Bridget.—And him, too.
Mrs. Sloan (reads).—“Mr. McIntosh, Mr. William Jans, Mr. Milo Smith—“
Bridget.—And thim. Mr. Smith was her siventh.
Mrs. Sloan.—Her what?
Bridget.—Her sivinth. There was eight of thim proposed to her in the wan week.
Mrs Sloan.—Why, Bridget! How can you possibly know that?
Bridget.—Sure, what does it mean whin a gintleman calls twice in th’ wake an’ thin stops like he was shot. An’ who is the eight’ gintleman to walk wid the corpse, Mum?
Mrs. Sloan.—That is all, Bridget. And those pillow-cases look shockingly! I never saw such ironing! (Exit, hastily and sternly.)
Bridget (sola).—Only siven of thim. Saints bless us! The pore lady’ll go wan-sided to her grave!