There is always an abundance and a confusion at dinner that's plazing to one's feelin's; for, indeed, in Ireland there is no great variety in the servants' hall, and polatics has a sameness in them that's very tiresome.
We are livin' now at an elegant hotel, where we sit down forty-seven of us every day, at the sound of a big bell at one o'clock. They call it the table doat, and I don't wonder they do, for it's the pleasantest place I ever see. We goes down, linked arm-in-arm, me and Lord George's man, Mister Slipper, and the Frinsh made lan in' on Moun-seer Gregory, the currier; and there's as much bowin' and scrapin', or more, than upstairs in the parlor. Mr. Slipper takes the head of the table, and I am on his rite, and mam-eel on his left, and the dishes all cams to us first, and we tumble the things about, and helps ourselves to the best before the others, and we laff so loud, Shusan, for Mr. Slipper is uncommon drol, and tells a number of stories that makes me cry for laffin'; and he is just as polite, too, for whinever he tells anything wrong he says it in French. And if you only heerd the way masters and mistresses is spoke of, Shu-san, you 'd pity poor sarvants that has to live with them, and put up with their bad 'umors. Mr. Slipper himself is trated like a dog, on eighty pounds a year, and what he calls the spoils,—that's the close that's spoiled. Many the day he never sees the newspaper, for Lord G. sticks it in his pocket, and carries it out with him; and when he went out to tay, the other evenin', there was n't an embroidered shirt of his master's to put on, and he was obleeged to take a plain cambric to make a clane breast of it! "Faix," says he, "there's no sayin' what will happen soon, and maybe the day 'll cum I 'll have to buy my own cigars." He had an iligant place before this one,—Sir Michael Bexley,—but tho' the wagis was high, and the eating first-rate, he could n't stay. "We wore in Vi-enna," says he, "where they dance a grate dale in sosiety, and Sir Michael's hands and feet was smaller than mine, and I could n't wear either his kid gloves or his dress-boots, and goin' out every night the expense was krushin'."
Mamsel is trated just as bad. It's maybe three when she gets to bed; her mistress, Mrs. G., would n't take a flour out of her head herself, but must have the poor crayture waitin' there, like a centry. And maybe it's at that time o' night she 'll take the notion of seein' how it bekomes her to have her hare, this way or that, or to see if she'd look better with more paint on her, or if her eyebrows was blacker.
Sometimes, too, she takes a fit of tryin' ball dresses, five or six, one after another; but mamsel says, she thinks she cured her of that by dropping some lamp oil over a bran new white satin, with Brussels lace, that was never worn at all. As Mr. Slipper says, "Our ingenuity is taxed to a degree that destroys our dispositions;" and I may here observe, Shusan, that all sarvants ever I heerd of get somehow worse trated than Irish. I don't mane in regard to wagis, bekase the Irish cartainly gets laste, but I spake of tratement; and the rayson is this, Shusy, the others do their work as a kind of duty, a thing they 're paid for, and that they ought to do; we, the Irish I mane, do everything as if it was out of oar own goodness, and that we would n't do it if we did not like; and that's the real way to manage a master or a mistress. If he asks for a knife at diner, sure he can't deny it's a knife bekase it's dirty, there would n't be common sense in that. There's two ways of doin' everything, Shusan; but, easy as it is, the Irish is the only people profits by the lesson! It's only ourselves, Shusan dear, knows how to make a master or mistress downright miserable!
It is true we seldom have good wagis, but we take it out in temper. If ye seen the life I sometimes lead the mistress you'd pity her; but why would you after all? wasn't I taken away from my home and country, and put down here in a strange place; and if I did n't spend the day now and then cryin', would she ever think of razing my sperits with a new bonnet, or a pare of shoes, or a ticket for the play? Take them azy, Shusy, and they 'll take you the same. But if you show them they 're in your power, take to your bed, sick, when they 're in a hot hurry, and want you most, be sulky and out of sperits when they 're all full of fun, and go singin' about the house the day they 've got a distressin' letter by the post,—keep to that, and my shure and sartain beleef is, that you 'll break down the sperit of the wickidest master and mistress that ever breathed.
Isn't my mistress, I ask you, as hard to dale with as any? Well, many's the time, when I 'm listenin' at the doore, I beerd her say, "Betty can't bear me in that shawl,—Betty put it somewhere, and I 'm afraid to ask for it,—Betty's in one of her tantrums to-day, so I must not cross her. I wish I knew how to put Betty Cobb in good humor." "Faix, ma'am," says I to myself, "I believe you well, and it would puzzle wiser heads nor you!"
And now, Misses Shusan dear, is it any wonder that our tempers get spoiled? seein' the lives we lade, and the dreadful turns and twists we are obleeged to give our natral dispositions. It's for all the world like play-actin'.
There's many things different betune this and home, and first and foremost religion, Shusan. Religion is n't the same at all. To begin, there's no fastin' at all, or next to none; maybe that's bekase, by the nature of the cookery, nobody could tell what it was he was eatin'. Then, there 's little penance,—and the little there is ye can get off of it by a thrifle. Ye go to confessin' whin ye like, and ye keep any-thing back for another time that ye don't wish to tell just then. In fact, my dear, it comes to this,—it's harder to go to Heaven in Ireland than any place ever I heerd of, and costs more money into the bargain!
The priests has n't half the power they have in Ireland, they 're not as well paid, and they can't curse a congregation, nor do any other good action that isn't set down in their duty. It's the polis, Shusy, that makes ye tremble abroad, and that's the great difference between the two countries.
As to morils, my dear, I 'm afraid we 're not supariar, for it's the women always makes love to the men, which, till you get used to it, has a mighty ugly appearance. I b'l'eve it's the smokin' leads to this, for a German would n't take his pipe out of his mouth for anything; so that courtin' is n't what it is at home.