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"How far is it to Drogheda?" inquired Sherman.

"About eight miles, more or less," answered the coachman.

"Stop your coach, and let me down, then," replied Sherman; "I'll walk to Drogheda, and would sooner walk three times the distance than not have a nearer view, and carry off a portion of the oldest castle in Ireland."

With that Sherman dismounted, and raising his umbrella to protect him from the cold rain which was falling in torrents, he marched off in the mud, calling out to me that I might expect him in Dublin by the next train to that which would take us from Drogheda -- the railroad being then completed only to that point from Dublin.

We arrived in Dublin about five o'clock, cold and uncomfortable; but warm apartments and good fires were in waiting for us, and in a few hours we had partaken of an excellent supper, and were as happy as lords. About nine o'clock in the evening, the door of our parlor was opened, and who should come in but poor Sherman, drenched to the skin with cold rain -- the legs of his boots pulled over the bottoms of his pantaloons, and covered with thick mud to the very tops, and himself looking like a half-famished, weary and frozen traveller.

"For heaven's sake let me get to the fire!" exclaimed Sherman, and we were too much struck with his suffering appearance not to heed it.

"Well, Sherman," I remarked, "that must have been a tedious walk for you -- eight long Irish miles, through the rain and mud."

"I guess you would have thought so, if you had walked it yourself," replied Sherman doggedly.

"I hope you have brought away trophies enough from the castle to pay you for all this trouble," I continued.

"Oh, curse the castle!" exclaimed Sherman.

"What do you mean by that?" I replied in astonishment.

"Oh, you need not look surprised," replied Sherman, "for I have no doubt that you and that bog-trotting Irish coachman have had fun enough at my expense before this time."

I assured him that I positively had not heard the coachman speak on the subject, and begged him to tell use what had occurred to vex him in this manner.

"Why, if you do n't already know," replied Sherman, "I would not have you know for twenty pounds, for you would be sure to publish it. However, now your curiosity is excited, you would be certain to find it all out if you had to hire a post-chaise and ride there on purpose; so I may as well tell you."

"Do tell me," I replied, "for I confess my curiosity is excited, and I am unable to guess why you are so angry, for I know you love to see old castles -- and that pleasure you surely have enjoyed, for I caught a glimpse of one myself"

"No, you have not seen a castle to-day, nor I either!" exclaimed Sherman.

"What on earth was it, then?" I asked.

"A thundering old lime kiln!" exclaimed Sherman; "and I only wish I could pitch that infernal Irish coachman into it while it was under full blast!"

It was many a long day before Sherman heard the last of the lime kiln; in fact this trick of the Irish coachman rendered him cautions in making inquiries of strangers.

One day we rode to Donnybrook, the place so much celebrated for its fairs and its black eyes -- for it would be quite out of character for Pat to attend a fair without having a flourish of the shilelah, and a scrimmage which would result in a few broken heads and bloody noses.

Near Donnybrook we saw something on the summit of a hill which appeared like a round stone tower. It was probably sixty feet in circumference and twenty-five feet high.

"I would like to know what that is," said Sherman.

I advised him to inquire of the first coachman that came along, but with a forced smile he declined my advice.

"It can't be a lime kiln, at any rate," continued Sherman; "it must be a castle of some description."

The more we looked at it the more mysterious did it appear to us, and Sherman's castle-hunting propensities momentarily increased. At last he exclaimed: "A man who travels with a tongue in his head is a fool if he don't use it; and I am not coming within a hundred rods of what may be the greatest curiosity in Ireland without knowing it."

With that he turned our horse's head towards a fine-looking mansion on our right, where we halted. Sherman jumped from the carriage, opened the small gate, proceeded up the alley of the lawn fronting the house, and rang the bell. A servant appeared at the door; but Sherman, knowing the stupidity of Irish servants, was determined to apply at head-quarters for the information he so much desired.

"Is your master in?" asked Sherman.

"I will see, sir. What name, if you plaze?"

"A stranger from the United States of America!" replied Sherman.

The servant departed, and in a minute returned and invited Sherman to enter the parlor, he found the gentleman of the mansion sitting by a pleasant fire, near which were also his lady and several visitors and members of the family. Sherman was not troubled with diffidence. Being seated, he hoped he would he excused for having called without an invitation -- but the fact was, he was an American traveller, desirous of picking up all important information that might fall in his way.