was married to a 
 good sort of fellow, her home, her occupa- 
 tions, and her outings were quite sufficient 
 for her. His own particular sports, late 
 hours, and dinings out, as well as short 
 absences for shoots or race meetings, would, 
 I was sure, be continued to the full. And 
 I am afraid I was a true prophet. 
 
 Thus passed November and December. 
 Allan had faithfully promised to go over 
 and see the old man, as he called his father, 
 and bring me with him, and I had assented 
 thereto. We were each to take only a 
 single horse with us, for an odd day with 
 the harriers or County Down staghounds.
 
 62 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 and look to friendly mounts, or hiring from 
 Belfast, for the rest. Alhm guaranteed m}^ 
 being asked to one or two other houses by 
 his special friends, when they knew I was 
 tacked on to him. The combined stud 
 therefore was broken up ; two or three went 
 up to Tattersall's wdth unblemished reputa- 
 tions, two over to Ireland with Allan's 
 batman, and the rest of them back to 
 Aldershot. 
 
 In the good old soldiering days I used to 
 visit in country-houses, though I think that 
 in my heart of hearts I was always more of 
 the solitary than gregarious type ; I never 
 do now ; they still ask me, some of them. 
 If there is a very large party, the meals 
 appear to be more numerous, and certainly 
 last a good deal longer ; the hours to me 
 are intolerably late, and I am tempted into
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 63 
 
 eating, drinking, and smoking more than 
 I desire, or deserve, from the cup of tea 
 when called in the morning, which is 
 necessary to pull one together, to the last 
 cigar and whisky and soda at 2 a.m. There 
 are compensations, however ; between times 
 you are more your own master, punctuality 
 — except for dinner — is not so specially 
 exacted, and I get more surreptitious hours' 
 with my beloved instrument. If, however, 
 there is a small party, though the hours are 
 earlier, and there is little or no bear fight- 
 ing, 1 am almost expected to be down for 
 prayers before breakfast ; my health (always 
 delicate) is inquired after daily, the hours 
 I slept recorded and annotated, and my 
 general happiness catered after in a way 
 that is positively irksome. I feel, as I enter 
 the breakfast-room, that I come under what
 
 64 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 I call the ''tyranny of the teapot." I must 
 admit that I like the autocracy of the Club 
 coffee-room the best. Another drawback 
 there is, too, Ifeel a positive criminal if I 
 withdraw at abnormal hours into the smok- 
 ing-room, carrying with me the one and 
 only Times. More difficult, too, is it under 
 these circumstances, to shirk oue's liquor 
 after dinner (has it come to this ?) when 
 your host produces the particular Lafite, 
 or the curious old port he recollects you 
 used to lap up, in the days when Morrison 
 stroked the Oxford eight, or Scarlett held 
 command at Aldershot. Furthermore, 
 though some of my best and truest friends 
 are women, as for flirting and dancing 
 nowadays, 1 am a Gallio, and care for none 
 of these things.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " It was an ancient, venerable hall." 
 
 So we arrived at Allan MacDonagh's horae 
 on New Year's morning, i.e., the ruins of 
 EadclifFe Castle, and the Pinnace, as it was 
 called, wherein the family always resided. 
 The MacDonaghs were of ancient and honour- 
 able descent, coming over at the time of the 
 Ulster Plantation, they had, in common with 
 those mighty founders of prosperity and 
 civilisation, and upholders of liberty, both 
 civil and religious, given many soldiers and 
 sailors to Great Britain, whose distinguished 
 services had added lustre to the fame of the 
 United Kingdom, and contributed at home 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 and abroad to build up the Empire of which 
 we are most of us so justly proud. 
 
 Allan's grandfather had been a Peninsula 
 and a Waterloo man, but he died leaving 
 behind him only two sons, the elder a very 
 distinguished naval officer, and Eoderick 
 MacDonagh, the present proprietor, and who 
 had succeeded his brother Archibald a year 
 or two before his sons joined the army — 
 Allan, as we know, the Black Horse, and 
 Archie the Hio^hlanders. For three orenera- 
 tions the MacDonaghs had been spending 
 money freely, perhaps contaminated by the 
 Irish air, or the magnetism of the old Celts, 
 which lingered about the walls and flooring 
 of the castle from which they had been 
 driven, and which remained as a curse to 
 the more modern possessors, drying up the 
 spirit of prudence with which their race is
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 67 
 
 so pre-eminently endowed. This theory was 
 propounded to me by a modern spiritualist ; 
 more likely it was an overstrain of generosity, 
 or a predominating love of ostentation, that 
 had gone to very nigh beggaring them. 
 There was nothing they had not done in 
 the way of lavish expenditure, from horses 
 and hounds to an odd contested election, 
 from a permanent house in Dublin to aij 
 occasional one in London, and this, too, with 
 a splendid indifference to a decreasing 
 income. Therefore, when Archibald Mac- 
 Donagh, or the " Admiral," came in, the 
 vast estates had been already curtailed, and 
 what were left were greatly crippled, and 
 mortgaged up to the door step, and Eadcliffe 
 Castle, upon which little or nothing had 
 been spent, was fast showing signs of 
 impending ruin.
 
 68 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 The "Admiral" — by the way, he was never 
 a pucka Admiral — who, throughout his naval 
 career had been spending his money, or 
 rather the family money, like a man, on his 
 retirement at forty- three as a post-captain, 
 pulled himself together and faced the 
 inevitable. More estates were sold and 
 mortgages paid off, and with a reduced 
 establishment he commenced retrenchment 
 on a scale as magnificent as the former 
 extravagance. But after a year of farming, 
 and such compensation as the society of the 
 County Antrim could give him in lieu of the 
 life of change and adventure he had been 
 leading, he felt driven back again to London, 
 and a room at Long's Hotel ; for he, like 
 Allan, was possessed of that same spirit of 
 restlessness and love of excitement. What 
 might have supervened it was easy to
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 69 
 
 prophecy, but shortly after his arrival he 
 fell in love with and married a lady of large 
 fortune, the whole of which was settled on 
 the pair. With her and their only son they 
 settled down at Radcliffe and lived a tranquil 
 and happy life, varied by occasional runs to 
 London or the Continent. 
 
 But one sorrow they did have — they lost 
 their boy. He had inherited his mother's, 
 delicacy, and, caught out at sea in the 
 winter by adverse winds, returned, after many 
 hours of wet and cold, late at night from a 
 distant headland, only to succumb after a 
 few days of illness to inflammation of the 
 lungs. And so Allan became a second son 
 to them, and their love was transferred to 
 him as their adopted son and heir. 
 
 It had long been the cherished scheme, 
 and a plan discussed with the intensest in-
 
 JO The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 terest and prophetic pleasure by the owners, 
 to pull down and rebuild the ancestral pile, 
 '•'The Euins," as he always called them, 
 upon a smaller scale, and in this he was ably 
 seconded by his wife, who took as much 
 pride as he did in his Irish family and its 
 fallen fortunes of estate. Already had "The 
 Ruins " been unroofed, the lead and timber, 
 the oak staircases and panelled walls torn 
 down and sold for a song. But here and 
 there low standing walls of extraordinary 
 thickness had been left to mark the dimen- 
 sions of, and to be built into the walls of, 
 certain rooms, for the general contour of the 
 building was to be preserved, and by special 
 provision the fireplace of the great reception 
 hall, with its marble fittings, its niches and 
 emblazoned tiles, and the great block above 
 the chimney piece on which was carved the
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 71 
 
 defiant arms of the house, was left entire. 
 Already the neat little cottage house which 
 stood hard by had been built, and dwelt in, 
 w^hen death stayed the hands of one of them. 
 Mrs MacDonao;h had never been stron^:, and 
 a bad fall from a horse with the harriers 
 hastened her end. After this the Admiral 
 began to grow whiter and to break in health. 
 He had "lived" in his younger days, and ^ 
 trying climates had undermined a naturally 
 strong constitution ; now he considered there 
 was nothing much left to live for. The 
 rebuilding was countermanded, and Archi- 
 bald MacDonagh made his will. The scheme 
 had not been wholly abandoned, but delayed. 
 His brother who would succeed him was an 
 old man too, and not calculated to deal in 
 matters requiring energy or address. Allan, 
 though a dear, good fellow, must commence
 
 72 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 his career, and could not be entrusted with 
 the restoration, at the early age at which he 
 would probably come into possession. He 
 left, therefore, after many and further dis- 
 positions, thirty thousand in the hands of 
 trustees, netted and tied up with every pro- 
 vision invented by the law, for Allan Mac- 
 Donagh, and after him for his brother Archie, 
 when each or either of them was thirty years 
 of age, to restore and rebuild the ruins of 
 Eadcliffe Castle. As we mentioned at the 
 commencement of the chapter, Koderick 
 MacDonagh succeeded his brother shortly 
 before the period which this memoir em- 
 braces.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "This giant form like ruined tower, 
 
 Huge boned and tall and grim and gaunt." 
 
 While the scheme for rebuilding the ruins 
 was fructifying in the minds of the Admiral 
 and his wife, they had built themselves 
 about a quarter of a mile to the front of, 
 and equally near the sea-coast, on towering 
 cliffs, a neat slated two-storied house, 
 capable, as they thought, with attics to 
 just contain themselves, and perhaps a 
 guest during the year or two that they 
 were exiled from the Euins ; but they 
 had hardly been resident in it for six 
 months ere the desire of having from 
 time to time two or three of their friends,
 
 74 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 or his wife's relatives to stay, resulted in 
 its enlargement after a unique fashion. 
 
 The general aspect of the Pinnace, as 
 the Admiral called it, and its surround- 
 ings were as follows : — After leaving the 
 high road, for a mile you traversed an 
 avenue that wound through small plan- 
 tations, and over an undulating tract of 
 downs bordered more frequently by clumps 
 of laurels or rhododendrons as it approached 
 the confines of the Northern Sea. There, 
 throned above the waters on the tall white 
 cliffs, the Castle of Eadcliffe had defied the 
 storm, and there the more modest Pinnace 
 took the eastern sun, or was swept over 
 by the wintry blast. Here and there, as 
 you were marching on higher ground, you 
 caught a glimpse of the far off blue, as it 
 stretched itself away in the distance, and
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 75 
 
 upon the horizon, mingled with the borders 
 of the cold grey sky, you felt the presence 
 of the ocean, and its wild salt breezes 
 fanned, while they cooled your cheek ; or 
 advancing more nearly to the dwelling of 
 the MacDonaghs, you heard the clash and 
 seething of the waters, as they broke and 
 squandered on the projecting headlands. 
 
 The Pinnace had been built and added 
 to for comfort only. You entered by the 
 yellow oak hall door into a diminutive 
 hall, and the staircase faced you. The 
 ground floor had originally consisted of 
 but four rooms, on the right a sitting- 
 room, on the left a parlour ; while at the 
 back of the sitting-room was the pantry, 
 and on the other side the kitchen, where, 
 by means of a sliding panel betwixt it 
 and the parlour, the modest dinner could
 
 76 The Last of the Coi^nets. 
 
 1)6 more hotly and quickly served, or an 
 addition called for, and it was through 
 this aperture that the praise and blame 
 of the Admiral were freely dispensed in 
 commanding tones, and couched in strong 
 and nautical language. The kitchen and 
 pantry storeroom looked upon a semi- 
 circular yard, the base of which was 
 the width of the house, and in this were 
 several one-storied buildings, so to speak 
 under one roof, and comprising larder, 
 boot-room, wood-house, and other domestic 
 offices on a small scale. The improve- 
 ments were as follow : — 
 
 At each side of the house, and upon 
 the same frontage, there were two long, 
 low-roofed wing's erected, consistins^ each 
 originally of but one long room, with 
 two square windows to the front, whilst
 
 The Last of the Cornets. jj 
 
 east and west, as the Pinnace stood, 
 each of them boasted another window 
 under the gables at the end of the 
 house. The parlour gave into the 
 western wing which Randolph on his 
 accession had had subdivided by a par- 
 tition into two very fair-sized rooms, and 
 of them, the iuner one was called the 
 dining-room, and the further one, with 
 its fine west view, his own particular bed- 
 room. And here, by opening a door in the 
 back wall, service could be obtained, 
 or messages called out to the denizens 
 of the kitchen or little back-yard. Such 
 expressions as " Henry, the master's shout- 
 ing for his boots, or his shaving water," 
 or, ''Kitty, the master's for the stirabout 
 in his own room the morn," were often 
 heard about 8 a.m., summer or winter.
 
