Wednesday came, and all was ready for the venture. The women stuck to us like brieks; and Oney brought the news, that for sartin Miss Figgins would attend the chapel that evening, for there was a grate pracher to hould forth. At proper time, the postehay was in the street, and Dick skrulged up in the corner of it. Three fine strappin’ boys from St. Giles’s (all first-cousins of Biddy Donovan’s) and myself, took our sate in the front windy of a porter-house, and Oney kept watch at the corner, to give us the word when her mistress would appear. Be gogstay! we had only called the seeond pint before Oney cuts by the windy, with the news that the flock were comin’ out, and the woman we wanted would be with us in less than a pig’s whisper; an’ away she pelted home, to be safe in the house,--an’ then ye know, of coorse, she would never be suspeeted. Up jumps the boys: “Here’s luck!” says I, turning down a cropper, in which they joined me. We then claps on our caubeens, and slips out of the door,--an’ sure enough, at the bottom of the street we sees two ladies comin’ forid. “Which is the woman?” says I to Dick, who was peepin’ from the wee windy in the baek of the shay. “Her in the blue bonnet,” says he. Egad, I was rather surprised at the appearance of the woman that Dick Macnamara pointed out to us. To do her justice, she was good-lookin’ enough--but, faith, she was no chicken--and nather in dress nor action what ye would expect from a reglar heiress, and, as Oney said, the biggest grocer in the city. I remembered that they said she was a Methodist--and, thinks I, maybe that’s the rason she goes so plain. Well, I gives the word to Biddy Donovan’s cousins, in a whisper, and in Irish. Divil a handier boys iver assisted in a job of the kind,--they lifts her off the pavement in a twinklin’; and, before ye could say Jack Robinson, she was fairly sated beside Dick Macnamara, with a handkerchief stuck into her mouth, to keep down the squallin’! Hoogh! off we starts--and I threw my eye over my shoulder as I was sittin’ by the driver--Miss Figgins was kickin’ like the divil---but as Dick had a fast hould of her, we didn’t mind that. “Whoop!” says Tony Braddigin--that was the postboy’s name--“Isn’t it eligint, Shemus, jewel?” says he. In troth, there never was anything better managed; for we heard afterwards that not a mortal saw anything that passed, but an ould Charley,--an’ as the Carneys ran past him--they were, ye know, Biddy Donovan’s cousins, by the mother’s side--one of them gave him the fist; an’, for a fortnight afterwards, he couldn’t tell light from darkness. “Well, by this time we were clear of the town, and it was nearly twilight. I turned round now that we were safe, to see how matters were gettin’ on within, and if Dick was makin’ love to her. Well, I put the question to him in Irish, and he answered in the same: