|The man might have been set down a lazy wayfarer indeed who would have sojourned a second day at that pleasant hostlerie, whose sign-board displayed the spirited representation we have copied. Mark Antony avowed that “he had never closed an eye,” while his companion admitted the enjoyment of a short, but not sweet season of forgetfulness, when, according to the confessions of the captain, the insect tribe had assailed his person with such ferocity, that, had they only combined their efforts, “and pulled one way, they must have dragged him into the floor.” No wonder, then, that the journey was resumed at cockcrow. England was the destination; and the route was accordingly directed towards a neighbouring seaport, from which a passage in a trading vessel to Liverpool might be obtained. At that period--one short to look back to--the transit of the Channel was held to be a daring exploit; and, in Irish estimation, England was indeed, a land beyond the seas. Whether business or pleasure formed the inducement, the latter must be considerable, before a votary of St. Patrick would venture upon “realms unknown and great,” therefore was the fosterer’s satisfaction, in discovering that Shemus Rhua was an accomplished traveller, and also that, in earlier life, the gallant captain had visited “the great metropolis.” “It’s now three-and-twenty years ago,” concluded the ratcatcher, with a sigh, “and, upon my conscience, to look back, Mark dear, it appears like yesterday.” “And what brought you to England, Shemus?” said the fosterer. “Why, I think,” replied the captain, “a gentleman who has directed me generally from the cradle. He keeps, they say, a warm house; and, though he’s the best friend they have, the clargy are eternally abusing him.” “Well, by your own account, copteeine, your guide was none of the best. The errand, I hope, was better?” “Neeil an suggum,” * returned the ratcatcher, “I went to run away with an heiress.” * Paraphrased--“We’ll not say much about that.” “Well done, captain.” “Stop--I don’t mean myself, but my master, and ye know, that’s the same thing.” “Who was the heiress?” “Devil have them that knows! Any body that came in our way.” “And did you succeed?” “Succeed!” exclaimed the ratcatcher; “Upon my soul, only we gave leg-bail, he would have been hanged, and I left for transportation.” “_He!_--who was he, Shemus?” “Why, who but my ould master’s son, Dick Macnamara.” “And the expedition was unfortunate?” “Unfortunate! how could it be otherwise?” replied the captain. “Of all the unlucky devils ever born under a cross-grained star, Dick Macnamara, you were the most unlucky!” “Is he dead?” said the fosterer.