 78 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 On the other hand, the little sitting-room 
 on the right, now used as library or writing- 
 room, or, more often still, as the sitting- 
 room 'par excellence in winter, gave into a 
 long, low drawing-room — disproportionate, 
 perhaps, to the other rooms of the house 
 as it stood, but which, with extreme good 
 taste, the Admiral's wife had so broken up 
 with screens and easy-chairs, and here and 
 there a hanging curtain or a low book-shelf, 
 deftly placed, which formed a new recess, 
 that you lost the sense of everything but 
 luxury and comfort as you drew towards 
 the fire of turf and peat, which flickered 
 and blazed, so that the brazen fittings 
 glowed and reflected the firelight. It had 
 been decided that the window at the ex- 
 tremity of this room, looking east, should 
 be a bay one, and here, upon a fine summer
 
 The Last of the Comets. 79 
 
 morning, while you sat upon one of the 
 soft-cushioned seats, specially adapted for 
 the windows and the view, you could watch, 
 as you lifted your eyes from the book you 
 were reading, the divine expanses of the 
 ever-changing sea. 
 
 Never the same, to-day it is dark and 
 stormy ; through the grey banks of cloud 
 the sun shines fitfully ; far out, the sea is 
 wild and turbulent, and the great billows of 
 the North Atlantic seethe and plunge in 
 struggling masses ; but yonder the great 
 waves rise as though in serried ranks, they 
 toss the sea -smoke from their haughty 
 crests, and, advancing to the battle, as some 
 mighty host advances, they break with 
 thunder on the opposing coast. Great 
 sheets of foamy spray are driven upward 
 as they clash against the cliffs ; the wild
 
 8o The Last of the Cor^tets. 
 
 winds catch hold of it, bear it aloft, scatter 
 it over the Downs, and slap it against the 
 windows of the Pinnace. Nothing but its 
 height above the seething billows seems to 
 save it from the drenching storm. 
 
 To-morrow the air is balmy, and the sun 
 shines warmly down. You lie between the 
 Pinnace and the cliff, upon short brown 
 grass, and, leaning on your elbow, watch 
 the gentle swell which is scarcely broken by 
 the ripple on its surface. Far off, you recog- 
 nise the dim grey outline of the coast of 
 Scotland, while in the nearer distance the 
 white sails of the fishing-boats contrast with 
 the slumbering blue of the deep below them. 
 Nearer inland, as it approaches from your 
 left, you hear, or fancy that you hear, the 
 throbbing engines of the Derry steamer, as 
 it travels southward — leaving a faint black
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 81 
 
 track across the sky, while, once and again, 
 the far-off booming of " Macallister's gun" 
 strikes faintly on your ear. 
 
 Eandolph MacDonagh, or the " meenis- 
 ter," as he was always called, for, indeed, 
 he had been in the Church in his youth, 
 was in his way a remarkable man, not from 
 anything he had achieved, or from any 
 mental powers, which as yet lay dormant 
 in the cavities of his brain ; far from it, it 
 was from his personal traits of character ; 
 it was from the honest simplicity of his 
 nature, such that, while thinking no wrong 
 himself, he thought no wrong of others ; it 
 was from his childlike belief in the great- 
 ness of the family of the MacDonaghs that 
 he was remarkable. Let us interview him, 
 firstly, in the morning as he dresses. He 
 
 has scraped the lather from the near sides 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 of his cheeks with a middling razor ; the 
 upper lip demands more accuracy ; but the 
 stiff beard and strongly indented furrows 
 of the chin are not cleared without a running 
 accompaniment of loud or smothered con- 
 demnation on the razors, or the beard, or 
 Henry and his misdoings — his name usually 
 figured in the catalogue somehow. Fairly 
 scraped, we observe him " supping his 
 porridge," while he paces the little dining- 
 room to and fro with measured tread. His 
 figure is tall and gaunt, and though some- 
 thing stooped, he towers pre-eminent above 
 his fellow-men. The locks that cover his 
 head are sparse and scanty now, but the 
 large and bushy eyebrows are black, the 
 eyes are large, and clear, and hazel, the 
 features massive, and two deep lines that 
 enclose the mouth run into ridges as they
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 8 
 
 o 
 
 approach the bones of his well-forraed nose ; 
 the short and grizzled whiskers meet beneath 
 his chin, and are lost behind his black satin 
 stock (this observable only as he throws up 
 his head). Daily he clothes himself in a 
 tall, wliite-collared linen shirt, reaching to 
 his knees, and which is not usually laid 
 aside ag;un till the moment for shaving at 
 eiofht A.M. has arrived ao^ain. The black 
 satin stock he always wears at home and 
 abroad ; his double-breasted black frock-coat 
 is buttoned up, and the skirts are rather 
 short, and look the more so from his tre- 
 mendous stature ; his trousers are of dark 
 brown tweed, while his worsted socks are 
 knitted at home, and his half-laced shoes 
 are of Ballymena manufacture. Out of 
 doors he wore a tall black hat, generally 
 shabby, and of a certain old-fashioned make.
 
 84 The Last of the Co7'nets. 
 
 and without any curious curves or style. 
 It was also mostly covered with a black 
 crape band. After breakfast, he would pro- 
 pose to you, if you were his guest, a visit 
 to the home farm, some three miles off, and 
 embracing a walk over downs and heather- 
 clad hills. He could walk great distances 
 at his slow and measured pace, and, seeing 
 the tall, gaunt figure a quarter of a mile off, 
 coming up your avenue, with his long hazel 
 staff, such as mendicants affect, his stooping 
 gait, and the small white dog which invari- 
 ably accompanied him, you would prepare 
 yourself to resist the bearer of a begging- 
 letter ; arrived, you felt yourself in the 
 presence of a born aristocrat. 
 
 Failing your company, he would visit the 
 farm alone, or a neighbouring tenant, or, 
 with an unadmitted pleasure, attend on foot
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 85 
 
 a distant funeral — not that he was not a 
 kindly and warm-hearted man — but he 
 liked the walk ! He was pleased with the 
 company of friends he met, the solemn dis- 
 courses of the ''meenister" he appreciated, 
 and he enjoyed the '* tumbler or two " of 
 punch which warmed him for his long tramp 
 home. Indeed, I was told that, after a cattle 
 show dinner, or dining with theresident magis- 
 trate at Bally castle, he could carry home nine 
 or ten tumblers without their " showing," 
 more than by a slight swaying of his gait. 
 
 But let us imagine he has returned from 
 the farm with you about one o'clock, and 
 has regaled you with cold corned beef and 
 a glass of " Bushmills," or bread and honey 
 — he never took lunch himself — then would 
 he propose a walk to the " ruins." What 
 pride he had was family pride, and if it
 
 86 The Last of t lie Cornets. 
 
 was a sin, we may forgive it to his simple 
 character, which it rather ennobled. It was 
 with veneration he entered the precincts of 
 the " ruins ; " you almost fancied he would 
 "uncover "as he crossed over the solitary 
 step which marked where once the grand 
 hall-door had stood. He would expatiate 
 for hours on the greatness of the " ruins " 
 and its possessors ; he would tell you the 
 name of every former room, and, pointing 
 out where they stood, the chief events con- 
 nected with them ; here, on the top of that 
 staircase, had been his father's study ; to 
 that window frame, the lower part of which 
 you still saw standing, belonged the state 
 bedroom, unoccupied since the death of his 
 father, who went off in the delirium of 
 typhus fever, and cursing '' Bony " ; over 
 there was the young ladies' drawing-room ;
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 8 7 
 
 and here, where you stood, was the great 
 banqueting-hall ; it was here the dinner 
 was given to his brother " the Admiral," 
 and a sword presented to him when he 
 returned a captain from Navarino. Each 
 room, each crevice had its special history ; 
 reminiscence suggested reminiscence ; it was 
 well you opined the family pictures kept 
 company with the family archives in the 
 Ballymena bank, though the position of the 
 splendid gallery that ran the whole length 
 of the house had been pointed out to you. 
 Scarcely a week passed but, for some valid 
 reason, *' the meenister" paid a visit to the 
 "ruins," to see if the great chimney-piece 
 had withstood the last storm, if the cattle 
 had broke into the place, or if the ivy should 
 be further encouraged or torn down. 
 
 In the evening, after an early dinner, he
 
 SS The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 would sit and spell over the London and 
 country papers just arrived, or play back- 
 gammon with you till the nine o'clock tea 
 came in, but had you been favoured with 
 continual luck, or if the post had been fraught 
 with annoyance, there would be some mutter- 
 ing and objurgations, you saw how he longed 
 to kick over the little table, and it mostly 
 ended by his leaving the room with a bang 
 to have a " free swear." Sometimes after 
 tea he visited the " old parlour," as it was 
 now called, and, sitting down with a solitary 
 candle and his old walnut-wood and brass- 
 mounted desk, conned over the medals he was 
 collecting, and of which he had a goodly store. 
 Some, indeed, had belonged to members of 
 the family, and others brother collectors had 
 forwarded him. Writino; and readins^ in con- 
 nection with these was his only literary taste.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " He doth excel 
 In honour, courtesy, and all the parts 
 Court can call hers, or man could call his arts." 
 
 A WEEK comprised the time we spent at 
 MacDonagh's home. I perceived that thQ 
 old man regarded his son with affectionate 
 pride as the MacDonagh of the future, while 
 the affection Allan bore towards him was 
 somewhat tempered by the awe with which 
 he had inspired him in childhood, and the 
 recollection of the terrific outbursts of passion 
 which had attended the delinquencies of his 
 schoolboy days, and the balancing of his 
 college accounts. Our life there was un- 
 eventful. Arriving on the Monday morn-
 
 90 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 ing, we managed to put in a couple of 
 days of fair sport with the county pack of 
 harriers, and two days we obtained a mixed 
 bag of pheasants, cock, and rabbits in the 
 clumps and spinnies that skirted the avenue, 
 and upon the home farm. Sometimes in the 
 evening one of us essayed a game of back- 
 gammon with the old man, but with a yellow- 
 back novel, tobacco, and an hour's commun- 
 ing with the violin, I asked for nothing 
 further in the way of recreation. 
 
 Most mornings, also, ulster clad, we 
 hurried with old MacDonagh to his Spartan 
 bath before breakfast time. It appears he 
 had found a sort of inlocked creek or haven, 
 safe from the outward gust of waters, but 
 which the great billows, hurling themselves 
 over the barrier of rock that protected its 
 entrance, used daily to fill and refill at a
 
 The Last of the Cor7iets. 91 
 
 varying depth with their fresh salt waters, 
 until at high tide they overflowed again. 
 Thither, no matter what the weather, either 
 before or after the matutinal shave we w^ot 
 of, old MacDonagh, arrayed in a long, sea- 
 admiral's cloak, used to pick his way by a 
 tortuous path, and down the broad and 
 hand-railed steps he had constructed in the 
 rock ; and here, after casting off the ulster 
 and pyjamas, the short, sharp plunge into 
 the briny was worth a dozen pick-me-ups, 
 and at least a bottle of orange bitters. 
 
