The Press., 1895-10-24

noth1n to his vtsfthor, but turned to the dhriver, who was standin at the horses head, an cried:
 ''Come, off with the nosebag, Mi chael, an see if you can't''do 12 mile an hour throt to the palace. " @
 "I'll make thry, sir, says Michael, takin off the nosebag from the horse an putin it into the we'll of the car. An then he mounted his sate, an, by me word, it wasn't long until the princes horse was clattherin along the high road as fast as if he was comin home from a funeral
 There was no demonstration or speech ifyin or anything of that sort at the railaway station, for King Mac had axed Prince Herman not to make public affair of his visit, an as the station was miles away from the town of Brefney -as is usual wud railway stations in these parts-there was no wan to dem onsthrate to or speechify to except the usual detachment of the Royal Irish.
 "I'm glad you kept your promise not to have a monsther meetin to welcome me-" says the king to the prince. If there's wan thing hate more than an- other, it iS-to have to put my bare head out of a Carriage window an heave stirring of remarks to crowd at a rail way station-but don't be talkin," says he, suddenly clapping the tips of his fingers on the rim of his crown; ''this is the mischief's own throttin, an the car ism t too we'll springed, Tierny, me boy. The crown is nearly shook off me poll the way it's rockin. y
 An faith it was a fine pace they wor goinl Not content wud the whip, Mi chael, the dhriver, was gevin the horse an odd prod of the tee of his boot, an sar tinly twas great speed for a rough cast road.
 "He's fresh this mornin," says the prince lightly, not purtendil Ee was specially proud of the animals paces, "an my little crown is secure enough wud piece of elastic stirring"
 "I can give your majesty bit of cord to keep the crown safe, sir, says Mi chael, turnin round in his sate an ad dhressin King Mac.
 Don't throuble yourself, me man, /" says the king haughtily, for he didn't like the notion of dhrivin up to the pal ace an appearin before Princess Gilly wud 8 stirring tied ont of his royal crown. 'How's the crops promisin in your district this saison?' says he, turn in to the Prince of Brefney.
 "ThWe's fine show of turnips an cabbage" answers Tieruan, ''but I don t like the look of the spuds at all 1"
 "Nothin like grass farms, me boy," says the king. II come from grass country, Rs you mow.''
 "Have you any grass widows thereP" axes the prince, thinkin to pass the time wud taste of a joke, "for I'm towld your majesty is partial to that line.'
 "Take care that you Ire not threspassin too far, young man, says the king, not ikin that Herman should be threadin on such delicate ground, or perhaps in dhread that he was beginnin to smell 6 rat.
 "I beg your pardon, sir," says the prince, who of coorse was a degree in royalty unnher his visithor, an bound to give way to the supayrior monarch.
 "That' s the palace, sir, " says Michael, the dhriver, pointin wud his whip to a big buildin in behind the threes at the right hand side of boreen, about half a mile off. "We're just at the avenue gates," says he the next minute, gevin the horse divil of a prod of the toe of his boot that sent the animal Ayin.
 "Stop, stop the car, you schoundrelp roars the king, grippin the dhriver by the coattail an nearly haulin him off This sate. "That last ierk tumbled the crown off, /" he bawls, turnin round to the prince.
 The horse was pulled up "all stand in" there an then, an throwin the reins to his employer the poor djlriver jumped down an ran back the road for the crown fof Leinsther
 "Heaven grant it may not be bad omenl" says Prince Tiernan, scarcely able to smother laugh as he looked at the ould monarch standin up on the step of the car, houldin on by grippin the rail of the dhriver's sate, wud the eyes nearly blazin out of his head wud rage, an his long gray hairs sthreamin in the wind like tattered flag of disthress
 "Omen be blowed l'' roars King Mac in his fog horn voice, for he was a des- perate bad tempered man. "I'll catch me death of cowld if I'm kept here much longer undfer bare polls. Bad scran to yourself an your 'omadhawn' of jarvey an yer prancin horse 'Tis at circus he ought to be, thryin to fly through hoops an not between the shafts of any dacent mans jaunrin car!'