And in common with many others of her sex and country, her heroism is of that patient, self-denying character which "passeth show." She is uniformly patient--can bear an extraordinary quantity of abuse and unkindness, and knows quite well that to a certain degree she is in an enemy's country. Half the bad opinion of the "low Irish," as they are often insultingly termed, arises from old national prejudices; the other half is created by themselves, for many of them are provokingly uproarious, and altogether heedless of the manners and opinions of those among whom they live. This is not the case with Biddy; she has a great deal of what we are apt to call "cunning" in the poor, but which we genteelly denominate "tact" in the rich. While you imagine she is only pulling out the strings of her apron, she is all eye, ear, and understanding; she is watchful as a cat; and if she indulges in an _aside_ jest, which sometimes never finds words, on the peculiarities of her employers, there is nothing very atrocious in the fact. Poor Biddy's betters do the same, and term it "badinage." It is not always that we judge the poor and rich by the same law. With young servants the Irish Washerwoman is always a favourite: she is cheerful, tosses a cup to read a fortune in perfection, and not unfrequently, I am sorry to say, has half of a dirty torn pack of cards in her pocket for the same purpose. She sings at her work, and through the wreath of curling steam that winds from the upraised skylight of the laundry, comes some old time-honoured melody, that in an instant brings the scenes and sounds of Ireland around us. She will rend our hearts with the "Cruskeen laun," or "Gramachree," and then strike into "Garryowen" or "St Patrick's Day," with the ready transition of interest and feeling that belongs only to her country. Old English servants regard the Irish Washerwoman with suspicion; they think she does too much for the money, that she gives "Missus" a bad habit; and yet they are ready enough to put their own "clothes" into the month's wash, and expect Biddy to "pass them through the tub;" a favour she is too wise to refuse. Happily for the _menage_ of our English houses, the temptation to thievery which must exist where, as in Dublin, servants are allowed what is termed "breakfast money," which means that they are not to eat of their employers' bread, but "find themselves," and which restriction, all who understand human nature know is the greatest possible inducement to picking and stealing; happily, I say, English servants have no temptation to steal the _necessaries_ of life; they are fed and treated as human beings; and consequently there is not a tithe of the extravagance, the waste, the pilfering, which is to be met with in Irish kitchens.