"I am, miss, your most obedient; and I expect you'll never think no more of poor Brian O'Neill and the Limerick gloves." If he had not been in too great a passion to observe anything, poor Brian O'Neill would have found out that Phoebe was not a weathercock: but he left her abruptly, and hurried away, imagining all the while that it was Phoebe, and not himself, who was in a rage.

Thus, to the horseman who is galloping at full speed, the hedges, trees, and houses seem rapidly to recede, whilst, in reality, they never move from their places.

It is he that flies from them, and not they from him.
On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer's daughter, came to pay Phoebe a morning visit, with face of busy joy.
"So, my dear!" said she: "fine doings in Hereford! But what makes you look so downcast?
To be sure you are invited, as well as the rest of us." "Invited where ?" cried Mrs.Hill, who was present, and who could never endure to hear of an invitation in which she was not included.

"Invited where, pray, Miss Jenny ?" "La! have not you heard?
Why, we all took it for granted that you and Miss Phoebe would have been the first and foremost to have been asked to Mr.O'Neill's ball." "Ball!" cried Mrs.Hill; and luckily saved Phoebe, who was in some agitation, the trouble of speaking.

"Why, this is a mighty sudden thing: I never heard a tittle of it before." "Well, this is really extraordinary! And, Phoebe, have you not received a pair of Limerick gloves ?" "Yes, I have," said Phoebe, "but what then?
What have my Limerick gloves to do with the ball ?" "A great deal," replied Jenny.