'I'm kilt, kilt intirely!' he moaned. 'Aisy now, aisy there, your honour!' cried a voice from behind the hedge just as I had gained the reins. 'It's all a mistake, your honour, all a mistake!' 'Give the mare the whip! give the mare the whip!' cried the driver, as he strove to crawl under the seat; 'we'll all be murthered!' Instead of taking his advice, however, I held the mare steady, while a man pressed through the thin hedge and stood before us, a yet smoking gun on his shoulder. 'What's the meaning of this?' I asked coolly, for the new-comer's coolness affected me. 'Did you want to murder a person you never saw before?' 'I'm raale downright sorry, your honour,' replied the man in just such a tone as he might have used had he trod upon my toe by accident; 'but ye see you're in Wolff O'Neil's gig, an' I took ye for him.--Where's that fellow Michael?' As he said this, the man prodded the driver with the end of his gun, while I--I actually laughed outright at the strangeness of the affair. 'Go away with ye, go away!' moaned the driver. 'Murther! thaves! murther!' 'Get up with ye, an' take the reins, you gomeril you,' said the man, as he gave Michael another prod that brought him half out. 'You're as big a coward as my old granny's pet calf. Get up, an' take the reins, or I'll'---- 'Oh, don't; there, don't say nothin', for the love of heaven!' cried the driver, as he scrambled into his seat again and took the reins in his shaking hands. 'I'll do anythin' ye till me, on'y put that gun away.' 'There,' replied the man, as he lowered the gun till its mouth pointed to the ground; 'will that plase ye? Now, tell me where's Squire O'Neil?' 'He's in the town be this,' replied the driver. 'O thim politics, thim politics!' 'Hum; so he's managed to get past us, after all. Well, tell him from me, Captain Rock, that if he votes for the sarjint to-morrow, it's an ounce of lead out of this he'll be after trying to digest. Now, mind.' 'I'll tell him, captain, dear! I'll tell him,' replied the driver, as he fingered the reins and whip nervously. 'But mayn't we go on now? mayn't we go on?' 'Yis, whiniver the gentleman plases,' replied the man. 'An' I'm raale sorry, as I told your honour, I'm raale sorry at the mistake.' 'Well, I'm pleased, not sorry,' I replied, laughing, 'for if you'd hit me, it wouldn't have been at all pleasant. But let me advise you to make sure of your man next time before firing. Good-night.'