Well, I’m ashamed of my life, when a stranger and foreigner’s reviewing our house, though I’m only the girl in it, and no ways answerable. It frets me for my country forenent them Scotch and English. (Mr. HOPE descends the ladder.) Then I’m sorry it’s not better for your honour’s self, and men. But there’s a new inn to be opened the 25th, in this town; and if you return this way, I hope things will be more agreeable and proper. But you’ll have no bad dinner, your honour, any way;—there’s Scotch broth, and Scotch hash, and fried eggs and bacon, and a turkey, and a boiled leg of mutton and turnips, and pratees the best, and well boiled; and I hope, your honour, that’s enough for a soldier’s dinner, that’s not nice.
Mr. H. Enough for a soldier’s dinner! ay, gude truth, my lass; and more than enough for Andrew Hope, who is no ways nice. But, tell me, have you no one to help you here, to dress all this?
Biddy. Sorrow one, to do a hand’s turn for me but myself, plase your honour; for the daughter of the house is too fine to put her hand to any thing in life: but she’s in the room there within, beyond, if you would like to see her—a fine lady she is!
Mr. H. A fine lady, is she? Weel, fine or coarse, I shall like to see her,—and weel I may and must, for I had a brother once I luved as my life; and four years back that brother fell sick here, on his road to the north, and was kindly tended here at the inn at Bannow; and he charged me, puir lad, on his death-bed, if ever fate should quarter me in Bannow, to inquire for his gude friends at the inn, and to return them his thanks; and so I’m fain to do, and will not sleep till I’ve done so.—But tell me first, my kind lassy,—for I see you are a kind lassy,—tell me, has not this house had a change of fortune, and fallen to decay of late? for the inn at Bannow was pictured to me as a bra’ neat place.
Biddy. Ah! that was, may-be, the time the Larkens had it?
Mr. H. The Larkens!—that was the very name: it warms my heart to hear the sound of it.
Biddy. Ay, and quite another sort of an inn this was, I hear talk, in their time,—and quite another guess sort, the Larkens from these Gallaghers.
Mr. H. And what has become of the Larkens, I pray?
Biddy. They are still living up yonder, by the bush of Bannow, in a snug little place of a cabin—that is, the Widow Kelly.
Mr. H. Kelly!—but I am looking for Larken.