see, which no education can spoil. But you must like Terry--I'll
give you time, as he said to me, when first he taught me to like
usquebaugh--Good morning to you."

Whilst Lady Clonbrony, in consequence of her residence in London, had
become more of a fine lady, Lord Clonbrony, since he left Ireland,
had become less of a gentleman. Lady Clonbrony, born an Englishwoman,
disclaiming and disencumbering herself of all the Irish in town, had,
by giving splendid entertainments, at an enormous expense, made her
way into a certain set of fashionable company. But Lord Clonbrony,
who was somebody in Ireland, who was a great person in Dublin, found
himself nobody in England, a mere cipher in London. Looked down upon
by the fine people with whom his lady associated, and heartily weary
of them, he retreated from them altogether, and sought entertainment
and self-complacency in society beneath him, indeed, both in rank and
education, but in which he had the satisfaction of feeling himself
the first person in company. Of these associates, the first in
talents, and in jovial profligacy, was Sir Terence O'Fay--a man of
low extraction, who had been knighted by an Irish lord-lieutenant
in some convivial frolic. No one could tell a good story, or sing a
good song, better than Sir Terence; he exaggerated his native brogue,
and his natural propensity to blunder, caring little whether the
company laughed at him or with him, provided they laughed--"Live
and laugh--laugh and live," was his motto; and certainly he lived
on laughing, as well as many better men can contrive to live on a
thousand a-year.

Lord Clonbrony brought Sir Terence home with him next day, to
introduce him to Lord Colambre; and it happened that, on this
occasion, Terence appeared to peculiar disadvantage, because, like