"Well done, well done! They are over it!" he cried, thumping the rail before him with his gloved hand.

A roar had gone up from the people around and below them as the brook was crossed. A silence followed so intense that you might have fancied you heard the thunder of the horses' feet on the smooth turf, a mile away, though they and their riders had dwindled to the faintest speck of colour.

At the stone wall Pegasus had risen and sailed over it, the Blackbird balked for a second. For a second men's hearts seemed to stop, and Lord Cashel bit his lips till the blood ran down. But no, Miley had thrown himself forward on the horse's neck and backed him a little. Man and horse rose in the air, and swifter than the flight of an arrow were on the track of the bay, who, in the momentary delay, had got a dozen lengths ahead. Now Miles settled down in the saddle and gave the horse his head. With long splendid strides they gained on Pegasus and his rider. Closer and closer up. The wearer of the blue and silver glanced back uneasily and caught a glimpse of the Blackbird's staring eyeballs. He began lashing the sweating sides of the bay. Miles never lifted his whip. The heart of the horse answered too well the heart of the man. Now the horses were neck and neck, and the crowd began to moan like the surge of the sea. Hoarse inarticulate cries broke from the swaying mass. Lord Cashel heard ringing in his ears like a million bells: "The Blackbird wins! The Blackbird wins!" The green and gold were ahead now. He could see his colours flashing in the sunlight as the horses neared the winning-post. A length ahead, two lengths ahead, three lengths ahead. The Blackbird shot past the post, and the first sound out of all that hubbub that reached my Lord Cashel's ears was the quiet voice beside him : Well won, by Jove, and well ridden. The match is yours, Cashel."

The two men went down side by side to the broad stretch of turf, where Miles still sat in his saddle looking happy and proud. He went to speak to Lord Cashel as the latter came near.

"I've won you the race, my Lord," he said, "and now I'm ready to go back where I came from."

The escort, the one gloomy spot in a bright day, stood around him waiting, each man's foot ready for the stirrup. It was the Duke who waved them back.

"Is the victor of the day to go without a bumper of wine?" he said, and at his gesture the mounted men retired once more. But after they had drank, the Duke still kept eyeing the horse as one fascinated.

"Sell him to me, Cashel," he cried at last; "you shall name your own price."

'You must buy the man too, Duke," laughed my Lord. 'And that I will if I can buy his affections from you to me. What do you say, Mr. Rebel ?"

It was a strange sight to see these two fine gentlemen laughing and jesting in the sunlight with the man who had emerged from a prison grave and would return to it. Miles listened to the banter between the two with a grave smile and wistful eyes that looked far away to the hills.

Did the passionate desire of the man for freedom communicate itself to the heart of the creature that loved him? Who can say? But certain it is that suddenly the Blackbird grew restive. He began to rear and kick, and in a moment of time he had cleared himself a space with his heels. There before him was the sloping country with the hills on the horizon. Before anyone knew what was about to happen the horse was off. The crowd opened for him as by magic. People could see that his rider had little control of him. The utmost he could do was to keep his seat and steer straight. But before the clumsy escort had one foot in its stirrups the Blackbird had gained the open, and that would be a rare horse that should follow. Then the fellows were so hustled and impeded by the crowd that had opened widely to let the Blackbird pass, that more minutes were wasted in setting out than they could ever overtake.

As for the Duke, he roared with laughter to see the troopers trying to mount.

"As well follow the lightning," he said, and then learning the Blackbird was out of sight he threw off a bumper to his safe disappearance.

"I can swear to Musgrave," he said, that the horse ran away with the man, and the flight was no trick of your fellow's at all. Well, I suppose our bargain is off for the present, but if the two turn up safe and sound one of these days I shall take man and horse off your hands, if you please; aye, and shelter them from the law too, if necessary."

A few days later the Blackbird was sent home, a small boy leading him, and in a truly sweet-tempered mood. Perhaps he was conscious that the people were making ballads in his praise. But Miles did not return till the troubles were over, and then my Lord's ægis was enough to protect him. There were many stories where he had lain hidden while the mounted patrols were searching the country for him. Some said he was within the park walls of Shelton and fed with meats from the kitchens. But that, perhaps, was because he married Gracie O'Malley the very day her young mistress became Lady Cashel. KATHARINE TYNAN.

