That he might see and hear more than he could as heir-apparent to the estate, he sent his servant to Dublin to wait for him there.  He travelled incognito, wrapped himself in a shabby greatcoat, and took the name of Evans.  He arrived at a village, or, as it was called, a town, which bore the name of Colambre.  He was agreeably surprised by the air of neat—­ness and finish in the houses and in the street, which had a nicely-swept paved footway.  He slept at a small but excellent inn—­excellent, perhaps, because it was small, and proportioned to the situation and business of the place.  Good supper, good bed, good attendance; nothing out of repair; no things pressed into services for what they were never intended by nature or art; none of what are vulgarly called make-shifts.  No chambermaid slipshod, or waiter smelling of whisky; but all tight and right, and everybody doing their own business, and doing it as if it was their everyday occupation, not as if it was done by particular desire, for first or last time this season.  The landlord came in at supper to inquire whether anything was wanted.  Lord Colambre took this opportunity of entering into conversation with him, and asked him to whom the town belonged, and who were the proprietors of the neighbouring estates.

’The town belongs to an absentee lord—­one Lord Clonbrony, who lives always beyond the seas, in London; and never seen the town since it was a town, to call a town.’

‘And does the land in the neighbourhood belong to this Lord Clonbrony?’

’It does, sir; he’s a great proprietor, but knows nothing of his property, nor of us.  Never set foot among us, to my knowledge, since I was as high as the table.  He might as well be a West India planter, and we negroes, for anything he knows to the contrary—­has no more care, nor thought about us, than if he were in Jamaica, or the other world.  Shame for him!—­But there’s too many to keep him in countenance.’

Lord Colambre asked him what wine he could have; and then inquired who managed the estate for this absentee.

’Mr. Burke, sir.  And I don’t know why God was so kind to give so good an agent to an absentee like Lord Clonbrony, except it was for the sake of us, who is under him, and knows the blessing, and is thankful for the same.’

‘Very good cutlets,’ said Lord Colambre.

’I am happy to hear it, sir.  They have a right to be good, for Mrs. Burke sent her own cook to teach my wife to dress cutlets.’

‘So the agent is a good agent, is he?’

’He is, thanks be to Heaven!  And that’s what few can boast, especially when the landlord’s living over the seas:  we have the luck to have got a good agent over us, in Mr. Burke, who is a right bred gentleman; a snug little property of his own, honestly made; with the good will and good wishes, and respect of all.’

‘Does he live in the neighbourhood?’

’Just CONVANIENT [convenient:  near.] At the end of the town; in the house on the hill, as you passed, sir; to the left, with the trees about it, all of his planting, finely grown too—­for there’s a blessing on all he does, and he has done a deal.—­There’s salad, sir, if you are partial to it.  Very fine lettuce.  Mrs. Burke sent us the plants herself.’