ame, and to whom he was going.

VIII. MR MARTIN KELLY RETURNS TO DUNMORE

We will now return to Martin Kelly. I have before said that as soon
as he had completed his legal business,--namely, his instructions for
the settlement of Anty Lynch's property, respecting which he and Lord
Ballindine had been together to the lawyer's in Clare Street,--he
started for home, by the Ballinasloe canal-boat, and reached that
famous depot of the fleecy tribe without adventure. I will not attempt
to describe the tedium of that horrid voyage, for it has been often
described before; and to Martin, who was in no ways fastidious, it
was not so unendurable as it must always be to those who have been
accustomed to more rapid movement. Nor yet will I attempt to put on
record the miserable resources of those, who, doomed to a twenty hours'
sojourn in one of these floating prisons, vainly endeavour to occupy
or amuse their minds. But I will advise any, who from ill-contrived
arrangements, or unforeseen misfortune, [15] may find themselves on
board the Ballinasloe canal-boat, to entertain no such vain dream.
The _vis inertiae_ [16] of patient endurance, is the only weapon of any
use in attempting to overcome the lengthened ennui of this most tedious
transit. Reading is out of the question. I have tried it myself, and
seen others try it, but in vain. The sense of the motion, almost
imperceptible, but still perceptible; the noises above you; the smells
around you; the diversified crowd, of which you are a part; at one
moment the heat this crowd creates; at the next, the draught which
a window just opened behind your ears lets in on you; the fumes of
punch; the snores of the man under the table; the noisy anger of his
neighbour, who reviles the attendant sylph; the would-be witticisms of
a third, who makes continual amorous overtures to the same overtasked
damsel, notwithstanding the publicity of his situation; the loud
complaints of the old lady near the door, who cannot obtain the
gratuitous kindness of a glass of water; and the baby-soothing
lullabies of the young one, who is suckling her infant under your
elbow. These things alike prevent one from reading, sleeping, or
thinking. All one can do is to wait till the long night gradually wears
itself away, and reflect that,

Time and the hour run through the longest day [17].

[FOOTNOTE 15: Of course it will be remembered that this was
written before railw