“‘That’s it,—that’s the very thing, Mr. Macnamara. I’ve looked at you more closely; I’ve watched you more narrowly; I’ve witnessed what the French call your vie intime.’
“‘Begad you have,’ said old Burke, with a grin, ‘and profited by it to the utmost.’
“‘I’ve been a spectator of your election contests; I’ve partaken of your hospitality; I’ve witnessed your popular and national sports; I’ve been present at your weddings, your fairs, your wakes; but no,—I was forgetting,—I never saw a wake.’
“‘Never saw a wake?’ repeated each of the company in turn, as though the gentleman was uttering a sentiment of very dubious veracity.
“‘Never,’ said Mr. Prettyman, rather abashed at this proof of his incapacity to instruct his English friends upon all matters of Irish interest.
“‘Well, then,’ said Macnamara, ‘with a blessing, we’ll show you one. Lord forbid that we shouldn’t do the honors of our poor country to an intelligent foreigner when he’s good enough to come among us.’
“‘Peter,’ said he, turning to the servant behind him, ‘who’s dead hereabouts?’
“‘Sorra one, yer honor. Since the scrimmage at Portumna the place is peaceable.’
“‘Who died lately in the neighborhood?’
“‘The widow Macbride, yer honor.’