“Old Ike,” as he began in the lapse of time to be called throughout the Hunt, must have made a good thing of it during the winter season, in the many half-crowns and shillings with which he was presented by his riding friends, to whom he was often useful, in the way of pulling up girths, tightening curb-chains, and catching loose horses. Nay, on one occasion he is reported to have ridden a young one over the Sludge, on behalf of a cautious sportsman following his property on foot, but who, not calculating on the difficulty of clearing some fourteen feet in boots and breeches, _landed_ (if we may use the expression) up to his chin in water, and was extricated, at great personal inconvenience, by the daring pedestrian to whom he had entrusted his horse. Old red-coats, too, were amongst the perquisites freely bestowed on Ike. At one time, I have been informed, he had no less than forty of these cast-off garments in his wardrobe—the origin of many jests and much amusement, at the expense of their previous wearers. It may be supposed that Ike’s Irish experience had not failed to sharpen his powers of repartee; and many anecdotes were current anent the “retorts courteous” with which, on several occasions, he had turned the laugh against those who thought either to brow-beat or what is vulgarly termed “chaff” him. One frosty morning, at the covert-side, bidding a cordial “Good-morrow” to a certain patron not distinguished for sweetness of temper, the gentleman, who seemed to have forgotten the universal courtesy which alone gives a man a title to the name, replied by telling him to “go to ——” a place not mentioned in good company. “Faith,” says Ike, “it’s warmer there than here, at any rate; for I’m just come from it.” Struck by so strange an answer, the mounted sportsman asked the one on foot “How things were going on in those lower regions?” “Much as usual,” replied Ike, with a sly twinkle in his eye, and a glance at his interrogator, who had lately inherited a large fortune—“much as usual, and terribly crowded about the doorway. The poor all coming out, and _the rich all going in_!” The wealthy man struck spurs into his horse, and forbore to ask Ike any farther questions. But Time, which, as the poet tells us, will “rust the keenest blade,” did not fail to leave the marks of his progress upon old Ike. Hard work, hard fare, and the lapse of years eventually disqualified him for such severe exertion as that of following fox-hounds on foot; and the Earl of Castle-Cropper, with that consideration which, under his calm exterior, has always attested the warmth of his heart, gave him the appointment of earth-stopper in his establishment—an office which the old man fills thoroughly _con amore_, and for which his exceedingly active habits, his utter disregard of all conventional hours or customs, and his extraordinary familiarity with the habits of wild animals, render him peculiarly fitted.