“Having witnessed the scene just described—­a scene that accounted very clearly for at least one important phase of Irish life—­I deemed it full time to go to bed, this being the inn in which I stop.  I accordingly was about to ascend the staircase, from the lobby, for we sat in the back drawing-room, when I thought I heard a voice that was not unfamiliar to me, giving expression to language—­in which I could perceive there was a very peculiar blending of love and devotion; that is to say, it was exceedingly difficult, from the admirable tact with which he balanced the application of the two principles, whether Solomon, for it was he, loved the physical or the spiritual system of the barmaid, for it was she, with more earnestness and warmth.  The family at this time had all retired for the night, with the exception of boots, and the barmaid in question, a well made, pretty Irish girl, with a pair of roguish eyes in her head, that beamed with fun and good humor.  Solomon, instead of going home, had got into a little retired spot behind the bar, called the snuggery, and into which, of course, she attended him with a glass of liquor.

“‘Eliza,’ said Solomon, ’Eliza, I have often had an intention of asking you to allow me the privilege and the pleasure, Eliza, of some serious conversation with you.  It is a trying world, a wicked world, and to—­to a girl—­so charming a girl as you are, Eliza—­’

“‘Charming, Mr. M’Slime; well, well!’

“’Charming, certainly, as regards your person, your external person—­your person is indeed very charming, and verily, Eliza, this brandy and water is truly precious, so beautifully blended, that I cannot—­now, Eliza, will you pardon me a small, but, I trust, not unedifying joke; yes, you will—­I know—­I see you will—­very well, then, the little joke is pardoned—­this brandy and water are so beautifully blended, that I cannot help thinking there is something in that sweet hand of yours that diffuses a delicious flavor upon it—­I know that such things exist.’

“’Upon my word, Mr. M’Slime, from such a religious gentleman as you are, I didn’t expect—­’

“’Ah, my dear Eliza, that is coming to the root of the matter, and I am glad to find that you are not insensible to it.  On that subject, my sweet girl, and you are a sweet girl—­it is that I propose to speak with you—­to commune with you—­in a spirit, my dear Eliza, of love and affection.  Will you then take a seat—­a seat, my dear Eliza.’

“’I fear I cannot, sir; you know there is no one else to keep an eye to the bar.’

“’The business of the bar, my dear girl, is over for this night; but not, I trust—­sincerely trust—­that of the sweet barmaid; do sit, Eliza, pray be seated, and let me have a word with you in season; thank you, but not at such a distance, Eliza, such an inconvenient distance; I say inconvenient—­because—­ugh, ugh, I have caught a slight cold—­as a trial it came—­and I will receive it so, that has fallen for the time—­ugh, ugh, ugh—­upon my lungs, and renders it a good deal troublesome to me to speak loud; so that the nearer you sit—­and it has affected my head a little, only with a slight deafness, though, which—­were you speaking, my dear?’