“That's the Negus language,” observed,one of the young ladies, who affected to be a wit and a blue-stocking; “it's Irish and English mixed.” “Thrath, an' but that the handsome young lady's so purty,” observed Phil, “I'd be sayin' myself that that's a quare remark upon a poor unlarned man; but, Gad bless her, she is so purty what can one say for lookin' an her!” “The poor man, Adelaide, speaks as well as he can,” replied the lady, rather reprovingly: “he is by no means so wild as one would have expected.” “Candidly speaking, much _tamer_ than I expected,” rejoined the wit. Indeed, I meant the poor Irishman no offence.” “Where did you get the pig, friend? and how came you to have it for sale so far from home?” “Fwhy it isn't whor sale, my lady,” replied Phil, evading the former question; “the masther here, Gad bless him an' spare him to you, ma'am!--thrath, an' it's his four quarthers that knew how to pick out a wife, any how, whor beauty an' all hanerable whormations o' grandheur--so he did; an' well he desarves you, my lady: faix, it's a fine houseful o' thim you'll have, plase Gad--an' fwhy not? whin it's all in the coorse o' Providence, bein' both so handsome:--he gev me a pound note whor her my ladyship, an' his own plisure aftherwards; an' I'm now waitin' to be ped.” “What kind of a country is Ireland, as I understand you are an Irishman?” “Thrath, my lady, it's like fwhat maybe you never seen--a fool's purse, ten guineas goin' out whor one that goes in.” “Upon my word that's wit,” observed the young blue-stocking. “What's your opinion of Irishwomen?” the lady continued; “are they handsomer than the English ladies, think you?” “Murdher, my lady,” says Phil, raising his caubeen, and scratching his head in pretended perplexity, with his linger and thumb, “fwhat am I to say to that, ma'am, and all of yez to the fwhore? But the sarra one av me will give it agin the darlin's beyant.” “But which do you think the more handsome?” “Thrath, I do, my lady; the Irish and English women would flog the world, an' sure it would be a burnin' shame to go to sot them agin one another fwhor beauty.” “Whom do you mean by the 'darlin's beyant?'” inquired the blue-stocking, attempting to pronounce the words. “Faix, miss, who but the crathers ower the wather, that kills us entirely, so they do.” “I cannot comprehend him,” she added to the lady of the mansion. “Arrah, maybe I'd make bould to take up the manners from you fwhor a while, my lady, Plase yer haner?” said Phil, addressing the latter. “I do not properly understand you,” she replied, “speak plainer.” “Troth, that's fwhat they do, yer haner; they never go about the bush wit yez--the gintlemen, ma'am, of our country, fwhin they do be coortin' yez; an' I want to ax, ma'am, if you plase, fwhat you think of thim, that is if ever any of them had the luck to come acrass you, my lady?”