th to,
I woke only to find myself still in pursuit--the time seemed so
enormously protracted that I began to fancy my whole life was to be
passed in the dark, in chase of the Kilkenny mail, as we read in the true
history of the flying Dutchman, who, for his sins of impatience--like
mine--spent centuries vainly endeavouring to double the Cape, or the
Indian mariner in Moore's beautiful ballad, of whom we are told as--

"Many a day to night gave way,
And many a morn succeeded,
Yet still his flight, by day and night,
That restless mariner speeded."

This might have been all very well in the tropics, with a smart craft and
doubtless plenty of sea store--but in a chaise, at night, and on the Naas
road, I humbly suggest I had all the worse of the parallel.

At last the altered sound of the wheels gave notice of our approach
to a town, and after about twenty minutes; rattling over the pavement
we entered what I supposed, correctly, to be Naas. Here I had long since
determined my pursuit should cease. I had done enough, and more than
enough, to vindicate my fame against any charge of irresolution as to
leaving Dublin, and was bethinking me of the various modes of prosecuting
my journey on the morrow, when we drew up suddenly at the door of the
Swan. The arrival of a chaise and four at a small country town inn,
suggests to the various employees therein, any thing rather than the
traveller in pursuit of the mail, and so the moment I arrived, I was
assailed with innumerable proffers of horses, supper, bed, &c. My
anxious query was thrice repeated in vain, "When did the coach pass?"

"The mail," replied the landlord at length. "Is it the down mail?"

Not understanding the technical, I answered, "Of course not the Down--the
Kilkenny and Cork mail."

"From Dublin, sir?"

"Yes, from Dublin."

"Not arrived yet, sir, nor will it for three quarters of an hour; they
never leave Dublin till a quarter past seven; that is, in fact, half
past, and their time here is twenty minutes to eleven."

"Why, you stupid son of a boot-top, we have been posting on all night
like the devil, and all this time the coach has been ten miles behind
us."

"Well, we've cotch them any how," said the urchin, as he disengaged
himself from his wet saddle, and stood upon the ground; "and it is not my
fault that the coach is not before us."

With a satisfactory anathem