ass,
and a conversation having arisen on the subject, he said, "I aam
pe-fectly ce-tain no one caaen know that I aam an I-ishman;" and the
next instant, turning to a servant, he added, "Po-ta, if you _plaze_."
When this thoroughly low-bred Irishism came out I could not help
smiling, and caught at the same moment the eye of a lady opposite, who
seemed greatly amused. In a few minutes after, she said, evidently for
the purpose of having another trial of the Anglo-Irishman, "Pray, may I
help you to a potato?"--the killing reply was, "Pon my hona' I neva'
_ate_ pittatis at all at all."

This was too much for the lady, as well as for myself; so we laughed
together. The Irish _gentleman_, however, perfectly unconscious of the
cause.

Having subsequently mentioned the circumstance to an "Irishman in
London," who does not fear to acknowledge his country, he said, "O! the
feeling descends lower still--the better class of labourers attempt to
speak so that they shall not be known." Continuing, he said, "A _porter_
in our establishment, who is an Irishman, came to me the other day, and
speaking very confidentially, whispered, 'Sure now, Misthur ----, you
woudn't guiss be me taulk, thit I wus an Irishmin.'" "Certainly not,"
said my friend, laughing, when the fellow replied, quite happily,
"Whi-thin that's right any how."

Who will excuse the man in a better grade who panders to prejudices, and
not only forgets the country of his birth, but aids, _by consent_, to
let her remain in misery? But must we not excuse the low and helpless,
who are driven by such prejudices to keep themselves in existence by
following the example of those above them? who, thus, have double sin to
answer for; _their own_, and that which their dastardly conduct creates.
Still, why should the unhappy labourer who feels that the tone of his
voice keeps bread from his mouth, not wish it changed?

"Move on," said a policeman to a poor Irishman, who was gazing with
astonishment at a shop window in the Strand, his eyes and mouth open
equally, with intensity of admiration. But Paddy neither heard nor
moved. "Move on, Sir, I say," came in a voice of command delivered into
his very ear. "_Arrah, ph-why?_" said the poor fellow, looking up with
wonder, and still retaining his place. "_You must move on, you Irish
vagabond_," now roared the policeman, "_and not stop the pathway_,"
accompanying the "must" with a push of no very gentle nature. Paddy did
move, for he co