send a horse to Dublin to be sold, and some whim seized him to ride the animal himself, and be present at the sale. The day before he was to depart, he intimated his intention to his beloved, inquiring if she had any commands. “Going to ride to Dublin!” exclaimed the astonished Lucy. “Seventy miles at the least. Why, man, you have such a happy knack of blundering that you’ll most certainly lose your way. Good bye, Charley; I’ll never see your face again.” “Tut!” rejoined Charley indignantly, “how could I miss my way when there’s a milestone on every inch of the road from this to Dublin?” “Not on every inch, Charley,” continued the provoking girl, “only on every mile; but I always give you leave to speak twice, you know. Well, and when do you expect to reach Dublin, please the milestones?” “I shall set off to-morrow morning,” answered he, a little sulkily, “and I’ll be in Dublin the evening after.” “Humph! this is the eleventh, that will be the thirteenth. Yes; it will just do. Well, Charley, I believe I will entrust you with a letter; but you must promise and vow that you will put it into the penny-post the very evening you arrive, or I’ll not give it to you; for it must be delivered the morning after, or the Lord knows what would happen.” “You needn’t be afraid, Lucy,” answered her beau; “you know very well”---- “Oh! to be sure I do,” exclaimed she, interrupting him. “I declare I was very near forgetting all that. This evening, then, I’ll send the letter over to you; and now good-bye, and go get ready.” With the help of the milestones, as Lucy said, he arrived in Dublin on the evening he proposed, and having left his steed at Dycer’s, and seen him carefully made-up, proceeded to the Hibernian, discussed his dinner and a couple of tumblers, and then, for the poor fellow was terribly tired, sank into a slumber, and finally rose into a snore, from which he was aroused by the waiter recommending him to adjourn to his room; a piece of advice which Charley very gratefully followed. Next morning Lucy’s letter rose in judgment against him; there was only one way to atone for his neglect, and that was, to deliver it personally, no matter at what trouble or inconvenience. So, hastily dressing himself, he took the letter out of his valise, and examined the direction. He had his misgivings; it bore for its superscription the name Edward Fitzgerald, Esq. whose place of abode it indicated was number something in Dominick Street. He could not help asking himself what business had Lucy--his Lucy--corresponding with any male member of the human family whatever. Still, as any assertion of his rights in that particular would be rather premature at present, he determined to execute the commission faithfully, since he had undertaken it; but as soon as she became Mrs Malone, if he’d let such a thing occur again, then might he, Charley, be eternally doomed to a place that shall be nameless.