_Miss G._ Since the major's not in it, I'll not be staying here--for here's
only riff-raff triangle and gridiron boys, and a black-a-moor, and that I
never could stand; so I'll back into the room. Show the major up, do you
mind, father, as soon as ever he'd come.

_Christy._ Jantlemen all! here's the king's health, and confusion worse
confounded to his enemies, for yees; or if ye like it better, here's the
plaid tartan and fillibeg for yees, and that's a comprehensive toast--will
give ye an appetite for your dinners.

[_They drink in silence._

_Miss G._ Did ye hear me, father?

_Christy._ Ay, ay.--Off with ye!

[_Exit Miss GALLAGHER, tossing back her head.--CHRISTY pours out a glass of
whiskey for himself, and with appropriate graces of the elbow and little
finger, swallows it, making faces of delight._

_Christy._ Biddy! Biddy, girl, ye!--See the pig putting in his nose--keep
him out--can't ye?

_Biddy._ Hurrush! hurrush! (_Shaking her apron._) Then that pig's as
sinsible as any Christian, for he'd run away the minute he'd see me.

_Christy._ That's manners o' the pig.--Put down a power more turf,
Biddy:--see the jantlemen's gathering round the fire, and has a right to
be _could_ in their knees this St. Patrick's day in the morning--for it's