le or two, I was so lost in my own reveries and reflections,
that I knew nothing of my mode of progression, and had only thoughts and
feelings for the destiny that awaited me; sometimes I would fancy myself
seated in the House of Commons, (on the ministerial benches, of course,)
while some leading oppositionist was pronouncing a glowing panegyric upon
the eloquent and statesmanlike speech of the gallant colonel--myself;
then I thought I was making arrangements for setting out for my new
appointment, and Sancho Panza never coveted the government of an island
more than I did, though only a West Indian one; and, lastly, I saw myself
the chosen diplomate on a difficult mission, and was actually engaged in
the easy and agreeable occupation of outmaneuvering Talleyrand and Pozzo
di Borgo, when Peter suddenly drew up at the door of a small cabin, and
convinced me that I was still a mortal man, and a lieutenant in his
Majesty's 4_th. Before I had time afforded me even to guess at the
reason of this sudden halt, an old man emerged from the cabin, which I
saw now was a road-side ale-house, and presented Peter with a bucket of
meal and water, a species of "viaticum" that he evidently was accustomed
to, at this place, whether bestrode by a priest or an ambassador. Before
me lay a long straggling street of cabins, irregularly thrown, as if
riddled over the ground; this I was informed was Kilkee; while my good
steed, therefore, was enjoying his potation, I dismounted, to stretch my
legs and look about me, and scarcely had I done so when I found half the
population of the village assembled round Peter, whose claims to
notoriety, I now learned, depended neither upon his owner's fame, nor
even my temporary possession of him. Peter, in fact, had been a racer,
once--when, the wandering Jew might perhaps have told, had he ever
visited Clare--for not the oldest inhabitant knew the date of his
triumphs on the turf; though they were undisputed traditions, and never
did any man appear bold enough to call them in question: whether it was
from his patriarchal character, or that he was the only race-horse ever
known in his county I cannot say, but, of a truth, the Grand Lama could
scarcely be a greater object of reverence in Thibet, than was Peter in
Kilkee.

"Musha, Peter, but it's well y'r looking," cried one.

"Ah, thin, maybe ye an't fat on the ribs," cried another.

"An' cockin' his tail like a coult," said a third.

I am very certain,