the vehicle, but an inside car carries its wheels outside. This
definition was given us by an Irish driver, but lucid definition is
not perhaps an Irishman's strong point. It is clearer to say that
the passenger sits outside of the wheels on the one, inside on the
other. There are seats for two persons over each of the two wheels,
and a dickey for the driver in front, should he need to use it.
Ordinarily he sits on one side, driving, while you perch on the
other, and thus you jog along, each seeing your own side of the
road, and discussing the topics of the day across the 'well,' as the
covered-in centre of the car is called. There are those who do not
agree with its champions, who call it 'Cupid's own conveyance'; they
find the seat too small for two, yet feel it a bit unsociable when
the companion occupies the opposite side. To me a modern Dublin car
with rubber tires and a good Irish horse is the jolliest vehicle in
the universe; there is a liveliness, an irresponsible gaiety, in the
spring and sway of it; an ease in the half-lounging position against
the cushions, a unique charm in 'travelling edgeways' with your feet
planted on the step. You must not be afraid of a car if you want to
enjoy it. Hold the rail if you must, at first, though it's just as
bad form as clinging to your horse's mane while riding in the Row.
Your driver will take all the chances that a crowded thoroughfare
gives him; he would scorn to leave more than an inch between your
feet and a Guinness' beer dray; he will shake your flounces and
furbelows in the very windows of the passing trams, but he is
beloved by the gods, and nothing ever happens to him.

The morning was enchanting, as I said, and, above all, the Derelict
was better.

"It's a grand night's slape I had wid her intirely," said the