‘“I saw you kiss your mother earth twice, Maxwell,” remarked a brother officer; “believe me, that mare of yours is not just the thing,” and here from all sides followed many good-humoured criticisms upon the jumping qualities of my friend’s prad, to which he (highly delighted at having such an opportunity afforded him “for a lark,”) lustily protested the mare should practically reply by then and there popping over the mess-table. The groom being immediately summoned, received in silence, and, as may be imagined, with staring amazement, his master’s order “to saddle the mare and bring her in.” Many of those present tried to stay the proceedings, but it was now too late; a wilful man, strong in the justice of his cause, would have his way, and in came them mare accordingly, much to the consternation of the company assembled, who heard her tramp, tramp, up the boarded passage, knocking out of it the sound of at least a troop of heavy horse. ‘Mounted by Mr. Bayley, amidst the glare of wax lights and a blazing coal fire, she actually jumped across the mess-table (a good four feet and a half) without laying an iron on it, and, landing safe on the other side, stood gentle and quiet as a lamb upon the floor, under which (as though to increase the hazard of the deed) lay a wine-cellar of from ten to twelve feet deep.’ I remember with great satisfaction that there was not a single bet on the event, and that the mare acquitted herself in the most gallant way, shaking her head and clearing her nostrils, quite pleased after having done what was required of her in the well-lighted mess-room. The quotation from the _Sporting Magazine_ was written and signed by one who, besides being the most pleasant of companions, was a first-rate sportsman. If ‘Old Pate’ should happen to read these stories of a time long past, I am sure he will recall with pleasure the days gone by. There was a distinguished cavalry regiment quartered in Ireland during the time our dépôt was wandering about the country. A young cornet joined, who, I believe, was a very good fellow, but so very Irish that his brother officers would not allow him to go out to any parties in the county. Mrs. ----, a very clever woman, was the wife of a gentleman who was proprietor of a large estate near the town where our hero’s regiment was stationed. Having previously met the young dragoon, and being delighted with his Milesian remarks, she sent him a pressing invitation to a picnic which she intended giving. After a great deal of trouble he received permission to go, but on the sole condition that he was not to speak a single word the whole time he was there. So off he started, bound by his promise to act the mute.