The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1875-08-14
THE IRISH POSTBOY-1s35.

! In the Irish postboy we are not pre-
sented with the white jacketed, silk-hat-
ted, top-booted and bright-spurred gentle
man we are accustomed to in England, as
trim in his own horses, and as silent, till
he touches his hat to get his fee for driving
them. The Irish postboy, on the contrary,
is as scanty in his attire as he is abundant
in his intelligence, having always some
thing to tell his passenger of the localities
they pass through, as though he took him
for a bookmaker who was taking notes
upon the way. He fulfills double func-
tion-he is guide as well as driver, and his
humor often lies as much in what he does
as in what he says. He will commence
something in this fashion:
"Do you see that house, yer honor, yon-
der' l suppose you know that's Mr..
d'Arcy's?"
"Yes, do. Mr.. darcy is very rich l
believer"
"Well, sir, maybe he is, and maybe he
isn't"
"Why, l thought he was man of for
tune"
"Well, you see, he was purity we'll off,
sir, till he got how'd of the property"
"Till he got it! What do you mean?"
"Why, sir, when he was heir to the pro-
perty he had great expectations, and so,
on the strength of that, you see, he got
whatever money he wanted'
"Well, and SO he ought, when he was
heir to $4,000 year,
"That's true, your honor, that's true,
sir! But then, you'll understand that he
was heir to e5, 1000 year that was spint."
ooh, see!'
$50, when he got the property, of course
the gentleman was ruined"
"Hillo! take care-you were nearly in
the ditch then"
Never fear, sir; it's that BLACKBOARD
mare that is always shyin'! Hurrup!"
How close her ears are cutn'
"Yis, they are, sir-oh! they're close
enough; but nothing will cure the william"
"Cure her! How do you mean ?''
"Why, sir, l persaved that, whenever
she started, she always cooked her ears up,
so l cut them off, you see, to make her lave
off the trick of startin'; but bad luck to
the vagabond! she's just as bad as ever.'
In particularly dangerous part of the
road, with a precipice on one side of you,
you observe the postboy keep casting an
inquiring glances towards his vehicle.
"What is the matter9" you inquire.
Rather an awkward bit of road here"
"Oh! it's nothin, sir; it's grand pros
pect.'
"Yes-of going over. Why, it's some
hundred feet to the bottom.''
"Well it may be; but look at the pros
pect, sir; them mountains-oh, they're
grand, sir; they beat the world for dignity,
You'd never see their likes again if you
were to 60 over twenty precipices."
After some other tales and difficulties,
you reach your journeys end, and then
the postboy, as you have surmised, expects
a good gratuity. You give him what you
consider to be handsome reward of his
services, but still he is not contented.
"Sure," he says, "your honor wouldn't
mind another shilln'?''
"No," you reply. 81 think I've paid
you literally"
But you'll consider the way l drove
you, sir ?"
"Not pleasant one, by any means"
"And the power of stories told yous"
"Some of which have heard before"
"Well, then, give me another shillin',
sir, and I'll tell you somethin' which l will
undertake to say you never heard before"
every good, then; there's shilling.
Now, what's the story have never heard -
"Well, then, of course your honor re-
members the three miles we came along
with the cliff upon one side of ~
Remember it? shall never forget it,"
"Well, then, you don't know, sir, that
drove you them three miles ,ctthout Inch
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