day, as Petito informs me, besides kitchen boys, and what they call _char_-women, who never sit down, but who do not eat or waste the less for that; and retainers and friends, friends to the fifth and sixth generation, who ‘must get their bit and their sup;’ for ‘sure, it’s only Biddy,’ they say;” continued Lady Dashfort, imitating their Irish brogue. “And ‘sure, ‘tis nothing at all, out of all his honour my lord has. How could he _feel_ it[2]?--Long life to him!--He’s not that way: not a couple in all Ireland, and that’s saying a great dale, looks less after their own, nor is more off-handeder, or open-hearteder, or greater openhouse-keeper, _nor_[3] my Lord and my Lady Killpatrick.’ Now there’s encouragement for a lord and a lady to ruin themselves.” Lady Dashfort imitated the Irish brogue in perfection; boasted that “she was mistress of fourteen different brogues, and had brogues for all occasions.” By her mixture of mimicry, sarcasm, exaggeration, and truth, she succeeded continually in making Lord Colambre laugh at every thing at which she wished to make him laugh; at every _thing_, but not at every _body_: whenever she became personal, he became serious, or at least endeavoured to become serious; and if he could not instantly resume the command of his risible muscles, he reproached himself. “It is shameful to laugh at these people, indeed, Lady Dashfort, in their own house--these hospitable people, who are entertaining us.” “Entertaining us! true, and if we are _entertained_, how can we help laughing?” All expostulation was thus turned off by a jest, as it was her pride to make Lord Colambre laugh in spite of his better feelings and principles. This he saw, and this seemed to him to be her sole object; but there he was mistaken. _Off-handed_ as she pretended to be, none dealt more in the _impromptu fait à loisir_; and, mentally short-sighted as she affected to be, none had more _longanimity_ for their own interest. It was her settled purpose to make the Irish and Ireland ridiculous and contemptible to Lord Colambre; to disgust him with his native country; to make him abandon the wish of residing on his own estate. To confirm him an absentee was her object, previously to her ultimate plan of marrying him to her daughter. Her daughter was poor, she would therefore be glad to _get_ an Irish peer for her; but would be very sorry, she said, to see Isabel banished to Ireland; and the young widow declared she could never bring herself to be buried alive in Clonbrony Castle. In addition to these considerations, Lady Dashfort received certain hints from Mrs. Petito, which worked all to the same point.