steamboat at Pier 28, North River.

"There's the rock, yer honor," said the man, pointing to the mis-shapen
stone, "and an awful time I've had a drivin' yer honor to it."

"How long have you been, coming here?" asked the astounded Mr. P.

"Nigh on to three days, yer honor, and I drove as fast as I could,
hopin' to get back by the Sunday in time for the Centhral Park, but I
had to stop sometimes for feed and wather, and it's no use me whippin'
up afther all, for sorra the good them horses will be for the Centhral
Park on the Sunday."

"And how much do I owe you for all this?" asked Mr. P.

"Well, sir," said the man, "I won't charge your honor nothin' for the
feed and my victuals, for I'd had to have found them if yer hadn't a
hired me; and I'll only charge ye three dollars a hour, for sure yer
honor never give me the least thruble, slapeing there as swate as an
infant all the time, and that'll be jist two hundred and four dollars,
and if yet honor could give me a thrifle besides to drink yer health,
I'd be obliged to yer honor."

Mr. P. gazed alternately at the man, the carriage, the horses, and the
rock, and then he paid the driver two hundred and four dollars and
twenty-five cents. The worthy Milesian pocketed the money and declared
his intention of proceeding to Boston, which was only about forty miles
away, and taking the railroad for New York

"If I don't, ye see, yer honor, I'll never get back in time for the