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and his wife both wrote their letters, and O’Donahue also wrote one to the English ambassador, informing him of what had taken place, and requesting his kind offices. As soon as they were finished, the countess bade them farewell, saying, “I shall not send these letters until you are well out of reach, depend upon it;” and, with many thanks for her kindness, O’Donahue and his bride bade her adieu, and set off on their long journey.

      The carriage procured for their journey was what is called a German bâtarde, which is very similar to an English chariot with coach-box, fixed upon a sleigh. Inside were O’Donahue and his young bride, McShane preferring to ride outside on the box with Joey, that he might not be in the way, as a third person invariably is, with a newly married couple. The snow was many feet deep on the ground; but the air was dry, and the sun shone bright. The bride was handed in, enveloped in a rich mantle of sable; O’Donahue followed, equally protected against the cold; while McShane and Joey fixed themselves on the box, so covered up in robes of wolf-skins, and wrappers of bear-skins for their feet, that you could see but the tips of their noses. On the front of the sleigh, below the box of the carriage, were seated the driver and the courier; four fiery young horses were pawing with impatience; the signal was given, and off they went at the rate of sixteen miles an hour.

      “Where’s the guns, Joey, and the pistols, and the ammunition?” inquired McShane; “we’re going through a wild sort of country, I expect.”

      “I have put them in myself, and I can lay my hands on them immediately, sir,” replied Joey; “the guns are behind us, and your pistols and the ammunition are at my feet; the captain’s are in the carriage.”

      “That’s all right, then; I like to know where to lay my hands upon my tools. Just have the goodness to look at my nose now and then, Joey; and if you see a white spot on the tip of it, you’ll be pleased to tell me, and I’ll do the same for you. Mrs McShane would be anything but pleased if I came home with only half a handle to my face.”

      The journey was continued at the same rapid pace until the close of the day, when they arrived at the post-house; there they stopped, McShane and Joey, with the assistance of the courier, preparing their supper from the stores which they brought with them. After supper they retired, O’Donahue and his wife sleeping in the carriage, which was arranged so as to form a bed if required; while McShane and Joey made it out how they could upon the cloaks and what little straw they could procure, on the floor of the post-house, where, as McShane said the next morning, they “had more bed-fellows than were agreeable, although he contrived to get a few hours’ sleep in spite of the jumping vagabonds.” When they rose the next morning, they found that the snow had just begun to fall fast. As soon as they had breakfasted they set out, nevertheless, and proceeded at the same pace. McShane telling Joey, who was, as well as himself, almost embedded in it before the day was half over, that it was “better than rain, at all events;” to be sure that was cold comfort, but any comfort is better than none. O’Donahue’s request for McShane to come inside was disregarded; he was as tough as little Joey, at all events, and it would be a pity to interrupt the conversation. About four o’clock they had changed their horses at a small village, and were about three miles on their last stage, for that day’s journey, when they passed through a pine-forest.

      “There’s a nice place for an ambuscade, Joey, if there were any robbers about here,” observed McShane. “Murder and Irish! what’s those chaps running among the trees so fast, and keeping pace with us? I say, Dimitri,” continued McShane, pointing to them, “what are those?”

      The courier looked in the direction pointed out, and as soon as he had done so, spoke to the driver, who, casting his eyes hastily in the direction, applied the lash to his horses, and set off with double speed.

      “Wolves, sir,” replied the courier, who then pulled out his pistols, and commenced loading them.

      “Wolves!” said McShane, “and hungry enough, I’ll warrant; but they don’t hope to make a meal of us, do they? At all events we will give them a little fight for it. Come, Joey, I see that Dimitri don’t like it, so we must shake off the snow, and get our ammunition ready.”

      This was soon done; the guns were unstrapped from the back of the coach-box, the pistols got from beneath their feet, and all were soon ready, loaded and primed.

      “It’s lucky there’s such a mist on the windows of the carriage, that the lady can’t see what we’re after, or she’d be frightened, perhaps,” said Joey.

      The rapid pace at which the driver had put his horses had for a time left the wolves in the rear; but now they were seen following the carriage at about a quarter of a mile distant, having quitted the forest and taken to the road.

      “Here they come, the devils! one, two, three—there are seven of them. I suppose this is what they call a covey in these parts. Were you ever wolf-hunting before, Joey?”

      “I don’t call this wolf-hunting,” replied Joey; “I think the wolves are hunting us.”

      “It’s all the same, my little poacher—it’s a hunt, at all events. They are gaining on us fast; we shall soon come to an explanation.”

      The courier now climbed up to the coach-box to reconnoitre, and he shook his head, telling them in very plain English that he did not like it; that he had heard that the wolves were out in consequence of the extreme severity of the weather, and that he feared that these seven were only the advance of a whole pack; that they had many versts to go, for the stage was a long one, and it would be dark before they were at the end of it.

      “Have you ever been chased by them before?” said Joey.

      “Yes,” replied the courier, “more than once; it’s the horses that they are so anxious to get hold of. Three of our horses are very good, but the fourth is not very well, the driver says, and he is fearful that he will not hold out; however, we must keep them off as long as we can; we must not shoot at them till the last moment.”

      “Why not?” inquired McShane.

      “Because the whole pack would scent the blood at miles, and redouble their efforts to come up with us. There is an empty bottle by you, sir; throw it on the road behind the carriage; that will stop them for a time.”

      “An empty bottle stop them! well, that’s queer: it may stop a man drinking, because he can get no mote out of it. However, as you please, gentlemen; here’s to drink my health, bad manners to you,” said McShane, throwing the bottle over the carriage.

      The courier was right: at the sight of the bottle in the road, the wolves, who are of a most suspicious nature, and think that there is a trap laid for them in everything, stopped short, and gathered round it cautiously; the carriage proceeded, and in a few minutes the animals were nearly out of sight.

      “Well, that bothers me entirely,” said McShane; “an empty bottle is as good to them as a charged gun.”

      “But look, sir, they are coming on again,” said Joey, “and faster than ever. I suppose they were satisfied that there was nothing in it.”

      The courier mounted again to the box where Joey and McShane were standing. “I think you had a ball of twine,” said he to Joey, “when you were tying down the baskets; where is it?”

      “It is here under the cushion,” replied Joey, searching for the twine and producing it.

      “What shall we find to tie to it?” said the courier; “something not too heavy—a bottle won’t do.”

      “What’s it for?” inquired McShane.

      “To trail, sir,” replied the courier.

      “To trail! I think they’re fast enough upon our trail already; but if you want to help them, a red herring’s the thing.”

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