He immediately commenced driving his pig towards the gentleman's residence with such an air of utter simplicity, as would have imposed upon any man not guided by direct inspiration. Whilst he approached the house, its proprietor arrived there by another path a few minutes before him, and, addressing his lady, said: “My dear, will you come and look at a purchase which an Irishman has absolutely compelled me to make? You had better come and see himself, too, for he is the greatest simpleton of an Irishman I have ever met with.” The lady's curiosity was more easily excited than that of her husband. She not only came out, but brought with her some ladies who had been on a visit, in order to hear the Irishman's brogue, and to amuse themselves at his expense. Of the pig, too, it appeared she was determined to know something. “George, my love, is the pig also from Ireland?” “I don't know, my dear; but I should think so from its fleshless appearance. I have never seen so spare an animal of that class in this country.” “Juliana,” said one of the ladies to her companion, “don't go too near him. Gracious! look at the bludgeon, or beam, or something he carries in his hand, to fight' and beat the people, I suppose: yet,” she added, putting up her glass, “the man is actually not ill-looking; and, though not so tall as the Irishman in Sheridan's Rivals, he is well made.” “His eyes are good,” said her companion--“a bright gray, and keen; and were it not that his nose is rather short and turned up, he would be handsome.” “George, my love,” exclaimed the lady of the mansion, “he is like most Irishmen of his class that I have seen; indeed, scarcely so intelligent, for he does appear quite a simpleton, except, perhaps, a lurking kind of expression, which is a sign of their humor, I suppose. Don't you think so, my love?” “No, my dear; I think him a bad specimen of the Irishman. Whether it is that he talks our language but imperfectly, or that he is a stupid creature, I cannot say; but in selling the pig just now, he actually told me that he would let me have it for more than it was worth.” “Oh, that was so laughable! We will speak to him, though.” The degree of estimation in which these civilized English held Phil was so low, that this conversation took place within a few yards of him, precisely as if he had been an animal of an inferior species, or one of the aborigines of New Zealand. “Pray what is your name?” inquired the matron. “Phadhrumshagh Corfuffle, plase yer haner: my fadher carried the same name upon him. We're av the Corfuflies av Leatherum Laghy, my lady; but my grandmudher was a Dornyeen, an' my own mudher, plase yer haner, was o' the Shudhurthagans o' Ballymadoghy, my ladyship, _Sladh anish, amuck bradagh!_*--be asy, can't you, an' me in conwersation wit the beauty o' the world that I'm spakin' to.” * Be quiet now, you wicked pig.