 But we had both been bidden to the 
 mansion of a county magnate, and Allan in- 
 formed me it was not an invitation to be 
 thrown away, and so we started for a drive 
 of sixteen miles to Ballyvaston. King 
 Frost had been inaugurating his sway for 
 the last two days, our car horse was
 
 92 The Last of the Co7'nets. 
 
 "roughed," and occasional showers of pow- 
 dery snow, driven by the north wind, had 
 sparsely covered the iron roads. We were 
 more intent on keeping warm, and our 
 1 >riar - roots alio^ht, than doino; over much 
 talking, and the conversation chiefly referred 
 to the names and circumstances connected 
 with the places through which we passed. 
 In course of time, varied by an occasional 
 stamping walk up one of the numerous hills 
 we had to pass over, we arrived at the 
 massive lodge gates, that foretold the end 
 of our journey. 
 
 " Don't flatter yourself that you are 
 arrived," said Allan ; " you are only within 
 measureable distance of ' Home Rule.' " 
 
 The avenue is at least three Irish miles in 
 length ; they have very nearly stuck up that 
 fact upon the gates, so many guests have
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 93 
 
 insisted on getting down here for a short, 
 brisk walk before reaching the house, and 
 found out too late the journey they have let 
 themselves in for, and to a contretemps of 
 this sort, which occurred to an elderly 
 Cabinet Minister, Stevenson always attri- 
 butes the failure of the negotiations he was 
 carrying on, on his part, regarding an Irish 
 Land Bill the Minister thoug:ht of intro- 
 ducing. 
 
 Darkness was now rapidly falling over 
 copse and hedgerow, spinney and plantation, 
 which bordered the drive, and we wrapped 
 ourselves closer in our own ulsters and our 
 own meditations, undistracted save by the 
 crowing of the pheasant cocks, and the 
 scuttling across the avenue of a rabbit or a 
 witch-like hare w^e had disturbed, while, as 
 we approached the inland lake, the crowing
 
 94 The Last of the Cor^tets. 
 
 of the wild fowl going to roost, or the slow 
 and solemn risiner of a crane as his wino-s 
 loomed large and grey in the growing 
 shadows of descending night, alone diverted 
 our reveries. Not sorry were we, indeed, to 
 find ourselves in the larg;e and well-lio;hted 
 hall at last, and to be met by our cheery 
 host, who, advancing with his genial smile, 
 that spoke the kindly feelings of his heart, 
 shook Allan by both hands, ejaculating, — 
 
 " How good of you, my dear boy, to 
 come on such a day," and, turning to me as 
 he shook hands, " So very glad to make 
 your acquaintance, Merrilis ; I feel sure I 
 met your father at Cowes, and, you know, 
 my mother was a Dorsetshire woman, and 
 that must be quite a bond between us, as I 
 hear you come from there. But you must 
 both have some tea at once. Come alons
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 95 
 
 with me ; we shall find it in the gallery to- 
 day," and he led the way up a passage 
 staircase and along a corridor lined w^ith 
 mementos of the chase, and decked with 
 bow and spear, or curious Indian pipe, or 
 bit of armour, or antique sword, for he had 
 travelled much in many lands. Here, as you 
 passed beneath the skylight, on either side 
 were water-colours of some of the places he 
 had visited, and portrayed with no mean 
 ability by himself. These, too, were inter- 
 spersed with photographic view^s of scenes 
 in which he had been an actor, while, above 
 the curtiiined door that led you into the 
 gallery, you looked up at the tattered 
 colours of the 33d Light Drag;oons, of which 
 his uncle had been the colonel. The gallery, 
 long and wide, was carpeted and furnished 
 as a sitting room, and on the w^alls hung
 
 96 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 many ancestral forms by mighty masters. 
 Partially shut off by a tall and stately 
 screen, we were hardly en evidence until we 
 had turned its corner, when our host, Mr 
 Stevenson, or, to give him his full designa- 
 tion, George York Haverford Stevenson, at 
 once presented me, saying, as he beamed 
 affectionately upon his wife, — 
 
 " I've brought you in Allan MacDonagh 
 and his friend Captain Merrills, and we all 
 want some tea." 
 
 The wish was graciously seconded by our 
 hostess, and soon we were chatting in un- 
 affected ease over the best of Darjeeling 
 tea, for, as to this comestible only was our 
 host a gourmet. Tea over, Mr Stevenson 
 excused himself on the plea of work, 
 saying,— 
 
 *' Here, when I come over for a holiday.
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 97 
 
 I seem to be harder worked than in London, 
 at my chambers, or ' the house.' There 
 I am never allowed to bring back a brief 
 to study, or the minutes of a committee 
 meeting to look over," and he suggested to 
 Allan that he should take me into the 
 library, where there was also a fire, and let 
 me pick a book, or look over a volume 
 of caricatures, and so we parted company 
 till dinner time. 
 
 Mrs Stevenson personally I dare not ven- 
 ture to write about, or describe the charm 
 with which she united the triple qualities 
 of wife, mother of happy children, — who, at 
 certain hours, were always about her, — and 
 our hostess dispensing social blessings. Suf- 
 fice it to say that she displayed within her 
 own lines and in her own province an 
 
 amount of tact and ability equal to that of 
 VOL. I. a
 
 98 The Last of the Covjtets, 
 
 her husband, then one of the most rising 
 men of the day. He had been through the 
 curriculum of Eton and Oxford, and, after a 
 year or two of perpetual travel, had settled 
 down to exhaustive w^ork at the bar and in 
 the *' house," at both of which he had al- 
 ready made a name. About the average 
 height, in appearance he was strongly in- 
 tellectual, and the short, ** judicial" whisker 
 he wore left to view the perfect carving of 
 his clear-shaved lip and chin. Four neigh- 
 bours came to dinner, and our host, with 
 well - brushed hair, and in the collarless, 
 white cambric stock since affected by some 
 of the young bloods in their hunting kit, 
 looked considerably smartened and cheerful, 
 having now thrown off himself the cares of 
 state and estate. Dinner at a small round 
 table, not over, but tastefully decorated, was
 
 The Last of the Coi^nets. 99 
 
 well and quickly served ; or was it that the 
 subjects so naively and skilfully touched upon 
 by our host made the hour that is some- 
 times wearisome seem to fly ? Mrs Steven- 
 son was not so voluble, but great in opposi- 
 tion, or contravening a statement with argu- 
 ment. There, we never sat long, and, after 
 coffee, adjourned to the room yclept " saloon '* 
 which adjoined the dining-room, and her© 
 our host, with touching apologies, begged to 
 be allowed to look over and discuss with his 
 neighbour-man the making of some new road, 
 a plan of which lay on the little table beside 
 his own arm-chair, and on which four silver 
 candlesticks were burnings while Mrs Steven- 
 son and I were entreated to draw forth sweet 
 music from piano and violin. A couple of 
 rubbers of *' drawinsf-room whist," inter- 
 rupted nevertheless by tea, and an occa-
 
 loo The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 sional anecdote that must be repeated to 
 the adjoining quartette followed, and, when 
 Allan and I, having " whiskyed and sodaed " 
 the neighbour-man, and discussed with him 
 the feasability of skating on the m.orrow, 
 adjourned to the little smoking-room, I said 
 to myself, — 
 
 **The Island of Circe is not in it with 
 this place." 
 
 At Ballyvaston, breakfast was always 
 early, partly that some of the children 
 might be present with them, and partly 
 that the Stevensons might get through 
 their business in good time. Up to 
 this Allan and I. had been there en 
 famille. In a few days, however, there 
 was to be a dance and a two days' shoot, 
 and in the meantime we were free to 
 exercise our wicked wills in certain covers
 
 The Last of the Cornets. loi 
 
 only, and over certain drives ; a permis- 
 sion we availed ourselves of in a sort of 
 happy-go-lucky way, more for the sake 
 of a walk with the dogs and a solitary 
 beater than for the sport afforded. The 
 fascinations also of " curling " distracted 
 us, for now the ice bore well, and we 
 were both improving rapidJy under the 
 tuition of the valet, Mr Frederick Nowell, 
 a first-rate hand at all games requiring 
 skill, and this pastime occupied the most 
 of our mornings. 
 
 Returning, perhaps, half-an-hour before 
 the luncheon gong sounded, you would 
 sometimes meet Mr Stevenson hurrying 
 out from his study to the wooden tennis 
 court he had erected, after a long morn- 
 ing spent in answering his letters, doing 
 a little bit of " chamber practice," or
 
 102 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 making a very good copy of a Greiize ; and 
 as he ran the fingers of his right hand 
 through his hair, you would observe the 
 traces of thought upon his brow and in 
 his eyes ; but he would give you a cheery 
 challenge, and suggest that you should 
 play him in preference to the marker, 
 pulling out at the same time a handful 
 of india-rubber balls from the pocket of 
 his blue Norfolk jacket, and handing 
 them over to you as your share, to- 
 gether with one of the bats he carried 
 under his left arm. Of course you were 
 both of you late for luncheon, but what 
 odds, there was plenty of roast turkey 
 undevoured, though the five or six chil- 
 dren had helped to make a considerable 
 hole in the provisions ; so, while your 
 hostess lingered and proposed the "plan
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 103 
 
 of campaign" for the afternoon, you did 
 justice to the joint, and fortified your- 
 self against the rigours of the climate 
 by a glass of Gordon's brown sherry. 
 It was generally voted that both amuse- 
 ments should be given a chance, and 
 first that we should all have some skat- 
 ing with the children, and that after- 
 wards we should be allowed to " curl " 
 till darkness set in. Once or twice, too, 
 people came to luncheon for the skating, 
 which was lasting an unusually long time 
 for Ireland, and once a larger party came 
 for a regular picnic on the ice.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, 
 Forerun fair love, strewing his way with flowers." 
 
 And thus, and thus, eight days had passed, 
 and with the ninth arrived the gunners and 
 the people for the ball. I admit I was self- 
 ishly sorry ; I felt our coterie would be 
 broken up, and that, if in sight, I would 
 probably not be within hearing, of our 
 charming host and hostess. I was sorry, 
 too, on Allan's accouut. I felt that the 
 broad and wise view Mr Stevenson took of 
 men and things, and the common -sense 
 with which he endorsed it, could not but 
 have a good influence upon him, although 
 it should bear no fruit at the time. I felt 
 that I had not done my duty by the boy.
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 105 
 
 " A self-imposed one," perhaps you will 
 answer, in the tones of Cain when he ex- 
 claimed, "Am I my brother's keeper?" 
 And I realised that, alongside the wish to 
 be of benefit to him and his career, I had 
 no noble example of unswerving fidelity to 
 duty to set before him. 
 
 A dinner-party took place that evening, 
 and we sat down, eight-and-twenty, to a 
 banquet at which, I am thankful to say, 
 there was, in colloquial phraseology, a 
 profusion of lights, for I shared with Mr 
 Stevenson the idea that it is difficult to 
 have too much soft light shed upon white 
 damask, exotic flowers, gleaming silver, and 
 the faces of beautiful women. 
 
 The house party had been added to by a 
 continorent of half-a-dozen, who came over 
 in the family omnibus from a neighbouring
 
 io6 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 country - house, and we were thirteen or 
 fourteen ourselves, including a couple of 
 officers from the garrison at Belfast. Hav- 
 ing given him a hint beforehand, for I 
 wanted much to know who everybody was, 
 I was not surprised to find Allan at my 
 right hand when we sat down, or at the 
 excuses he offered about the preponderating 
 number of men when detected, and when 
 the unfolding of napkins, laying down of 
 fans and gloves, and breaking of bread, had 
 made a rearrangement of places vexatious. 
 
