_Sir W._ Gilbert, now you have been in Ireland some weeks, I hope you are not unhappy. _Gilb._ No, sir, thank you, sir. _Sir W._ But are you happy, man? _Gilb._ Yes, sir, thank you, sir. [_GILBERT retires, and seems busy arranging his master’s clothes: Sir WILLIAM continues dressing._ _Sir W._ (_aside_) _Yes, sir, thank you, sir._ As dry as a chip--sparing of his words, as if they were his last. And the fellow can talk if he would--has humour, too, if one could get it out; and eloquence, could I but touch the right string, the heartstring. I’ll try again. (_Aloud_) Gilbert! _Gilb._ Yes, sir. (_Comes forward respectfully._) _Sir W._ Pray what regiment was it that was passing yesterday through the village of Bannow? _Gilb._ I do not know, indeed, sir. _Sir W._ That is to say, you saw they were Highlanders, and that was enough for you--you are not fond of the Scotch, Gilbert? _Gilb._ No, sir, I can’t say as I be. _Sir W._ But, Gilbert, for my sake you must conquer this prejudice. I have many Scotch friends whom I shall go to visit one of these days--excellent friends they are! _Gilb._ Are they, sir? If so be you found them so, I will do my best, I’m sure. _Sir W._ Then pray go down to the inn here, and inquire if any of the Scotch officers are there. _Gilb._ I will, sir. I heard say the officers went off this morning. _Sir W._ Then you need not go to inquire for them. _Gilb._ No, sir. Only as I heard say, the drum-major and band is to stay a few days in Bannow, on account of their wanting to enlist a new bugle-boy. I was a thinking, if so be, sir, you thought well of it, on account you like these Scotch, I’d better to step down, and see how the men be as to being comfortable. _Sir W._ That’s right, do. Pray, have they tolerable accommodations at the inn in this village? _Gilb._ (_smiling_) I can’t say much for that, sir. _Sir W._ (_aside_) Now I shall set him going. (_Aloud_) What, the inn here is not like one of our English inns on the Bath road? _Gilb._ (_suppressing a laugh_) Bath road! Bless you, sir, it’s no more like an inn on the Bath road, nor on any road, cross or by-road whatsomdever, as ever I seed in England. No more like--no more like than nothing at all, sir! _Sir W._ What sort of a place is it, then? _Gilb._ Why, sir, I’d be ashamed almost to tell you. Why, sir, I never seed such a place to call an inn, in all my born days afore. First and foremost, sir, there’s the pig is in and out of the kitchen all day long, and next the calf has what they call the run of the kitchen; so what with them brute beasts, and the poultry that has no coop, and is always under one’s feet, or over one’s head, the kitchen is no place for a Christian, even to eat his bread and cheese in. _Sir W._ Well, so much for the kitchen. But the parlour--they have a parlour, I suppose?