“Well, Baby, let’s start; but pray remember one thing,--if I’m not as agreeable on the journey as I ought to be, if I don’t say as many pretty things to my pretty coz, it’s because these confounded beasts will give me as much as I can do.” “Oh, yes, look after the cattle, and take another time for squeezing my hand. I say, Charley, you’d like to smoke, now, wouldn’t you? If so, don’t mind me.” “A thousand thanks for thinking of it; but I’ll not commit such a trespass on good breeding.” When we reached the door, the prospect looked dark and dismal enough. The rain had almost ceased, but masses of black clouds were hurrying across the sky, and the low rumbling noise of a gathering storm crept along the ground. Our panting equipage, with its two mounted grooms behind,--for to provide against all accident, Mike ordered two such to follow us,--stood in waiting. Miss Blake’s horse, held by the smallest imaginable bit of boyhood, bringing up the rear. “Look at Paddy Byrne’s face,” said Baby, directing my attention to the little individual in question. Now, small as the aforesaid face was, it contrived, within its limits, to exhibit an expression of unqualified fear. I had no time, however, to give a second look, when I jumped into the phaeton and seized the reins. Mike sprang up behind at a look from me, and without speaking a word, the stablemen and helpers flew right and left. The chestnuts, seeing all free before them, made one tremendous plunge, carrying the fore-carriage clear off the ground, and straining every nut, bolt, screw, and strap about us with the effort. “They’re off now,” cried Mickey. “Yes, they are off now,” said Baby. “Keep them going.” Nothing could be easier to follow than this advice; and in fact so little merit had I in obeying it, that I never spoke a word. Down the avenue we went, at the speed of lightning, the stones and the water from the late rain flying and splashing about us. In one series of plunges, agreeably diversified by a strong bang upon the splash-board, we reached the gate. Before I had time to utter a prayer for our safety, we were through and fairly upon the high road. “Musha, but the master’s mad!” cried the old dame of the gate-lodge; “he wasn’t out of this gate for a year and a half, and look now--” The rest was lost in the clear ringing laugh of Baby, who clapped her hands in ecstasy and delight. “What a spanking pair they are! I suppose you wouldn’t let me get my hand on them?” said she, making a gesture as if to take the reins. “Heaven forbid, my dear!” said I; “they’ve nearly pulled my wrists off already.” Our road, like many in the west of Ireland, lay through a level tract of bog; deep ditches, half filled with water, on either side of us, but, fortunately, neither hill nor valley for several miles. “There’s the mail,” said Baby, pointing to a dark speck at a long distance off.