 Then, amidst the flow of conversation 
 that rose and fell and fluctuated about our 
 end of the table, as our host was listenino; 
 to, answering the other talkers, or himself 
 narrating some experience, to which those 
 within hearing were straining their atten- 
 tion, we questioned and answered each other
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 107 
 
 as to the company present, and had pretty 
 well catalogued them all, when there were 
 yet remaining two young ladies undiscussed, 
 and of the pair I could give him some ac- 
 count of one. 
 
 " Don't stare," I said (for she was sitting 
 opposite), *' or she will notice us, and you 
 are e'pris there, I think ? " 
 
 '* Not there, not there," he interposed; 
 '' but go on, quick !" 
 
 " Well, is she not simply perfect ? What 
 brilliant colouring ! What soft brown eyes, 
 that look as if they longed to love, and 
 were asking you to be the lover! What red, 
 ripe lips, and perfect mouth and teeth ! And 
 with what a becoming grace she has lifted 
 her wavy dark-brown hair from off her face, 
 in a loose and neglige coiffure ! But listen, 
 Cornet, and beware ! Those dark-brown
 
 io8 The Last of the Corftets. 
 
 eyes have never melted with a tenderness 
 she felt for the loved one, no happy lover 
 has ever kissed the first bloom from off 
 those cherry lips — " Here Allan was re- 
 called to duty by a question from the lady 
 he had taken down, and I pursued my 
 reverie somewhat thus. — '* Surely," I ima- 
 gined, " surely there must somewhere sleep 
 within that palpitating breast, and beneath 
 the sheeny folds of that brocade, that undu- 
 lates so harmoniously to her heart's beat, 
 not the dead ashes that line the cra,ter, but 
 the fires of love which will one day burst 
 and startle her with their vehemence in a 
 storm of passion and tears, at the magic 
 touch of the fairy prince whose voice shall 
 wake her from her statuesque repose, and 
 make her thrill and quiver with the electric 
 forces of a newer life — " and here I felt a
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 109 
 
 kick from Allan, as he whispered, *' Wake 
 up, old man ; what have you been dream- 
 ing about ? Go on, and tell me about the 
 young lady opposite." 
 
 '' Well," I resumed, " she will expect you 
 to fall down and worship her — at a respect- 
 ful distance, however ; but don't presume 
 upon her condescension too much. Here 
 you are an enfant gdte, rather good-looking. 
 — I don't want to flatter you — made much 
 of by the county, have something at your 
 back. Here she may give you a dance, or 
 even two ; but do not look for them in 
 Grosvenor Square ; most likely she will 
 hardly know you there — there are lots of 
 them like that, men and women too. Is it 
 selfishness or bad breedino; ? " 
 
 " Oh no, lots of the well-born and well- 
 bred (?) ones do it too. Stevenson defines
 
 no The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 it as ' indifference to the feelings of others,' 
 and calls it ' want of nobility of character,' " 
 answered the Cornet. 
 
 " Oh, yes, and besides that, she has never 
 been through the purifying fires, has she, 
 Allan ? That makes them kinder and more 
 sympathetic all round, but somehow she 
 does not look to me really happy. To begin 
 with, she is nearly thirty ; in the races for 
 a coronet or a millionaire, she has always 
 ' missed stays,' and been obliged to go upon 
 a new tack ; she may have been courted, 
 and admired, but, as you see, she has never 
 pulled off the prize she has sailed for ; the 
 crafts of inferior calibre have crowded on 
 more sail, and passed her ere the post was 
 reached. No girl can enjoy that ; it rankles, 
 and, glorious creature as she is, the young 
 ones, if they are really good looking, despite
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 1 1 1 
 
 her experience, have the freshness and 
 attractiveness of youth, which puts them 
 on even terms with her. No doubt she 
 has other trials too that we frock-coated 
 beings cannot understand." 
 
 " She must find it difficult to live up to 
 her beauty," put in Allan ; *' but name, 
 weight, and age ? ' 
 
 " Oh, Barbara Hetherington, aged thirty ; 
 met her at Canterbury years ago, aud my 
 cousins are intimate with her, and ' w^eight,' 
 still a lovely figure, to speak by the card ; 
 but I opine that that is also a subject of 
 anxiety. She is pecking at dry toast and 
 has refused potatoes with her venison ; she 
 does not move, however, with the stately 
 grace of the debutante over there, sitting 
 next but one to the hostess, does she. 
 Cornet ? I watched her comiug down to
 
 I 12 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 dinner, the girl with the Irish grey inquir- 
 ing eyes, that look so earnest beneath their 
 darker lashes, and slightly arched eyebrows." 
 
 " And how pure and fresh the white 
 camelia looks in her dark brown hair," re- 
 sponded the Cornet. ''Do you know her, 
 Merrills ? " 
 
 '' Not I." But something struck me in 
 his manner, and the eager questioning tone 
 of his voice as he turned and said, — " Do 
 you know her ? " and the way in which he 
 deprecated all farther discussion by sug- 
 gesting that, as we had neglected our duties 
 right and left, and himself his dinner 
 shamefully, we should now devote ourselves 
 to them and the excellent pheasant and 
 champagne that were going the rounds. It 
 had not escaped me that his eyes had been 
 travelling to the north-west corner of the
 
 The Last of the Comets. 1 1 3 
 
 table all dinner time, and that there lay 
 the magnet of his attraction. So, as Allan 
 would not, let me complete the picture 
 reverently, as in this instance he would have 
 done himself. 
 
 Miss Haitian d's face — for that I after- 
 wards ascertained was her name — was of the 
 oval type, complexion clear and delicate, 
 with nose retrousse, and a mouth that was 
 sweet but firm, and the lips of which were 
 mostly parted, contrasting strongly with 
 pearly teeth ; altogether an earnest face, 
 yet not devoid of quiet humour. So, during 
 the sweets and dessert, we did our manners 
 beautifully as required, and made up the 
 "lee way" in our little nothings of con- 
 versation ; but as soon as the ladies had 
 left the room, and we sat down, Allan 
 expressed the hope that he should soon 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 ^^^^ ^^^^ of the Cornets. 
 
 be able to join them in the " saloon " and 
 commence the dancing. My aspirations did 
 not point that way, and I informed him I 
 hoped at least to have two more glasses of 
 that La Kose first, and that then 1 had 
 arranged with the neighbour-man we have 
 come across before, to sneak off into the 
 smoking-room, whither I had already de- 
 spatched my smoking coat, and have a good 
 cigar apiece, and that then we would walk 
 in with '' the crowd " after the dancing had 
 commenced ; a programme I religiously 
 carried out, both as regards the La Eose 
 and the smoking-room. Thence returning, 
 I came across Allan. I knew by the toss 
 of his head, and his quick, impetuous walk, 
 kicking the stones, as Mat O'Halloran would 
 have said, that something had gone wrong. 
 Catching me quickly by the arm, he said,
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 115 
 
 " Look here, old chap, I can't bear appearing 
 to play the spy, but do come along with 
 me. She's sitting in the library, and I 
 know it's my dance." 
 
 " What, thrown over already by the 
 brilliant beauty ? " I answered. 
 
 " Oh, no, not that one ; you know, well, 
 her name is Miss Maitland — I've found out 
 that much ; she is the daughter of the new 
 parson at Ballycastle, only five miles ofi* us, 
 and she knows the old man, and has even 
 had tea at the ' ruins.' " 
 
 *' Quite consecrated them," I put in, and 
 then, " are you quite sure this was your 
 dance ? You know this one is a square, 
 and she is probably ' sitting it out ' with 
 some old friend " (for which purpose the 
 aforesaid library, running at right angles to 
 the gallery, and of similar proportions, was
 
 ii6 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 admirably adapted ; here alone were the 
 lights subdued, here also sofas and easy- 
 chairs convenient). 
 
 " No, take my advice ; I'll keep you in 
 countenance here till the diva appears, and 
 then you can slope up in an indifferent sort 
 of way, and carry her off by force or fraud, 
 while I am off to fight for my own hand." 
 Nor had we long to wait, before, w^ith 
 mutual explanations, the Cornet was enabled 
 to do so. His embarrassed manner, so 
 different from his usual quasi-patronising 
 and self-confident one, would have betrayed 
 him to me, had I not already been some- 
 what in the seeret. 
 
 That he managed to secure several more 
 dances, and to cloak her as she departed, 
 goes without saying. Given, of course, a 
 medley of partners, the elements of a ball
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 1 1 7 
 
 are ever the same ; the music, the lights, 
 the supper, and the flowers differing but 
 little in kind ; but oh I what a difierence it 
 makes if "the only one is there," or even 
 your queen of beauty for the nonce, to 
 whom you are vowing ephemeral homage, 
 and a mutual make-belief allegiance. To 
 old Major Burrows the perfection of the 
 other accessories are of little consequence^ if 
 the cutlets and game pie are perfect, the 
 champagne properly iced, and dry. Captain 
 Spencer requires whist-tables, and an oyster 
 bufi'et to boot. While 1, years of experi- 
 ence and balls in all quarters of the globe 
 have made me very exigeant ; but here a 
 sybarite would have had nothing to com- 
 plain of I confess, with shame, I selected 
 a non-dancing chaperon, and took her into 
 supper, so as not to be disturbed by the
 
 1 1 8 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 disappointed looks or gloomy innuendoes 
 of a would-be partner. 
 
 So the ball went on till wax candles 
 commenced to swirl and bend, chaperons to 
 be anxious about the hour, the squires to 
 grumble about the horses, and the partners 
 to dance with ever renewed vigour, as they 
 kept lassitude at bay with strong consomme, 
 or chicken and champagne. And Miss 
 Hetherington, how fared she ? Oh, as she 
 always did ; got about the best of every- 
 thing and everybody, waltzed twice with 
 the host, had half a garrison intriguing for 
 dances, went into supper with the General, 
 and was the acknowledged queen of beauty. 
 Could she ask for anything more ? Sybarite 
 again, I shirked that last delight, the final 
 galop for the house party only, and after 
 my "little queen's" was smoked, met the
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 119 
 
 roysterers entering, as I left the billiard- 
 room. 
 
 There fell a still small rain that night, 
 and the wind blew soft and warm from the 
 south and west ; one could even dress in 
 the morning with the window opened, 
 and watch the big black birds underneath 
 the holly and laurel clumps as they preened 
 themselves, and scraped and pecked in 
 anticipation of the " square meal " so long 
 denied them, and flew from plantation to 
 plantation announcing the glad tidings. 
 
 Allan was fast asleep when, at 9 a.m., I 
 visited him in the dressing-room ofl" the 
 bedroom allotted to me as the senior, 
 sleeping the sleep of the "just," at five-and- 
 twenty after a hard night. Had he dreamed 
 of her ? I trow not. To put it vulgarly, 
 his nerves were too good for that, though I
 
 I20 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 would hazard something, that she was his 
 latest thought. And she ? I should say 
 not either. I judged she was too unsophis- 
 ticated, and that, while her senses were 
 intoxicated with the delights of the dancing, 
 the music, the lights, and the wondrous 
 kaleidoscope which greeted her on every 
 side, she was too genuinely happy to have 
 much thouoht in her heart for Allan. 
 
 *' Wake up. Cornet," I cried; "you've 
 got to dress, and breakfast, and shoot, 
 but have a good strong cup of tea first ; 
 there's lots of it about ; I scent the 
 sweet aroma gently stealing, and have 
 heard the clink of cup and saucer passing 
 up and down the passage." 
 
