But I had not found anything to eat on the road; all the refreshment-rooms are closed on Sunday. Luckily Castle Connell is frequented by a good many Englishmen who fish for salmon, and for their benefit one of those good little inns has been established where one can never find anything but an enormous piece of roast beef, but where this roast beef, the roast beef of Old England, is always delicious. Consequently five minutes after my arrival I was seated before one of those excellent products of English civilisation, from which I cut formidable slices that only just touched my plate. Whilst I was thus occupied, the landlady, a woman of respectable appearance, who called me “sir” with every three words, sent for a jaunting-car to take me to Ballinacourty, Colonel M----’s house. In a few moments I saw a tattered personage ornamented with a very red nose, and cheeks framed with a superb beard cut like a Russian Grand Duke’s, enter the room. It is wonderful how hairy the Irish race are! It is probably the damp air of the country which produces this great development of the capillary system. This individual is the driver to whom I must confide myself. “And it’s to the Colonel’s I’m to take your honour?” said this modern Esau with the finest accent that can be heard. “Yes, it is to the Colonel’s that you must take my honour. One mile from here! You know the way?” “Do I know my own mother? Ah, your honour, it’s just as though your honour asked did I know the Colonel. Your honour! blessed be the saints, and a foine gentleman he is! Every time he sees me, your honour, he offers me a dhrink.” “And how much do you want for the drive?” “How far did your honour say it was from here to Ballinacourty?” “A mile. I saw it on the map.” “A mile!” The idea that it was only a mile from Castle Connell to Ballinacourty seemed so droll to him that he called the waiter, laughing heartily as he did so. “Hear this, Tim?” said he. “Here his honour says that to go to the Colonel’s it is only a mile!” Tim also found this idea so ridiculous that he laughed till his old coat threatened to split, but feeling his dignity compromised by this burst of hilarity, he wiped his face with a dirty napkin and politely apologised: “Beg your pardon, sir!” said he, “but, holy Mother of God, there are at least four miles, and the road is very bad.” “No, Tim, no,” replied the driver with a noble air, “the road has been mended, and it is not four miles; it is a little over three; but there, we will only say three. You know this gentleman is going to the Colonel’s, a man who never forgets to offer a dhrink, does he, Tim?” “Never!” said Tim with an air of conviction; “he offered me one the day before yesterday.”