I found myself at the edge
of a dry ditch, where the poor shivering postilion sat lamenting his
martyrdom. I went up to him, cowering and chattering; and at the sight
of me the tears dried on his dirty cheeks--his sobs changed to a laugh
of delight; and when I hopped on his wrist, and cried "Poor Pat," all
his sufferings were forgotten. While thus occupied, a little carriage,
drawn by a superb horse, with the reins thrown loose on his beautiful
neck, ascended the hill. At the sight I screamed out "Get along out of
that!" which so frightened the high-blooded creature that he started,
and flung the two persons in the carriage fairly into the middle of the
road. One of them, in a military dress, sprung at once on his feet, and
laying the whip across the naked shoulders of the postilion, exclaimed,
"I'll teach you, you little villain, to break people's necks." "Oh!
murther! murther!" cried the poor boy, "shure, it was not me, plase
your honour, only the parrot, Captain." "What parrot, you lying rascal?"
"There, Captain, Sir, look forenenst you." The captain did look up, and
saw me perched on the branch of a scrubby hawthorn-tree. Surprised and
amused, he exclaimed, "By Jove! how odd! What a magnificent bird! Why
Poll, what the deuce brought you here?" "Eh, sirs," I replied at random,
"it was aw' for the love of the siller." The captain, and his little
groom Midge, who had picked himself up on the other side of the
cabriolet, shrieked with laughing. "I say, my boy," said the captain,
"is that macaw your's?" "It is," said the little liar. "Would you take
a guinea for it?" asked the captain. "Troth, would I; two," said the
postilion. "Done," said the captain; and pulling out his purse, and
giving the two guineas, I suffered myself to be caught and placed in
the cabriolet. The young officer sprang in after me, and, taking the
reins, pursued his journey. We slept that night at a miserable inn
in a miserable town. The next morning we arrived at my old hotel in
Sackville-street, and shortly after sailed for England.

The Honourable George Fitz-Forward, my new master, was a younger
brother of small means and large pretensions. He had been quartered at
Kil-mac-squabble with a detachment, where he had passed the winter in
still-hunting, quelling _ructions_, shooting grouse and rebels,
spitting over the bridge, and smoking cigars; and having obtained leave
of absence, _pour se d'ecrasser_, was on his way to London for the
ensuing seas