 "All right, Merrills, I will; I feel a 
 bit chippy ; soon be all right. I wish we 
 could have the old man's bath over here."
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 1 2 1 
 
 That day he was a little bit off' his 
 shooting, not from the effects of smoke, 
 or dance, or late hours, though. I had 
 seen him and Teddy, after much harder 
 nights in town, breakfasting on strong 
 tea, with whitings split and devilled at 
 Limmers', as, then, they only knew how^ 
 to do them, and shoot Al ; and the pair 
 were hard to beat when they shot to- 
 gether in a match, yet that day his 
 thoughts seemed to wander, and several 
 times he was not quick enough at a 
 snap shot, or transformed an easy into 
 a difficult one ; but the next day he 
 shot in his grandest form. The day 
 after that was to have been our last 
 one, but we were both much pressed 
 to stay on, as long as we liked. Allan, 
 however, said he must go over and see
 
 122 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 the old man for three or four days, and 
 that he hoped, as the frost would be 
 quite out of the ground in a couple of 
 days, to get in another ride with the 
 harriers. So he departed, and I gladly 
 elected to remain. 
 
 The morning he left I met him en 
 route at a corner of the drive, and, as 
 I stopped to bid him adieu, I recom- 
 mended to him Ballycastle Church on 
 Sunday. 
 
 "All right, old man," he cheerily 
 replied, " I am going on supernumerary 
 there."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " What man dare I dare, 
 Approach thou like the rugged Eussian bear." 
 
 Now that the large party had been 
 broken up and departed, we were re- 
 inforced by a professor or two from 
 Queen's College, and an English poli- 
 tician and his wife, getting up Ireland, 
 its history, its geography, its land tenure, 
 and the idiosyncrasies of its people, 
 during their tour of three weeks in the 
 Sister Isle. 
 
 Having to draw upon my own re- 
 sources a good deal during Allan's 
 absence, I got on very good terms 
 again with my violin, but nevertheless
 
 124 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 looked forward with pleasure to his re- 
 turn as a general out-door and smoking- 
 room companion. The day he was to 
 come back there had been some arofu- 
 ment at luncheon on a point of Irish 
 history in the closing days of the last 
 Parliament, and I had been deputed to 
 search the annual register, and any other 
 authorities I could, to verify the various 
 statements. This aflfair had occupied me 
 a couple of hours, and I was beginning 
 to feel like a smoke and a walk, and 
 therefore slipped out of the low library 
 window on to the ground, when, to my 
 astonishment, I perceived Allan a few 
 yards off, looking flushed and excited, 
 and without his hat on.^' I saw there 
 
 * The incident narrated in this chapter is taken 
 from real life, and it was Lord Ava, 17th Lancers,
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 125 
 
 was something wrong. " What is it, 
 quick, tell me," I cried out. *' Come 
 in, let me get you something." 
 
 " Oh, no, I'm all right," he said. *' I'll 
 get a hat as we pass the hall, and I'll tell 
 you presently. All right, don't hurry me, 
 old chap," he again interposed, when I 
 pressed him as to what the cause of his 
 excitement had been ; and, as we traversed 
 the lono; windino^s of the avenue, he beg-an 
 to talk of his home, and his father, and his 
 other affairs. 
 
 "And what about Miss Maitland ? " I 
 inquired. "You did the church parade, of 
 course, and the old parson asked you into 
 lunch ; and how did you come off?" 
 
 " Oh," replied he, " she's awfully nice, 
 
 and Captain Waud, 3id Irish Eifles, who saved John- 
 ston from being killed by the bear at Clandeboye.
 
 126 The Last of the Corners, 
 
 and we got on fairly well, but somehow I 
 did not get very much out of her ; you 
 know what it is when you've got to do 
 company to the father and mother, and 
 there is a young sister of about eleven 
 watching you open-mouthed and open-eyed, 
 and taking in all you say ; your remarks 
 seem to fall flat just a bit ; and then, when 
 I did get a chance, she seemed so irrespon- 
 sive, or shy, or something, and not to 
 realise the situation, so I fairly found I had 
 talked myself out, and was getting no 
 assistance ; you want a bit of a lead some- 
 times, you know ; I could not get further 
 than the ball. She would not see that I 
 had come out to church on purpose, and 
 that—" 
 
 '* Oh, yes, I know," I interposed ; " behind 
 your conventional, go-to-church manner,
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 127 
 
 you were just like the rock in the wilder- 
 ness, full of the pent-up streams of adora- 
 tion, which the touch of sympathy from her 
 wand would have loosened until they just 
 swamped you both, my boy. Well, I'm 
 not very sorry, Cornet ; you've lots of time 
 before you ; you're much too young at 
 present, besides which, she's got no money. 
 And never mind," I added, "you can see 
 her again. I should think there are not 
 many lady-killers about the ' barren, barren 
 moorland' and the rocks of Ballyshannon." 
 " Ballycastle, Merrills, Ballycastle." 
 " Oh, very well, Ballycastle." But never- 
 theless I augured in favour of time and 
 separation as against the golden image of 
 Helen Maitland which he had set up, and 
 I resolved also within myself to discourage 
 the affair as far as possible. And she ?
 
 128 TJie Last of the Cornets. 
 
 She had been too demurely and sedately 
 brought up in the Vicarage at Armagh, and 
 schooled in the schooling of Miss Edgeworth, 
 to forego the frequent admonitions she had 
 received about flirting with the heartless 
 soldiery, especially the mounted branch 
 thereof, who were popularly supposed to 
 ]ove and ride away. The " beware " therefore 
 of her mother, and the instruction to exer- 
 cise a proper pride, fell upon a receptive 
 fallow, as she followed her daughter into the 
 precincts of her chaste little room at the Eec- 
 tory, and fidgetted about, touching her scent 
 bottles, and rearranging the ornaments on 
 her wardrobe, in the indifferent way mothers 
 have when they intend to say something, 
 and are debating into what words they 
 shall put it, and are perhaps a little fearful 
 of marring the good effect by saying just
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 129 
 
 too much, or just too little ; and when 
 besides, a little anxiety as to what the recep- 
 tion of their words will be perturbs them, 
 and it was on these lines I prophesied. 
 
 Allan had been talking in, for him, a 
 subdued and quiet tone, then, as he dis- 
 cussed a letter he had received from Godsal, 
 and flitted from one subject of interest to 
 another, he became himself again, and walked 
 smartly out, braced and impetuous. I soon 
 sug-g-ested a return, as it was o-ettino; dark, 
 and, laying my hand upon his shoulder, 
 said, — 
 
 "Now you've got to tell me what hap- 
 pened this afternoon." 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you, old chap," he replied. 
 *'I was very nearly seeing the other side 
 this afternoon ; I did not realise until it was 
 all over what a near thing it had been ; acted 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 on instinct, or whatever they call it, I 
 suppose. Now, when I think of the old 
 man upon the ground with his ghastly white 
 face, and the blood flowing down his neck, 
 when I see the great brute's red eyes, and 
 hear his vengeful growl, just as we got the 
 old man through the door, it quite unmans 
 me. Well, yes," in answer to a question of 
 mine. *'You see Laud and I jumped in 
 somehow, and got hold of the old man, and 
 one of us kept the beast off with a pitchfork, 
 still a terror to him from past experience, 
 and between us we got him pushed and 
 kicked up, and dragged, for he was too 
 dazed to do anything for himself, up to the 
 door, and the key out of his pocket, and 
 well, oh yes, we just got the lot of us clear 
 through, but it was a near thing." 
 ** And the old man ? "
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 131 
 
 *' Oh, we had just left him fairly well at 
 his cottage, and Laud w^as to send a surgeon 
 to see him at once ; he thought it best to 
 catch the five train, as there was no other 
 till after seven." 
 
 " Laud ? " I asked. '' Do I know him ? " 
 
 " Oh, he had come over after the dance to 
 call. I met him on the way ; luncheon was 
 over, so we had some sherry and biscuits to- 
 gether, and then, just for something to do, 
 we went to see the bear." 
 
 And this was all I could draw out of Allan 
 at the time ; the rest of the story I put to- 
 gether afterwards, principally from the old 
 man Johnston's account. I also met Laud 
 subsequently, and cross-examined him on 
 the subject. It appears Mr Stevenson had 
 been made a present of a young bear two 
 years before the above episode, and that the
 
 132 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 cub had been turned loose in a large disused 
 poultry yard, not far from the house. In 
 the midst of it was a circular duck-pond 
 some six yards in diameter, and which looked, 
 as all duck ponds do, a veritable slough of 
 despond. Here and there were what we 
 may also call disused apple trees, for the 
 hand of no man had plucked the fruit there- 
 of for years, and these, until a severe fall 
 or two nearly dislocating his shoulders had 
 induced a prudent caution, the bear in his 
 younger days had been in the habit of climb- 
 ing. And seeing the yard in summer time, 
 some one had euphemistically named it the 
 " bear-garden." The walls thereof, origin- 
 ally of brick, had furthermore been rebuilt 
 at a good height all round of eight or nine 
 feet, and strongly and smoothly cemented 
 inside, for Bruin was a clever climber, and
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 133 
 
 had once got out, to the terror of the stable 
 boys and dairy-maids, who shut themselves 
 up in the laundry, barricaded the windows, 
 and shouted for aid, as is their wont so to 
 do, meanwhile that the bear was chivying 
 for his own amusement pure and simple, and 
 with no further evil intent, a calf in the 
 paddock adjoining the laundry. 
 
 The old man Johnston had been appointed 
 groom, feeder, and general bear leader, and 
 had, moreover, taught his ^protege some sort 
 of gymnastic tricks, which w^ere wont to be 
 witnessed by the spectators from a platform 
 ])uilt up against the outside wall, and from 
 which they could also feed the grisly 
 monarch with the breakfast bannock or 
 the succulent banana. 
 
 But the time had come when Johnston 
 had grown reckless and over-confident. On
 
 134 T"^^ Z<2j"/ of the Cornets. 
 
 that very morning he had put the bear 
 through numerous paces, and kept him over 
 long at *' attention " for the pleasure of some 
 American tourists from Belfast, whose 
 largesse he had got rid of at the neighbour- 
 ing public-house, treating and being treated 
 by some of the keepers still in funds from 
 the recent shoot. So it was with an extra 
 degree of assurance that he marched in, 
 pitchfork in hand, and ordered Bruin about 
 while MacDonagh and Laud looked on from 
 the platform. 
 
 Matters progressed well enough till the 
 old man accidentally or intentionally struck 
 the bear upon the softer part of the paws with 
 the sharp-pointed pitchfork, and then he 
 imagines that the animal stepping forward 
 merely intended to dash the pitchfork out 
 of his hand, and disarm him of the dreaded
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 135 
 
 weapon ; but struck him at the same time 
 about the arm and head, yet with no further 
 force than to knock him down and stun him, 
 then, standing over him, he had just got 
 the back part of his head in his mouth, see- 
 ing his enemy on the ground, when Mac- 
 Donagh with a shout, cried out, " My God ! 
 the bear will kill him," and, turning his head 
 to Laud as he leapt over the low wall from 
 the platform into the yard below, " Will you 
 come \ " There was no time to make repl}^, 
 and, with a shout Laud also leapt down. 
 
 Their cries, and their sudden charge 
 towards him, confused the bear, and, as with 
 lightning rapidity MacDonagh seized the 
 pitchfork and stood over Johnston, the 
 animal turned and retreated several paces, 
 uncertain what to do. 
 
