eleven o’clock at night
I feel that I am -- I fear that I have long been , A BORE ORMOND `` What ! no music , no dancing at Castle Hermitage to-night ; and all the ladies sitting in a formal circle , petrifying into perfect statues ? '' cried Sir Ulick O'Shane as he entered the drawing-room , between ten and eleven o'clock at night , accompanied by what he called his _ rear-guard _ , veterans of the old school of good fellows , who at those times in Ireland -- times long since past -- deemed it essential to health , happiness , and manly character , to swallow , and show themselves able to stand after swallowing , a certain number of bottles of claret per day or night . `` Now , then , '' continued Sir Ulick , `` of all the figures in nature or art , the formal circle is universally the most obnoxious to conversation , and , to me , the most formidable ; all my faculties are spell-bound -- here I am like a bird in a circle of chalk , that dare not move so much as its head or its eyes , and ca n't , for the life of it , take to its legs . '' A titter ran round that part of the circle where the young ladies sat -- Sir Ulick was a favourite , and they rejoiced when he came among them ; because , as they observed , `` he always said something pleasant , or set something pleasant a-going . '' `` Lady O'Shane , for mercy 's sake let us have no more of these permanent circle sittings at Castle Hermitage , my dear ! ''