, my lady, 'tis well
for the masther here, plase yer haner, sir, that none o' them met
wit the misthress before you was both marrid, or, wit riverence be it
spoken, 'tis the sweet side o' the tongue they'd be layin' upon you,
ma'am, an' the rough side to the masther himself, along wit a few
scrapes of a pen on a slip o' paper, jist to appoint the time and place,
in regard of her ladyship's purty complexion--an' who can deny that,
any way? Faix, ma'am, they've a way wit them, my counthrymen, that the
ladies like well enough to thravel by. Asy, you deludher, an' me in
conwersaytion wit the quality."

"I am quite anxious to know how you came by the pig, Paddy," said the
wit.

"Arrah, miss, sure 'tisn't pigs you're thinkin' on, an' us discoorsin'
about the gintlemen from Ireland, that you're all so fond ow here; faix,
miss, they're the boys that fwoight for yees, an' 'ud rather be bringing
an Englishman to the sad fwhor your sakes, nor atin' bread an' butther.
Fwhy, now, miss, if you were beyant wit us, sarra ounce o' gunpqwdher
we'd have in no time, for love or money."

"Upon my word I should like to see Ireland!" exclaimed the
blue-stocking; "but why would the gunpowder get scarce, pray?"

"Faix, fightin' about you, miss, an' all of yez, sure; for myself sees
no differ at all in your hanerable fwhormations of beauty and grandheur,
an' all high-flown admirations."

"But tell us where you got the pig, Paddy?" persisted the wit, struck
naturally enough with the circumstance. "How do you come to have an
Irish pig so far from home?"

"Fwhy thin, miss, 'twas to a brother o' my own I was bringing it, that
was livin' down the counthry here, an' fwhin I came to fwhere he lived,
the sarra one o' me knew the place, in regard o' havin' forgotten the
name of it entirely, an' there was I wit the poor crathur an my hands,
till his haner here bought it from me--Gad bless you, sir!"

"As I live, there's a fine Irish blunder," observed the wit; "I shall
put in my commonplace-book--it will be so genuine. I declare I'm quite
delighted!"

"Well, Paddy," said the gentleman, "here's your money. There's a pound
for you, and that's much more than the miserable animal is worth."

"Troth, sir, you have the crathur at what we call in Ireland a bargain.*
Maybe yer haner 'ud spit upon the money fwhor luck, sir. It's the way we
do, sir, beyant."

* Ironically--a take in.

"No, no, Paddy, take it as it is. Good heavens! what barbarous