 *' Get out the key, pull him away," shouted
 
 136 The Last of the Coi-nets. 
 
 Allan. " Quick, quick," back-kicking John- 
 ston in the ribs and sides to rouse him, more 
 keenly than he had ever kicked at football in 
 the Eton playing fields, while Laud, but 
 little assisted by the dazed and semi-con- 
 scious Johnston, sought for, discovered, and 
 drew out the key from the warder's pocket. 
 Allan, with his left hand on Johnston's 
 breast, still faced the bear, moving back- 
 wards, and Laud, half supporting the old 
 man, with a convulsive effort pulled him to 
 the door. It was only a second or two at 
 most that they escaped and lived, for, after 
 slinking away, the bear turned round, raised 
 himself slowly, and, as the blood about his 
 nostrils maddened him, made for his adver- 
 saries with a growl of fury and vengeance of 
 which he was only baulked by the mercy of 
 God.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "Now by two-headed Janus 
 Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time." 
 
 It will be advisable now without further 
 delay to introduce to the reader Matthew 
 O'Halloran, one who played an important 
 part in the sequel of this memoir. Half 
 dealer, half tout, messenger, commissioner, 
 and general hanger - on to the Black 
 Horse, with all his roguery, real or ex- 
 aggerated. Mat O'Halloran had his good 
 points, his esprit de corps, his willing- 
 ness to oblige where it cost nothing, 
 and at this period a certain code of 
 honesty and morality at which he drew 
 the line. Few cavalry regiments are with-
 
 138 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 out these hangers-on ; they have perhaps 
 belonged to the regiment at one time 
 or another, and been kept on afterwards 
 as a servant by one of the officers, or 
 in some other useful capacity. Parti- 
 ality for the old corps, or want of origin- 
 ality, has caused them to gravitate into, 
 as I heard Mat once describe himself, the 
 regimental man. With brains they make a 
 good thing of it ; without, they degenerate 
 into hewers of wood and drawers of water, 
 possibly cutters of hair and cleaners of 
 boots to some swagger troop. Certainly Mat 
 O'Halloran w^as of the former lot. 
 
 In appearance, and to those who did 
 not know him, he might have belonged 
 to any one of three or four classes of 
 the community ; it depended upon the 
 day you saw him, and the job he was
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 139 
 
 upon. Thermometer like, his get-up gave 
 the clue to his manoeuvres. We talked 
 of him as wearing his swagger suit, or 
 his fatigue suit, or his Stiggins suit. Let 
 us take him first as he stands in his Stiggins 
 suit. To begin with, he wears a tall, 
 silk, dull black hat, with broad flat brim, 
 stuck rather on the back of his head, 
 but not concealing his crisp and curly 
 red brown hair, nevertheless kept closely 
 cropped, while his short red whiskers 
 are trimmed in the old-fashioned Well- 
 ington style. He has a ruddy com- 
 plexion, and rather small black - brown 
 eyes, which twinkle with roguery ; his 
 griping mouth, with its gleaming row of 
 white, short, regular teeth, completes the 
 picture of his face. Eound a large and 
 badly - starched white collar he wears
 
 140 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 twice round a black silk neckerchief 
 twisted into a bow. He adopts an open 
 shirt, a dark-coloured waistcoat, and an 
 old-fashioned black swallow-tailed coat 
 of strong material, and with outside 
 pockets, from one of which there al- 
 ways protrudes a red pocket handker- 
 chief. Dark grey pepper-and-salt trousers 
 and highlows complete this suit, and 
 thus arrayed you might take him for 
 a retired shopkeeper, a baptist minister, 
 or even a country doctor ; but it was 
 in this suit that he perpetrated most 
 of his iniquities, and also did penance 
 for the same, when the crime was venial, 
 or those concerned could be " squared " 
 or arranged with. It was in this suit 
 that he did commissions on the turf, 
 procured information for his patrons,
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 141 
 
 visited dealers' stables, and arranged with 
 shady characters for pigeon matches, horse 
 trials, or a badger hunt. It was thus 
 he was wont to attend as a sort of 
 bookmaker, cup - bearer, valet and what 
 not to Teddy Burton at Hurlingham. 
 His swagger suit was the one he usually 
 went about in, viz., a rather slightly 
 worn white hat, the ditto in shape of 
 the black one, while the neckerchief was 
 of a dull red, and the coat and waist- 
 coat of a dark green, such as is Tvorn 
 with harriers, cut, however, the same as 
 the black one, but mounted with the 
 gilt regimental buttons he had picked 
 up at various times from the officers ; 
 cords and gaiters, with thick, determined - 
 looking boots, were the complement of 
 the swagger suit.
 
 142 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 And it was thus accoutred you generally 
 beheld him in barracks, on the parade 
 ground, at the nearer meets of hounds, big 
 field days, or on the line of march. 
 
 His fatigue suit differed only from the 
 last two in that the black hat was smooth, 
 and limp, and shabby, the coat and vest of 
 coarse, rough material, which always looked 
 dirty and well-worn ; here the linen was 
 soiled, and the cords, with which he wore 
 Irish long grey stockings and brogues, had 
 an unstrung, uncared-for appearance. For 
 his Stiggins suit, he carried a large and duly 
 knotted blackthorn. In his swagger suit, 
 he affected a thick but pliable cane, suit- 
 able for foot or mounted purposes ; in his 
 fatigues, he was never without a good ash- 
 plant ; and it was in these habiliments he 
 did business on his own account, went
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 143 
 
 over on what he called his furlough to 
 his brother cattle jobbers in Ireland. It 
 was thus he sneaked off early to Lincoln 
 or Horncastle to pick up, with the assist- 
 ance of the "tribe," a screw that might 
 possibly pass as a second charger, and on 
 which, if sold as a " trapper," he could 
 not lose. In the " fatigues," he frequently 
 went to Dublin, or York, or Limerick, to 
 deliver or bring back valuable hunters, for 
 the "convoying" of which their masters 
 could not spare another servant ; and finally, 
 it was in this suit that he marketed for the 
 messman, from buying a cow to haggling 
 over fowls, and sampling butter. 
 
 Mat O'Halloran was an institution in the 
 regiment, and he knew it. Joining in 1846, 
 he shortly afterwards became second servant 
 to Sir Harry Darell, and it was from his
 
 144 ^^^^ Last of the Coi'nets. 
 
 clever stud groom he imbibed that early 
 knowledge of horse-flesh, and those tastes 
 for betting and horse coping, that eventually 
 proved his ruin. 
 
 Of the regiment and its sayings and 
 doings he was a walking encyclopedia ; he 
 could tell you of that famous foxhunt, 
 when he was riding second horseman to Sir 
 Harry — (for as an Irish lad he had learnt 
 to ride well and was then a light weight) 
 and of the attack made by the Caftirs on 
 them as they swept through their huts. 
 
 Of the latter days he could give you 
 anecdotes of the regiment at Brighton 
 under that Beau Sabreiir, Colonel Ainslie, 
 the mad pranks of the ofiicers there, inter- 
 mingled with accounts of sporting matches, 
 shoots, and steeplechases. He had forgotten 
 nothing ; he called to mind that flyer of the
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 145 
 
 hunt, that Orlando mare that broke down 
 and lost the regiment a mint of money, that 
 officer who had fought the duel, or that 
 one who, after going through ten thousand 
 a year, had ended his days at Boulogne; 
 nothing had escaped him. Arrived at 
 strange quarters, it was he who at once 
 informed you of the best places to send on 
 to for the meet ; where you had better get 
 your forage, and what sort of country it 
 was ; he knew the picked farm where your 
 own or some other cavalry regiment bad 
 held their annual steeplechases, and what 
 was the disposition of the farmers towards 
 a regimental pack of harriers, or larking 
 across country. 
 
 But if he was found useful and entertain- 
 ing in barracks and on the line of march, 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 The Last of t lie Cornets, 
 
 it Avas when out with a flying column that 
 his services were most appreciated. About 
 noon, and just when you least expected 
 him, and were perhaps most starved with 
 cold on a raw September day, or parched 
 with thirst after a long and circuitous ride 
 to attack the enemy on the flank, he would 
 turn up with a borrowed dog-cart or mess- 
 trap, and dispense to you hot Irish stew, 
 or produce from its caverns cool bottles of 
 beer or of champagne. He had probably 
 been up in the camping ground before 
 any one else that morning, could tell the 
 quartermaster exactly what was the best 
 situation for officers and men to have their 
 tents pitched in, and where the horses could 
 be most advantageously picketed. More 
 than likely he had already posted the little 
 red and black flag to denote the quarters of the
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 147 
 
 Black Horse, and he seldom failed to secure 
 them, though sometimes the stafi' officer 
 would be obdurate in favour of some other 
 regiment, or sometimes a divisional order 
 could not be superseded. If you wanted 
 a couple more blankets from barracks, or 
 a special message by hand sent, or the 
 country scoured at dawn for more eggs and 
 bacon or fowls and butter, Mat 0' Hallo ran 
 was the man to do it. He was also, I fear 
 rightly, suspected of giving information to 
 his particular corps, and bints about the 
 movements of the enemy, hints which, un- 
 fortunately, from the positive issue of the 
 morning's divisional orders, they were un- 
 able to avail themselves of; but, neverthe- 
 less, sometimes the "tip" came off. On 
 these occasions he wore the Stiggins suit ; 
 he said it made him less observable, and.
 
 148 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 with a rug over his knees and his collar 
 turned up, less likely to be spotted when 
 contravening the rules of the campaign. 
 
 In a similar fashion on the line of march 
 he was equally to the front, and on these 
 occasions he wore the swagger suit, and 
 drove or rode resplendent, while the gilded 
 buttons of his dark green coat used to shine 
 in the morning sun. 
 
 It was amidst these scenes of mimic 
 warfare that the best side of Mat O'Halloran 
 came out, and given that he had not at 
 the time transgressed the eighth or other 
 Commandment flagrantly, it was Mat this 
 and Mat that. What a good fellow Mat is ! 
 What a lot of esprit de corps he has, and 
 there is no trouble too great for him ! 
 C^exes," let it be remembered, being paid, and 
 that on a liberal scale). But it was in the
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 149 
 
 betting and horse-dealing transactions that he 
 showed the seamy side. In the perquisites 
 he took and received between officer and 
 dealer ; in the vamped - up animals he 
 managed to foist on the unsuspecting 
 Cornet, contrary to the advice of his 
 Captain ; in the use and abuse he made of 
 racing information, and in the manner he 
 conducted the commissions often entru^ed 
 to him bv the officers from sheer idleness. 
 ''Mat was going up to town, and w^ould 
 find out all about it," they said ; it was so 
 much easier to deliver a verbal message to 
 Mat, as you were hurrying off to a field day, 
 than to write a note or send a telegram, 
 and wait the reply that you were to act 
 on. Often found out, more often suspected, 
 and having just enough by him to square 
 the Nemesis of the time being, as far as his
 
 150 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 irretrievable expulsion from barracks went, 
 Mat lived a charmed life. If forage bills 
 for goods delivered and ordered by Mat were 
 inconceivably wrong, or cooked, Mat had 
 generally enough at his back to arrange 
 with the contractor, or cunning enough, 
 aided by the faulty memory and badly-kept 
 accounts of captains as well as subalterns, to 
 see himself through. 
 
