"I can allow them to amuse themselves, Mrs. Hartland," said the young Hibernian. "I grant that amongst vulgar people the peculiar tone of my country, which you may have heard called _brogue_, is not harmonious, but I would fight it against your Somersetshire, Lancashire, or Cornish dialects, any day in the year; and as for Irish _character_, it stands too high to need my championship. Whether I turn my eyes to the cabinet or the field, whether I contemplate scholarship or divinity, powers of penmanship or conversation, I find myself standing on such exalted ground that I can endure the merriment of his Lordship with the calm dignity of a lion, round whose head the harmless fly is humming. He shall divert himself as much as he likes with the Anglo-Irish, provided he sets his hand and seal to the truth of my statement." "You are too strong to need his Lordship's vote," said Mr. Playfair; "you have no occasion to solicit, you may command assent; at least this is not the age for triumph over you. Whichever way we turn Irishmen meet our eyes in the first situations of the state; and as to the fair daughters of your Emerald Isle----" "In _this_ company I withdraw _their_ claim," answered Mr. Forbes; "at least I am forced to be modest in asserting it." Zorilda coloured violently; and the Marquess, apparently apprehensive of not being considered _first_ actor in the scene, looked at his watch, and ringing the bell, ordered his carriage, which was in fact already at the door; then apologizing for the lateness of the hour to which he had been detained by agreeable society, a general leave taking succeeded, and the guests departed without having exchanged three words with her who had excited all their curiosity. "Who is that magnificent girl, Hartland?" said the Marquess, as he reached the hall door, and got rid of the civilities of his elder host, who stuck closely to his side all the way down stairs. "Where was she during dinner-time?" inquired Mr. Forbes. "Why did you not apprize us of this rural divinity?" asked young Cecil; "I should gladly have paid her an earlier homage." As these questions were put all in a breath, Algernon contrived to evade them; and in the bustle of calling for hats, gloves, &c. they were never answered. "She can hardly be a sister of Hartland's, she is so unlike the family," said Lord Turnstock. "I wonder you none of you asked her name." "One would imagine that she has not any name," replied one of his companions; "probably the truth is, that this country _belle_ is affianced to the _heir apparent_ of Henbury, and the youth is an Othello. I saw him frown like Jupiter while we gazed at his beloved; and I am sure that the fellow will dream to-night of rope-ladders, post chaises and four, elopements, and the blacksmith of Gretna Green."