In nothing do the lower Irish show their quickness of apprehension more decidedly, than in distinguishing, as it were at a glance, what they call "the real quality," that is, those who inherit a certain station in society, from "_les nouveaux riches_." Their exact discrimination on this subject is quite astonishing. Mrs. O'Sullivan could not perhaps have visited ten cottages in Ireland, whose inmates would not, in a few minutes, have discovered she was a low bred woman, who attempted to give herself airs of consequence. During her stay in this country, this foible was every where perceived, and profited by. The adroit flattery she received, on this favourite point, perhaps drew more money from her than she had ever before, in a given space of time, spent gratuitously, either from motives of charity or of generosity. The cunning arts, that opened her purse, were, undoubtedly, highly reprehensible in a moral point of view. But why should we expect more upright disinterestedness from the ignorant and necessitous class of mankind, than we hourly meet with from the _independent_ members of the upper ranks of society, who will delude a king or an emperor, with as little compunction as the poor Irish cottager cheated Mrs. O'Sullivan? In the latter instance, however, the mischief began and ended with the parties concerned; whilst in the former, generations yet unborn may mourn the evils resulting from base adulation. As all the party assembled in the inn parlour were, with the exception of Adelaide and the merry little Caroline, out of temper, they, by a sort of tacit agreement, separated at an early hour. The parlour was then converted into a sleeping room, for Mrs. O'Sullivan and Caroline, a bed being constructed for the latter with the carriage cushions, and a contribution of pillows. When the Miss Webberlys ascended the ladder leading to their apartment, the maid of the house went before, and the mistress behind, to help them up; the former holding a candle, stuck into a hole scooped out of a large potato, all the candlesticks the inn was possessed of, three in number, being appropriated to the use of the ladies. Adelaide had reserved the worst looking bed to herself, and was scarcely deposited in it, when down she sunk, and a more romantic imagination might have supposed some such adventure was going to occur, as was said frequently to have happened in a remote _auberge_ in the Black Forest, where travellers were drawn down through trap doors, and murdered. But she was only alarmed by the dread of the less heroic death of being knocked on the head by the bed posts. Springing up with the utmost expedition, she found, to her great delight, that the bedstead was perfectly secure; but, proceeding in her search as to the cause of her recent disaster, discovered that the sacking, which ought to have been laced to support the bed, had been deprived of its cord, in order to apply it to some other use. It never was, and most likely, never will