That's it Peggy, lay on him; ha! devil's cure to you! take what you've got any way--you desarve it." These latter observations were occasioned by a romping match that took place between a young laborer and a good-looking girl who was employed to drop potatoes for the men.
At length those who were engaged in the labor of the field departed in a cheerful group, and in a few minutes the noise of a horse's feet, evidently proceeding at a rapid trot, was heard coming up the boreen or avenue towards the house.
"Ay," exclaimed Burke, with a sigh, "there comes Hycy at a trot, an' the wondher is it's not a gallop.

That's the way he'll get through life, I fear; an' if God doesn't change him he's more likely to gallop himself to the Staff an' Bag (* Beggary.) than to anything else I know.

I can't nor I won't stand his extravagance--but it's his mother's fault, an' she'll see what it'll come to in the long run." He had scarcely concluded when his son entered the kitchen, alternately singing and whistling the Foxhunter's jig in a manner that betokened exuberant if not boisterous spirits.

He was dressed in top boots, a green riding-coat, yellow waistcoat, and drab cassimere small clothes--quite in jockey trim, in fact.
Hycy rather resembled his father in the lineaments of his face, and was, consequently, considered handsome.

He was about the middle size, and remarkably well proportioned.