A WILD IRISHMAX. 173 



awkward, dangerous-looking place, and they were 

 entirely at the mercy of Finnigan's mare, who rattled 

 joyously along, pricking her dainty ears to and fro, as 

 if she was on the qiii vive for the smallest excuse to 

 shy and bolt — and the pretext was not wanting ! A 

 jackass on the edge of the bog below, suddenly lifted 

 up his voice in song and brayed. It was so near, and 

 so piercingly shrill that even the girl herself was 

 startled ; how much more the sensitive creature 

 between the shafts, who stopped for one second, 

 thrust her head well down between her fore-legs, 

 wrenched the reins out of Larry's hands, so that they 

 broke off short, and ran away ! 



" ' Begorra, we are in for it now,' he shouted. 

 ' Hould on by your eyelashes, miss ; we will just slip 

 off quietly at the first corner. Kape yourself calm ! 

 Bad scran to you for a red-haired divil ' (to the mare). 

 'Bad luck to them for rotten ould reins' — reins now 

 represented by two strips of leather, trailing in the 

 dust. 



" ' Oh ! murder, we are done ! ' he cried, as he be- 

 held a heavily-laden turf-cart, drawn up right across 

 the track. ' Oh, holy iNIary ! she'll put us in the bog.' 



" The owner of the turf-cart was toiling up the bank 

 with a final creel on his back, when he beheld the run- 

 awavs racinof down on his devoted horse and kish. 

 His loud execrations were idle as the little eveninof 

 breeze that was playing with the tops of the rushes 

 and the gorse. Finnigan's mare was already into them ! 

 With a loud crash and a sound of splintering shafts, a 

 thousand sods of turf were sent flying in every direc- 

 tion. The young lady was shot off the car and landed 

 soundly and safely in a heap of bog-mould that luckily 

 received her at the side of the road. Larry also made 



