The idea of not keeping a ladder in a house where the door-knobs were apt to come off struck her as being the worst feature of the accident, though this unexpected and truly Milesian view of the matter had never occurred to us.
"Well, I got Miss Peabody to the dinner-party," said Benella triumphantly, when she was laboriously unlacing my frock, later on, "or at least I got her there before it broke up.

I had to walk every step o' the way home, and the donkey laid down four times, but I was so nerved up I didn't care a mite.

I was bound Miss Peabody shouldn't lose her chance, after all she's done for me!" "Her chance ?" I asked, somewhat puzzled, for dinners, even Castle dinners, are not rare in Salemina's experience.
"Yes, her chance," repeated Benella mysteriously; "you'd know well enough what I mean, if you'd ben born and brought up in Salem, Massachusetts!" * * * * * Copy of a letter read by Penelope O'Connor, descendant of the King of Connaught, at the dinner of Lord and Lady Killbally at Balkilly Castle.
It needed no apology then, but in sending it to our American friends, we were obliged to explain that though the Irish peasants interlard their conversation with saints, angels, and devils, and use the name of the Virgin Mary, and even the Almighty, with, to our ears, undue familiarity and frequency, there is no profane or irreverent intent.

They are instinctively religious, and it is only because they feel on terms of such friendly intimacy with the powers above that they speak of them so often.
At the Widdy Mullarkey's, Knockarney House, Ballyfuchsia, County Kerry.
Och! musha bedad, man alive, but it's a fine counthry over here, and it bangs all the jewel of a view we do be havin' from the windys, begorra! Knockarney House is in a wild, remoted place at the back of beyant, and faix we're as much alone as Robinson Crusoe on a dissolute island; but when we do be wishful to go to the town, sure there's ivery convaniency.
There's ayther a bit of a jauntin' car wid a skewbald pony for drivin', or we can borry the loan of Dinnis Rooney's blind ass wid the plain cart, or we can just take a fut in a hand and leg it over the bog.

Sure it's no great thing to go do, but only a taste of divarsion like, though it's three good Irish miles an' powerful hot weather, with niver a dhrop of wet these manny days.