 He had been entrusted with bets he never 
 put on, but as the horse or horses usually 
 did not win, that seldom affected him. Once 
 or twice he had found himself in a hole ; 
 and once or twice a bookmaker, with whom 
 he had entrusted the money or commission, 
 had, according to his plausible tale, broken 
 and fled to France, or died of drink or heart 
 disease. Found out in a fraud, or com- 
 plained of by one of the younger officers.
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 151 
 
 he was generally sent for to ''the office," 
 and, appearing in the Stiggins suit, waited, 
 chatting with the rest of the prisoners out- 
 side, until he was called in. To have his 
 ''name put on the gate" was, of course, the 
 worst punishment that could be meted out 
 to him ; but then there was the alternative 
 of migrating to out-quarters, or vice versa, 
 and turning up there smiling with the latest 
 news of hunters arrived, chargers " cast," 
 balls in preparation, and what not ; and 
 there he would live in temporary retreat 
 until his sentence had expired, or the next 
 regimental move was made. Once he dis- 
 appeared, flagrante delicto, for nearl}^ a 
 year ; but I think that, on that occasion, 
 he was more frightened than hurt, or, 
 rather, knew more than his judges did. As 
 a civilian, of course, no defaulter-sheet re-
 
 152 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 corded his villanies ; but had one, or rather 
 several, of them existed, you might have 
 turned them over and selected at random 
 passages such as these, — 
 
 (He had come home from India in 1865 
 and had been discharged at Canterbury, 
 and therein commenced his career as the 
 regimental man.) 
 
 " Canterbury, 1865. — Drunk and dis- 
 orderly in barracks, and resisting the prove. 
 Severely reprimanded, and his name to be 
 put on the gate for two months. 
 
 '* Giving false description and character 
 of a horse to Cornet Johnson. Ordered to 
 take back the same, and refund the price 
 to Cornet Johnson pending further proceed- 
 ings." 
 
 *' Colchester, 1868. — Being against orders
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 153 
 
 in the officers' mess quarters, and having in 
 his possession a half bottle of champagne 
 for which he was unable to account. Sen- 
 tenced to have his name put on the gate 
 for one month." 
 
 And so the record would have run on. 
 
 Altogether, he was the most trusted and 
 mistrusted man in the regiment. Had he 
 been a bold speculator, or had he had a 
 head for figures, he would have amassed 
 money, but he had not.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "Go, strip him, lad; now, sir, I think you'll declare 
 Such a picture you never set eyes on before." 
 
 '* Is that Tattersall's list you have got there, 
 Peter ? " queried Captain Watson one morn- 
 ing, himself a fine rider, a good soldier, and 
 an Irish gentleman of small estate, to Lieu- 
 tenant Peter Godsall, better known as " the 
 Squire." 
 
 "No, it'sSewell's." 
 
 " Well, then, if you are on ' the buy,' 
 you'd better let me stand in and do the 
 bargaining and betting for you ; that sale 
 will just fit in nicely with Punchestown, and 
 you pay the exes. Kecollect the 'roarer' 
 you bought from the doctor."
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 155 
 
 The Squire was a burly, good-natured soul, 
 whose chief aim and object in life was to live 
 up to the form of the regiment. If it fell 
 short in the matter of " form " in any parti- 
 cular line, he would quote what he thought 
 it ought to be, taking pattern from the 
 King's Hussars, or the " Green Horse ; " but 
 he himself would never set the Thames on 
 fire, or become a judge of horse-flesh. Mone^^ 
 he had, and spent it, and he was of a good 
 old Shropshire family. Now, Captain Watson 
 would have liked very muchly to have got 
 his exes, out of Peter John with Punches- 
 town thrown in, say a tenner for the job, 
 all on the '' square," for Watson was a strictly 
 honourable man, and would have studied 
 and carried out the lieutenant's interest to a 
 successful issue. But the Squire was always 
 now a trifle suspicious in matters of horse-
 
 156 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 flesh, having been done in a gentlemanly 
 way not once or twice by his brother officers 
 already ; therefore he was obdurate, and 
 thought he knew better. So it was decided 
 that he should write over to Hartington in 
 Dublin, the regimental dealer, and ask him 
 to take a run up to Drogheda, and there vet 
 aud give his opinion on a certain brown 
 horse. The Squire had been over in Ireland 
 the year before, and, while staying in the 
 neighbourhood of Drogheda, on sporting fare 
 intent, had observed during a run, of which 
 he never saw the end, a big, raw, ragged- 
 hipped, unfinished four-year-old, going well 
 in front with a fair turn of speed, and, in 
 spite of some mistakes and bungling, making 
 some great " lepping ; " but, then, he was 
 being steered by Ker of the Royals, the best 
 heavy-weight rifler in the north of Ireland
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 157 
 
 (and in a great many other places too), who 
 had been given the mount by his cheery friend 
 and host John Lyndsay to help to make the 
 young one. This was the animal that was 
 to be sold at Sewell's, with some others from 
 the same stud, unless previously disposed of 
 by private contract. Said the Squire, — 
 
 " We are going to Leeds and Birmingham 
 iu October, and I shall want a good doer in 
 Warwickshire or Yorkshire, if not a couple 
 more, and I ought to get this animal at a 
 reasonable figure." 
 
 Peter was not averse to a bargain either. 
 
 A few days later came the answer, that 
 the horse had been examined, schooled, and 
 approved of, and that the upset price, the 
 very lowest was one hundred and thirty 
 sovs., Mr Lyndsay averring that, having 
 parted already with one, he would be
 
 158 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 breaking his sale at the last moment in 
 Dublin by just sending up two — the worst, 
 of course. 
 
 The bargain being made, next came the 
 question of (a) his letting the horse come 
 over by himself, for Mr Lyndsay had wired, 
 — " Send over ; I do not deliver ; " (6) send- 
 ing over his own groom, or his second 
 servant on pass ; (c) ascertaining if Mat 
 O'Halloran was free to follow his fortunes, 
 or if he was engaged in some scheme or 
 enterprise by one of the other officers, and 
 sending him over. The first alternative 
 was never entertained for a moment ; the 
 second was discussed between the Squire 
 and Jim Miller, his stud-groom, as follows : — 
 
 "Jim, you will have to go over by 
 Greenore and fetch me back a brown horse 
 from Banbridge. I bought him yesterday ;
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 159 
 
 saw him last winter with a big man on him ; 
 he's a real clinker. You'd had better come 
 back by Belfast, better boats, and more 
 convenient." Peter always started with 
 the fictitious idea that he had, and 
 meant to have, his own way in the stable 
 management. 
 
 " Well, Captain," said Jim in answer — 
 Jim always called him Captain, Peter liked 
 it, and there was a sort of tacit understand- 
 ing between them about it — "you know 
 I don't object myself; there is nothing 1 
 would not do to oblige you ; sure I'm 
 cleaning your breeches and tops, Captain, 
 which it's the duty of your first servant 
 to do, and I'm waiting always dressed at 
 luncheon when you have ladies to your 
 rooms. No, Captain, it's not the journey 
 I mind, but who's to look after your horses
 
 i6o The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 if I go away, and you having such a chance 
 with them for the Kegimental Cup and 
 Hunters' Stakes ? Some one that under- 
 stands the business must attend to them for 
 sure, and I get little or no work out of 
 your second servant Steele, Captain. Sure, 
 though it's against the regimental orders, 
 Mr Davidson has the ' saving clause ' 
 in for all his own parades, mounted or 
 foot, * second servants to attend/ and he 
 likes well them foot parades, the Adjutant 
 does, and repeats them often, he does, and 
 and it's some days, Captain, divil the sight 
 I have of Steele till evening stables. The 
 Adjutant has him for this, and the sergeant- 
 major takes him away for that ; but he'd 
 get drunk anyways, and maybe be took up 
 by the provo in Belfast, and where would 
 we be, getting an official letter about him, or
 
 The Last of the Cornets, i6i 
 
 maybe a telegram at the back end of the 
 week to send over an escort for him, to 
 convoy him over here a prisoner? No, 
 Captain, if yell be guided by me, ye'll just 
 send Mat O'Halloran over for the horse, not 
 that I'd trust him further nor I could see 
 him in the matter of a deal, but this here 
 is plain sailing." 
 
 The amendment was therefore carried 
 mm, con., and Mat O'Halloran received 
 his " sailing orders." 
 
 Perceive, then, about two o'clock on a fine 
 afternoon towards the end of April, Mat 
 O'Halloran mounted on what appeared to be 
 a slashing brown horse, picking his way along 
 the muddy and slippery streets of Belfast 
 towards the suburban quarters of Eichard 
 M'Goveney, dealer. Covered, as the quad- 
 ruped was, with rug and hood, and with his 
 VOL. I. L
 
 1 62 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 koee-caps on, while his thick, coarse tail was 
 straw plaited, it was little you could make 
 of him ; however, you saw something, and 
 that pleased you ; you guessed the rest, 
 building up a structure of shape, make, and 
 quality, with little more to go upon than 
 had Professor Owen when he built up the 
 structure of the megatherium from a few 
 fossil bones. With the aid of Lyndsay's 
 helper Mat had had him thus arrayed, in 
 the toilette appropriate to steam-boat and 
 horse box, and if he was to be ** dressed " 
 again, it was not by Mat's hands that it 
 would be done.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Between two horses which cloth bear him best." 
 
 EiCHARD M'GovENEY was a little fat, round- 
 about man, with sandy hair and complexion, 
 and short trimmed whiskers; a clean-shaded 
 mouth and chin, aod a sharp straight nose, 
 showing, however, the red danger-flag as- 
 sociated with spirits at the end of it. He 
 affected a very clean, half - sporting kit, 
 which could have been worn in any rank, 
 surmounted by a neat and black pot hat. 
 He might have passed in the streets for a 
 sharp man of business of horsey propen- 
 sities, had not his yellow foxy eyes " given 
 him away."
 
 164 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 Dick never threw his leg over a quadru- 
 ped of any sort now. He was a keen judge, 
 standing on the flags, or pacing the spongy 
 meadows belonging to some dealing farmer ; 
 the rest he did through his trusted head- 
 man, or from the cushions of his little 
 roundabout gig, seated on which he was a 
 regular attendant at all the near meets of 
 the County Down Staghounds, dispensing 
 even wonderful liqueurs and well - made 
 sandwiches to cold and hungry sportsmen. 
 And, what with his quick-trotting thorough- 
 bred, and knowledge of the lanes and cross 
 roads, he often saw as much of the hounds 
 as some of the hunt themselves. 
 
 With this he had the name of being a 
 jolly fellow, and lived up to it. After the 
 first greetings had been passed, it was Mat 
 was waiting for Dick to ask him what he
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 165 
 
 had got there, and it was Dick was waiting 
 for Mat to blurt out the job he was on. 
 But the difficulty was solved by Dick ask- 
 ing Mat to just go on into the " parlour," 
 where he would find a hot leo: of mutton 
 and potatoes, and he would be with him in 
 a minute, when he had seen after the horse. 
 Now, the steamboat to Greenore had not 
 agreed with Mat, and he had had on arrival 
 little or no time for breakfast at Banbridge 
 — just enough to look at it, get the horse 
 dressed, and catch the Belfast train. There- 
 fore was he nothing loth when pressed by 
 Dick just to take a " half-one " raw before 
 commencing, and a good stiff one during 
 dinner, of *'old Comber." 
 
 " And now," said Dick, when he per- 
 ceived that Mat was no longer bolting his 
 food, and had settled down into a steady
 
 1 66 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 pace of eating and drinking, " Where are 
 ye from, and what are ye after ? " 
 
 " From the Moy," said Mat. 
 
 " Well, I didn't see you there," said Dick ; 
 " I was home from there yesterday myself." 
 
