So I got rid of that deceitful bit of goods very soon, I can assure you; and so, indeed, I did of a number of others after her; for, upon my word, they are all alike, whether they are cooks, or housemaids, or nurserymaids, or pages, or footmen, it’s the same story over and over again--worry, worry--bother, bother--from morning till night, and not a moment’s peace to be had for love or money. A maid-of-all-work was quite a match for me; but, when we got on in the world, so as to be able to afford a footman--Lord bless me! I was positively mad from the moment I got up to the moment I went to bed again. Now, there was that lazy, impudent, fat footman of a Duffy. I’m sure he was--but my courteous readers must excuse me entering into particulars at present. They will be able to judge of the character my gentleman was from Mr. Cruikshank’s admirable plate. But it wasn’t only the laziness and cool impudence of the fat pig that pleased me, but he had a nasty way of--but I’m sorry to say I must reserve it all for another chapter. CHAPTER XV. WHICH PRINCIPALLY CONSISTS OF A QUIET HALF HOUR’S TALK ABOUT THE VIRTUES AND AIRS OF THAT GREAT, BIG, FAT, OVERFED, STUCK-UP PIG OF A JOHN DUFFY OF MINE, WHO WAS THE FIRST FOOTMAN I HAD IN MY SERVICE, AND WHO COULDN’T HAVE BEEN IN THE HOUSE MORE THAN A WEEK, I’M SURE, BEFORE (LUD-A-MERCY ME!) IF I DIDN’T DRAT THE DAY WHEN I FIRST SET EYES ON HIM; FOR I DECLARE THE PUPPY HAD SUCH AN IMPUDENT LOOK WITH HIM, THAT I NEVER SAW HIS FACE BUT I DIDN’T LONG FOR THE TIME WHEN I SHOULD SEE HIS BACK. HE _was_ A PRETTY FOOTMAN, TO BE SURE. “And a very saucy one, Heigh ho! Heigh ho! He walk’d so stiff, and look’d so smart, As if he own’d each maiden’s heart; I could have bang’d him, for my part, Heigh ho! Heigh ho!” POPULAR SONG--_though, in justice to the writer, I ought to add, that I have taken the liberty of adapting the last line of the highly talented poem to my highly excited feelings; for as John Duffy never had any_ “KEEN DART” _of_ “HIS OWN,” _of course I couldn’t go_ “WISHING” _with the poet, that the monkey_ “FELT” _any such fiddlesticks; though I must confess, that when I’ve seen that man crawling up stairs, as lazily as if he were a black beetle, I have over and over again_ “WISHED” _to myself I only had my great big shawl-pin handy, so that I could have made him_ FEEL THAT. “Gramachree ma Crooskeen, slantha gal mavourneen, Gramachree ma Crooskeen, Lawn, Lawn, Lawn; Gramachree ma Crooskeen, slantha gal mavourneen, Arrah cumaleen ma u leen bawn, bawn, bawn, Arrah cumaleen ma u leen bawn.”