_Christy._ And caparisons!--(_pointing to the finery on the floor._) But
in the middle of it all, lend me the poker, which will answer for the
master-kay, sure!--that poker that is houlding up the window--can't ye,
Biddy?

[_BIDDY runs and pulls the poker hastily from under the sash, which
suddenly falls, and every pane of glass falls out and breaks._

_Christy._ Murder! and no glazier!

_Miss G._ Then Biddy, of all girls, alive or dead, you're the awk'ardest,
vulgarest, unluckiest to touch any thing at all!

_Biddy._ (_picking up the glass_) I can't think what's come to the glass,
that makes it break so asy the day! Sure I done it a hundred times the
same, and it never broke wid me afore.

_Christy._ Well! stick up a petticoat, or something of the kind, and any
way lend me hould of the poker; for, in lieu of a kay, that's the only
frind in need.

[_Exit CHRISTY with the poker._

_Miss G._ There, Biddy, that will do--any how.--Just shut down the lid,
can't ye? and find me my other shoe. Biddy--then, lave that,--come out o'
that, do girl, and see the bed!--run there, turn it up just any way;--and
Biddy, run here,--stick me this tortise comb in the back of my head--oh!
(_screams and starts away from BIDDY._) You ran it fairly into my brain,
you did! you're the grossest! heavy handiest!--fit only to wait on Sheelah
na Ghirah, or the like.--(_Turns away from BIDDY with an air of utter