whip, and lending his very soul at
every lash. With much difficulty, Lord Colambre stopped him at the end
of the town, at the post-office. The post was gone out-gone a quarter of
an hour.

'Maybe we'll overtake the mail,' said Larry; and, as he spoke, he slid
down from his seat, and darted into the public-house, reappearing, in a
few moments, with a copper of ale and a horn in his hand; he and another
man held open the horses' mouths, and poured the ale through the horn
down their throats. 'Now, they'll go with spirit!'

And, with the hope of overtaking the mail, Larry made them go 'for
life or death,' as he said; but in vain! At the next stage, at his own
inn-door, Larry roared for fresh horses till he got them, harnessed them
with his own hands, holding the six-shilling piece, which Lord Colambre
had given him, in his mouth, all the while; for he could not take time
to put it into his pocket.

'Speed ye! I wish I was driving you all the way, then,' said he. The
other postillion was not yet ready. 'Then your honour sees,' said he,
putting his head into the carriage, 'CONSARNING of them Garraghties--old
Nick and St. Dennis--the best part, that is the worst part, of what
I told you, proved true; and I'm glad of it, that is, I'm sorry for
it--but glad your honour knows it in time. So Heaven prosper you! And
may all the saints (BARRING St. Dennis) have charge of you, and all
belonging to you, till we see you here again!--And when will it be?'

'I cannot say when I shall return to you myself, but I will do my best
to send your landlord to you soon. In the meantime, my good fellow, keep
away from the sign of the Horse-shoe--a man of your sense to drink and
make an idiot and a brute of yourself!'

'True!--And it was only when I had lost hope I took to it--but now!
Bring me the book, one of YEES, out of the landlady's parlour.--By the
virtue of this book, and by all the books that ever was shut and opened,
I won't touch a drop of spirits, good or bad, till I see your honour
again, or some of the family, this time twelvemonth--that long I'll live
on hope--but mind, if you disappoint me, I don't swear but I'll take to
the whisky, for comfort, all the rest of my days. But don't be staying
here, wasting your time, advising me. Bartley! take the reins, can't
ye?' cried he, giving them to the fresh postillion; 'and keep on, for
your life, for there's thousands of pounds depending on the race--so,
off, off, Bartley, with speed