its symbols, is the Irish wolfhound. This is
probably the animal to which Aurelius Symmachus, a Roman consul in
Britain, referred when, writing to his brother in Ireland in A.D.
391, he acknowledged the receipt of seven Irish hounds. The wolfhound
played a sinister part in the Irish history of the eighteenth
century, for, as Davis says in his poem, "The Penal Days":

Their dogs were taught alike to run
Upon the scent of wolf and friar.

The Irish wolfhound is now very scarce, and a genuine specimen is a
valued and highly coveted possession. The greyhound, too, figures
prominently in present-day sport, and in many parts of the country
are held coursing meetings, which frequently result in several
spirited contests. A famous Irish greyhound was Lord Lurgan's black
and white dog, Master McGrath. Master McGrath achieved the rare
distinction of winning the Waterloo Cup three times, in 1868, 1869,
and 1871. When it is remembered that the Waterloo Cup is to coursing
what the Liverpool Grand National is to steeplechasing, or the Epsom
Derby to flat racing, the merit of this triple performance will at
once be apparent.

Compared with the sports in which horse and hound participate, all
other outdoor pastimes in Ireland take rather a minor place. Still,
the Irishman's love of sport is diversified. Few there are who have
not many inclinations, and as a nation our taste in sport is
catholic. We take part in nearly every pastime; in many we excel. The
prize ring has fallen from its high estate, nor is it the intention
here to try to cast any glamour over it. The subject is introduced,
in a passing way, for the sole purpose of showing that, in what at
least used to be the manly art of self-defense, Ireland in days gone
by as well as at the present time has more than held her own. The
most conspicuous of the representatives of her race in this
department are perhaps Heenan, Ryan, Sullivan, Corbett, Maher,
McAuliffe, McFarland, and McGoorty. There is one other prize-fighter,
Dan Donnelly by name, who became a sort of national hero, of whom all
Irishmen of his day were not a little proud, because he laid the
English champion low, and whose performance, now haloed by the
antiquity of more than a hundred years, we may with equanimity, as
without offense, contemplate, with perhaps a sigh for the good old
times. The famous encounter between Donnelly and Cooper took place on
the Curragh, and after eleven rounds of scientific