 "No more didn't I see you," responded 
 Mat; "and me on the streets all day." 
 Both were bluffing. Dick himself had not 
 been there at all. He saw that Mat was, 
 for some reason or other, " contrairy," and 
 waited for the statement he knew^ would 
 come in time, true or false. Rising at 
 length, with the remark that Mat could 
 hardly be warmed through yet, and that 
 he would see if his horse had been wisped 
 over, he rang the bell for Martha, and 
 ordered up more whisky and hot water, and 
 by the time he had returned, found that 
 Mat had *' mixed," and had stretched his
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 167 
 
 legs before the fire, having reraoved him- 
 self into an arm-chair. . The statement was 
 not long in coming. It was not exactly 
 premeditated ; but the father of lies must 
 have suggested it to Mat, and full of self- 
 confidence and whisky hot, he took it. 
 
 "Well, it's just my own horse, and Til 
 keep you no longer in the dark," volun- 
 teered the regimental man ; for having 
 peddled long, so to speak, in horses, he 
 caught at the bait of appearing to own a 
 really good one, and he was judge enough 
 to fancy that he had been riding something 
 particularly good that day. It was mere 
 swagger on his part, but he stuck to his 
 guns boldly, giving many reasons for his 
 purchase, that he had won a bit of money 
 racing, that the owner was selling ofi" in a 
 hurry, and that his Cousin Mick had given
 
 1 68 The Last of the Cornets, 
 
 him the straight tip, etc., etc. The owner- 
 ship having been acknowledged and ac- 
 quiesced in, it was now Dick's turn ; and 
 the horse that Mat had been riding, 
 " Montalto by Minstrel," was exactly the 
 horse he wanted for a Scotch customer, 
 a welter w^eight, and a man w^ho gave long 
 prices and to whom he was about to 
 despatch one of very similar appearance, 
 viz., Derryboye, and got, moreover, by the 
 same sire ; but while Derryboye was out 
 of a clean bred harness mare, Montalto was 
 out of that fine old hunting mare of 
 Captain MacFarlane's, well known with the 
 Wards, and over the pastures of Royal 
 Meath. In his visit to the stable, Dick had 
 recognised the quod as one he had often 
 seen carry Mr Lyndsay splendidly at the 
 latter end of the season, as long as the stag-
 
 The Last of the Cornets, 169 
 
 hounds remained in sight, or could be 
 viewed from the cushions of his little gig, 
 as he nicked in at some cross road, and he 
 coveted him accordingly. A less astute 
 dealer, a gentleman certainly, would have 
 commenced by crabbing Montalto ; not so, 
 however, did Dick M'Goveney. After 
 revolving the matter in his fertile brain, 
 he spread the net that should eventually 
 land Montalto in one of his own warm 
 stalls. 
 
 It was by praising Mat and his judgment 
 in picking up such an excellent quod that 
 he began ; then here and there by criticis- 
 ing that point, and much misdoubting this 
 or that quality, he managed adroitly to take 
 the gilt from off the gingerbread, conclud- 
 ing by averring that he possessed a faster, 
 a cleverer, and a better bred one bv the
 
 1 70 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 same sire in his own stable, and so like 
 outside, that he would bet Mat a sov. he 
 would not know the difference, each having 
 only a sheet on ; at any rate he should 
 come and see his clipper in the stall. That 
 there was an extraordinary resemblance 
 between them, Mat at once acknowledged, 
 and without going into all the details in 
 which they resembled and differed from 
 each other, and which an owner of both 
 might have discussed on a Sunday afternoon 
 at Stables, or over the walnuts and wine, 
 Suffice it to say that granting the great 
 similarity, the points of difference lay 
 mainly in the inherent excellence of the 
 one over the other. 
 
 The dealer's horse, Derryboye, was the 
 darker in colour of the two, his coat was 
 finer and more silky ; being the taller and
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 171 
 
 lengthier, he showed more daylight ; to a 
 novice he looked the better bred one, and 
 as if, of the Leicestershire stamp, he could 
 have galloped away from the other ; there 
 was no apparent reason why he should not 
 have been " a performer," but he had not 
 the clean flat legs or the great hindquarters 
 of his confrere in the next stall, who, on 
 shorter limbs, stood nearly as high, sifffi- 
 ciently so for them both to be described as 
 about sixteen hands, and who, with a deeper 
 chest, a shorter barrel, looked a stayer all 
 over. Both were equally chronicled as five 
 years old, with stars upon their foreheads. 
 But while Montalto had been carefully 
 schooled, and successfully ridden to hounds, 
 Derryboye had been neither the one nor 
 the other. He had been handed as a three- 
 year-old over to the mercies of a drunken
 
 172 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 travelling trainer, who had once had the 
 name of being first rate, and who, drunk or 
 sober, would get up upon anything foaled, 
 that is, if he had been previously 
 ** primed." 
 
 Jo Dawson's experience had lain almost 
 entirely amongst the half-bred and ill-fed 
 horses of small farmers, and this son of 
 Minstrel had nearly proved too much for 
 him, getting rid of him once or twice, and 
 at other times requiring of necessity to be 
 given in to when the priming process had 
 gone too far to allow of a successful fight on 
 his, the trainer's, part, so he handed him over 
 with his temper completely spoilt. He 
 would generally go well enough on the roads 
 or with another horse alongside, and there 
 he was at his best, and seldom showed the 
 " cloven foot."
 
 The Last of the Cornets. i ']2i 
 
 Jo and the groom had taught him the 
 rudiments, but they did not consist of much 
 more than getting over six or seven easy 
 fences of sorts, and those, too, led by his 
 stable companion on the way to and fro 
 from the castle meadows, where there was 
 some fine galloping ground. 
 
 But the hunting season was commencing, 
 and his owner's son, just fresh from Oxford, 
 was resolved to show him hounds, and to 
 go in front with them too. With the first 
 day's hunting, troubles and difiiculties arose ; 
 the Oxonian found him a handful, and some- 
 thing very difterent from the straight-going 
 seasoned hunters he had hired from Charley 
 Symond's or Jo Toilet's yards. The troubles 
 and difiiculties did not end until he had 
 been " passed on." Sometimes he would go 
 for a mile or two pretty well, when he was
 
 1^4 The Last of the Co7'nets. 
 
 in compaii}', and fences were propitious, and 
 then you fancied that for once he was going 
 to give you a good day by way of a change ; 
 then, perhaps, if he was disappointed of his 
 place, and kept waiting, or if you had to 
 turn him round from an awkward flax hole 
 lying at the far side of a fence, and take him 
 elsewhere, he invariably refused, and, by 
 vigorous signs and tokens, asserted that he 
 infinitely preferred jumping into the flax 
 hole, and that nothing on earth would in- 
 duce him to " offer " at any other place. 
 Walk up to an awkward fence he never 
 would. So he was " passed on," and after 
 similar performances in the hands of two 
 other gentlemen, who were morally certain 
 that their predecessors in ownership had 
 treated him wrongly, he found himself in 
 the hands of Dick M'Govenev at a reduced
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 175 
 
 price the succeeding winter, who also erred 
 in imao^inins^ that the evil habits contracted 
 could be permanently cured by his particular 
 system. 
 
 Far from it ; they had now become in- 
 grained. Various severe lickings had only 
 further spoilt his nerves, and he had become 
 more useless to buy. Twice had M'Goveney 
 lent him out with the option of a buy, a^d 
 twice had he returned to him unbouo-ht ; 
 the horse's credit was blown upon in the 
 north, and it would be useless to send him 
 up to Sewell's, where he would be certainly 
 " spotted" by some of the northern division. 
 There remained only to sell him as a hunter 
 at the Dublin horse show to the Saxon, when 
 the opportune order arrived from Mr Baird 
 for three or four trappers of different sorts 
 and that if there was anything like a good-
 
 176 The Last of I he Cornels. 
 
 looking one to hack for a few months, and 
 that was a good hunter, too, he would not 
 mind another. Behind M'Goveney's pre- 
 mises lay three or four small fields, separated 
 by easy fences from each other, and at right 
 angles to them were constructed a " double," 
 a small water jump, and a low stone wall. 
 These fields were designated by M'Goveney 
 " the home farm," and it was here that, by 
 bitter experience imparted to him, Derry- 
 boye understood that the fences were fairly 
 easy, and that it was better to do them at 
 once than ofi*er any futile opposition. 
 
 The examination and mutual appraise- 
 ment of the two browns having gone on 
 until each of our worthies opined that he 
 had said just enough and not too much, 
 Dick M'Goveney, whose yellow eyes had 
 roved from the horses to Mat, and from
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 177 
 
 Mat to the horses, while scheme after 
 scheme, and alternative after alternative 
 lay before him, proposed, in an ojff-hand 
 sort of way, that Mat should see Derry- 
 boye lepped and galloped, adding that the 
 afternoon was young yet ; and he thereupon 
 inveigled him into another stable, "just to 
 look over one or two late arrivals from 
 Koscommon," while he answered an '* im- 
 portant business letter," in what he called 
 his office — in reality to give the orders to, 
 and lay down a strict programme for, his 
 satellites to follow. Arrived on the scene 
 of action, the great brown had almost 
 started in a fast canter — pulling at his 
 bridle and shaking his head in a sort of 
 " why don't you let me go " way — while, 
 fifty yards in front of him, ridden by stable- 
 boy No. 2, there galloped, as if casually, a 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 rather varminty-looking grey hunter, whose 
 short- clocked tail and much-cropped mane, 
 and various blemishes behind and before, 
 portrayed that he had done the state some 
 service, and probably often been up for sale. 
 Starting to the right hand, one or two 
 places are easily done — the brown horse 
 palpably rushing them, and quickening 
 rather more than less until he reaches his 
 companion's girths, when they take the 
 well-known fences that are left together ; 
 once round has now been accomplished, and 
 as they get towards the centre of the circle, 
 from which there is a straight run home, 
 they turn at a slower pace, stable-boy No. 2 
 gradually dropping behind and pulling off; 
 the low stone wall is easily accomplished, 
 and the water at a fly, but nearing the 
 double the great galloper seems to go
 
 The Last of the Cornets. 179 
 
 shorter, and plant his feet a bit, just hesi- 
 tate a little, as if he missed his stable com- 
 panion, and was not quite sure of his mind, 
 but a vigorous reminder from the spurs of 
 his rider, well sent home, and the sight of 
 satellite No. 3 in his dirty, braceless shirt, 
 armed with something that reminded him 
 of an ash plant, settled the question, and 
 the double is negotiated with something of 
 a scramble, and the stable-yard reached at 
 a trot. 
 
 The scene is again shifted to the parlour, 
 and a final " mixing" is inauo;urated. Mat 
 denotes a proclivity for cigars in preference 
 to pipes, and Dick unlocks a drawer in 
 whicli a packet of the same lie concealed 
 amidst special letters, bills, and a roll of 
 bank notes and gold, which he takes good 
 care that Mat shall see. It would be
 
 i8o The Last of the Cornets. 
 
 tedious to relate how Dick just offered to 
 buy Montalto straight, and how Mat (natur- 
 ally), refusing anything but a price he 
 knew would not be offered, played the game 
 of brag until a hint of an exchange, with 
 £10 thrown in, was just dropped like the 
 flavouring suspicion of vanilla is by a skil- 
 ful chef into some culinary triumph. Mat 
 metaphorically smelled the bait, but would 
 have none of it ; but it was there, and he 
 sniffed again — tije cash-box was hard by, 
 and the punch had made him rash — so it 
 came about that Montalto went to Scotland, 
 and Dick took the other brown to Alder- 
 shot, with half-a-dozen five-pound notes 
 and ten good sovs. in the spacious pockets 
 of his fatigue suit, while Dick M'Goveney 
 locked up with the cigars, the balance of the 
 cash, and his other important documents,
 
 The Last of the Cornets, i8i 
 
 a receipt from Mat O'Halloran for forty 
 pounds, part price of a brown horse by 
 Minstrel, sixteen hands, and five years old, 
 etc., duly dated and signed. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH,
 
 v 
 
 I
 
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