After many fruitless imprecations, my French cook was obliged to mount one of my saddle-horses; my groom was left to follow us the next day; I let my gentleman sit on the barouche box, and proceeded with my own tired horses. The moon, which my landlady had promised me, rose, and I had a full view of the face of the country. As we approached my maritime territories, the cottages were thinly scattered, and the trees had a stunted appearance; they all slanted one way, from the prevalent winds that blew from the ocean. Our road presently stretched along the beach, and I saw nothing to vary the prospect but rocks, and their huge shadows upon the water. The road being sandy, the feet of the horses made no noise, and nothing interrupted the silence of the night but the hissing sound of the carriage-wheels passing through the sand. “What o’clock is it now, think you, John?” said one of my postilions to the other. “Past twelve, for _sartain_,” said John; “and this _bees_ a strange Irish place,” continued he, in a drawling voice; “with no possible way o’ getting at it, as I see.” John, after a pause, resumed, “I say, Timothy, to the best of my opinion, this here road is leading _on_ us into the sea.” John replied, “that he did suppose there might be such a thing as a boat farther on, but where, he could not say for _sartain_.” Dismayed and helpless, they at last stopped to consult whether they had come the right road to the house. In the midst of their consultation there came up an Irish carman, whistling as he walked beside his horse and car. “Honest friend, is this the road to Glenthorn Castle?” “To Glenthorn, sure enough, your honour.” “Whereabouts is the castle?” “Forenent you, if you go on to the turn.” “_Forenent_ you!” As the postilions pondered upon this word, the carman, leaving his horse, and car, turned back to explain by action what he could not make intelligible by words. “See, isn’t here the castle?” cried he, darting before us to the turn of the road, where he stood pointing at what we could not possibly see, as it was hid by a promontory of rock. When we f reached the spot where he was stationed, we came full upon the view of Glenthorn Castle: it seemed to rise from the sea, abrupt and insulated, in all the gloomy grandeur of ancient times, with turrets and battlements, and a huge gateway, the pointed arch of which receded in perspective between the projecting towers. “It’s my lord himself, I’m fond to believe!” said our guide, taking off his hat; “I had best step on and tell ‘em at the castle.” “No, my good friend, there is no occasion to trouble you farther; you had better go back to your horse and car, which you have left on the road.” “Oh! they are used to that, plase your honour; they’ll go on very _quite_, and I’ll run like a redshank with the news to the castle.”