Every body that iver rode to a fox-hound, knows that it’s the pace that kills; and, for two miles, Dick and I crossed the country neck and neck, takin’ every thing _in stroke_ as the Lord sent it. No wonder, when we came to a cross-road, that both were dead baten, and that Dick called out, for the love of God, to stop for a minute or two that we might get second wind for a fresh start. Down we sate upon the ditch; and when I got breath enough, I began to abuse Dick Macnamara like a pickpocket. “Arrah,” says I, “what sins have I committed, that I’m to be ruinated through you? If iver the divil had a fast hould of a sinner, it’s yourself, Dick! Was there iver a man so asily put in the ready way to make a fortune? Wasn’t the lady med out--the rough work done--and sorra thing for you to do, but sit like a gintleman quietly in the chaise, pay year lady some tender attention, and keep her mouth stuffed with a pocket-handkerchif. And how beautiful ye put your fut in it! Oh, Holy Joseph!--to run away with a tradesman’s-wife, and the mother of five childer into the bargain!” He began mutterin’ something about a mistake, and talked about blue bonnets and yalla ones. “What are we to do?” says I, interruptin’ him. “Arrah, have done wid yer balderdash an’ yer bonnets;--havn’t ye made a pretty _gommoque_ * of yerself? Where are we to head to? and how are we to chate the gallows? Blessed Bridget!--to be hanged in the flower of my youth, for runnin’ away with the mother of a family!” * Anglice--an idiot. Before I had done spakin’, we hears a carriage cornin’ up at splittin’ speed. We ducked into the ditch to let it pass--and at one look I knew it to be the very chay we had brought with us on our unfortunit expedition. The horses had run off; and as they passed us at a gallop, we heard the tailor’s wife shoutin’ a thousand murders. “Arrah! what’s to be done at all at all,” says I, as the carriage cantered on. “I haven’t the ghost of a rap about me. What money have you, Dick?” “Five or six shillins,” says he, “to pay the turnpikes, and a light guinea for the marriage money.” “Ah, then, ye won’t require it, Dick, _avourneeine_,” says I. “Any little job in future ye want from the clargy, they’ll trate ye to it for nothin’. It’s a comfort when a man comes to the gallows, that he’s provided with a priest.” But what need I bother ye with all the misfortune that kem over us? Half the time we lay out in barns, or under hay-stacks; for if we ventured into the parlour of a publie-house, the divil a thing ye would hear talked of but the attempt upon the tailor’s wife--with a reward of fifty pound for the intended murderers, and a description of their persons.