It was on the evening of the third day after they left Carrig-na-curra that they drew near the capital, and after a promise from Mark that in every thing he should be guided by his friend, nor take any step without his counsel and advice, they both entered the city.
“You see, Mark,” said Talbot, as after passing through some of the wider and better lighted thoroughfares, they approached a less frequented and more gloomy part of the town; “you see, Mark, that the day is not come when we should occupy the place of honour, an humble and quiet hotel will best suit us for the present, but the hour is not very distant, my boy, when the proudest mansion of the capital will throw wide its doors to receive us. The Saxon has but a short tenure of it now.”
“I don't see any reason for secrecy,” said Mark, half-doggedly, “we have good names and a good purse, why then must we betake ourselves to this gloomy and desolate quarter.”
“Because I am the guide,” said Talbot, laughing; “and, if that's not reason enough, that's the only one I will give you just now, but come, here we are, and I do not think you will complain of your entertainment.” And as he spoke, the carriage entered the spacious court-yard of an old fashioned inn, which, standing in Thomas-street, commanded a view of the river through one of the narrow streets leading down to the quay.
“This was the fashionable house some fifty years back,” said Talbot as he assisted his friend to alight; “and though the heyday of its youth is over, there are many generous qualities in its good old age—not your father's cellar can boast a better bottle of Burgundy.”
Talbot's recommendation was far from being unmerited, the “Black Jack” as the inn was named, was a most comfortable house of the old school, with large, low-ceilinged rooms, wide stairs, and spacious corridors; the whole, furnished in a style, which, though far from pretending to elegance or fashion, possessed strong claims for the tired traveller, seeking rest and repose. Here then our young travellers alighted. Talbot being received with all the courteous urbanity due to an old acquaintance; the landlord himself appearing to do the honours of the house, and welcome a valued guest.
“We must get our host, Billy Crossley, to sup with us, Mark. No one can tell us so much of how matters are doing here, for, however it happens, Billy knows all the gossip of the day, fashionable, political, or sporting, he keeps himself up to what is going forward everywhere.” And so saying, Talbot at once hastened after the landlord to secure his company for the evening.
Billy was somewhat fastidious about bestowing his agreeability in general, but on the present occasion, he acceded at once, and in less than half-an-hour, the three were seated at a meal, which would not have disgraced an hotel of more pretensious exterior. Mr. Crossley doing the honours of the table, like a host entertaining his friends.
“I scarcely had expected to see you so soon, Mr. Talbot,” said he, when the servants had left the room, and the party drew round the fire. “They told me you would pass the winter in the country.”
“So I had intended, Billy, but as good luck would have it, I made an acquaintance in the south, which changed my plans, my friend, Mr. O'Donoghue here, and as he had never seen the capital, and knew nothing of your gay doings, I thought I'd just take a run back, and show him at least, the map of the land.”