With heavy hearts they brought him back
The while he weary sighed,

Along the winding meadow track

Once more; at dawn he died.
Nor ever again he'll rake the hay,
Nor till the kindly sod;

But well I know he walks to-day
The sunlit fields of God.

NORA TYNAN O'MAHONY.

TH

THE LITTLE WAVES

HE sweep of lonely hills stood erect, aloof, expectant. Below them rich verdure fell away to sedge and marsh, and then, further on, came the strand, its smoothness broken by the scattered rocks, big and little, clothed and bare, washed for ever by the vast stretch of glistening sea. Over all, through all, there shimmered the veiled light of one of those wondrous days that sometimes drift into our sober, neutral summer-lent as it were from the Tir na nOge-a day with a fleeting, elusive charm that defies all rivalry of the blazing splendour and flaunting brilliancy of boastful Southern climes.

Nature seemed hardly to breathe, so hushed and awed she was, as though spell-bound by the blissful presence of some visitant from a heavenly sphere. One thought of some parted soul arresting its heavenward flight over this green island of its birth-lingering even at the threshold of paradise for one last, long earthward glance, while through the wide-flung, welcoming gates a rich flood of celestial radiance streams in the wake of a loving thought, down to that cherished shore. And behold! all that region is suffused with the tender glory; nature's crude, garish, every-day beauty melts into virginal softness, and glows with the soft and delicate hues of opal and amethyst, a vision of peace and love.

The very ocean lay so still, in a blue, hazy calm, as to lull one into forgetfulness of its latent powers. Its great expanse showed no motion save the ripple of the smallest of wavelets on the yellow sands. Ever in and out they moved in a limpid dance to their own liquid music; now gliding in, now trickling out, lapping a rock with caressing touch, meandering through miniature creeks, gurgling through tiny canons, for ever seeking, questioning, restless, unsatisfied.

All through the noontide hours the enchanted tones blend and vary a thousand fold. Then they slowly melt away, and with the first chill touch of approaching evening the scene changes subtly. The air becomes keener, less balmy; the masses of colour grow deeper, the shadows stronger, and away out far the sea seems to heave as with a long-breathed sigh. Then some large waves roll in-and the smaller ones cry to a greater: "Ah, you are just the one we wanted. You are wise and travelled, and can tell us surely. All along this coast we once had little human playfellows; they came down from the

green fields, and raced and danced with us; they came freely and were not afraid. Now the shore is lonely and deserted; seldom comes a human being; seldomer still one to dally here and play with us. Where are they now, O big brother wave? Surely we were pleasant friends and kindly companions. Where have they gone?"

Then the strong wave rolled, and reared himself, and shook his white crest. "Who, indeed, could tell you if not I? Have I not followed them on their farthest travels? Listen to me. From the centre, from the north and the south, from the east and the west they come, hundreds of them, and again many hundreds, for one last time they come down to the shore, and go away in the big ships which my strong brothers and I carry for days and days swiftly to another land. Why do they go, and do they miss you? Well, some are glad to go, and some are very sad; but in that other land few of them have time to think of you little wavelets or of these yellow sands. Some forget there ever was such a place, and yet some there are who carry the shores on which you play in their hearts like a picture to be thought of in quiet moments. My good friend, the North Wind, tells me many things he has seen himself on his way across that continent, or has heard from the other winds at their conferences. He says that some are lost indeed; while some are more firmly riveted than before with love to their motherland. Some go down, down, down, deeper than our greatest depths; and others prosper. Once, hurrying past a shed in a great city, my friend saw there dying of fever one with whom he had often raced through the fields not far from here, and he could not help whispering in his ear to remind him of it. And then the young man cried out, begging for a breath of that sweet air of the fields and the hills he had known. And the North Wind, for all that he is so crusty, grew sorry, and shrieked a message over the sea for one of his young breezes to bring across quickly as much of that air as he could carry, and the boy died dreaming himself back here again. Well, another time my friend had an appointment at a lake beside a thronged and bustling city-a favourite rendezvous of his and he passed some tenement houses where he heard voices telling out the names of familiar places in this land over here. They were women whose voices had a harsh sound that made him look sharply at them, for the voices were loud but not cheerful; their laughter was strained, and their mirth hollow; and it struck him that in spite of the close city air their cheeks wore a brighter colour than ever in the open country here. And then... What's that, eh? Were they wrong to go, will

VOL. XXXVI.-No. 415.

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