"Well!" said Andy, after a long pause, "the divil be from me if ever I seen a silver spoon split that way before." The butler laughed a horse-laugh, and made a standing joke of Andy's split spoon; but time and experience made Andy less impressed with wonder at the show of plate and glass, and the split spoons became familiar as 'household words' to him; yet still there were things in the duties of table attendance beyond Andy's comprehension,--he used to hand cold plates for fish, and hot plates for jelly, &c. But 'one day,' as Zanga says,--'one day' he was thrown off his centre in a remarkable degree by a bottle of soda water. It was when that combustible was first introduced into Ireland as a dinner beverage that the occurrence took place, and Andy had the luck to be the person to whom a gentlemen applied for some soda-water. "Sir?" said Andy.--"Soda-water," said the guest, in that subdued tone in which people are apt to name their wants at a dinner-table. Andy went to the butler. "Mr. Morgan, there's a gintleman----"--"Let me alone, will you?" said Mr. Morgan. Andy manoeuvred round him a little longer, and again essayed to be heard. "Mr. Morgan!"--"Don't you see I'm as busy as I can be! Can't you do it yourself?" "I dunna what he wants."--"Well, go and ax him," said Mr. Morgan. Andy went off as he was bidden, and came behind the thirsty gentleman's chair, with "I beg your pardon sir." "Well!" said the gentleman. "I beg your pardon, sir; but what's this you ax'd me for?"--"Soda-water." "What, sir?"--"Soda-water; but, perhaps, you have not any." "Oh, there's plenty in the house, sir! Would you like it hot, sir." The gentleman laughed, and, supposing the new fashion was not understood in the present company, said "Never mind." But Andy was too anxious to please, to be so satisfied, and again applied to Mr. Morgan. "Sir!" said he.--"Bad luck to you! can't you let me alone?" "There's a gintleman wants some soap and wather." "Some what?"--"Soap and wather, sir." "Divil sweep you!--Soda-wather you mane. You'll get it under the sideboard." "Is it in the can, sir?"--"The curse o' Crum'll on you--in the bottles." "Is this it, sir?" said Andy, producing a bottle of ale.--"No, bad cess to you!--the little bottles." "Is it the little bottles with no bottoms, sir?"--"I wish _you_ wor in the bottom o' the say!" said Mr. Morgan, who was fuming and puffing, and rubbing down his face with his napkin, as he was hurrying to all quarters of the room, or, as Andy said, in praising his activity, that he was "like bad luck,--everywhere." "There they are!" said Morgan, at last. "Oh! them bottles that won't stand," said Andy; "sure, them's what I said, with no bottoms to them. How'll I open it--it's tied down?"--"Cut the cord, you fool!"