“Oh, mamma! isn't that so like dear old Kilgoran!” said a tall, thin young lady, handing an abbey, as large as Westminster, to another in widow's black.
“Oh, Maria! I wonder at your showing me what must bring up such sad memories!” said the mamma, affectedly, while she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
“If she means her father's house,” said Lady Janet to Linton, “it's about as like a like as—Lord Kilgoff to the Farnese Hercules, or his wife to any other lady in the peerage.”
“You remember Kilgoran, my Lord,” said the lady in black to the Chief Justice; “does that remind you of it?”
“Very like,—very like, indeed, madam,” said the old judge, looking at a rock-work grotto in a fish-pond.
“What's this?” cried another, taking up a great Saxon fortress, with bastions and gate-towers and curtains, as gloomy and sombre as Indian-ink could make it.
“As a residence I think that is far too solemn-looking and sad.”
“What did you say it was, sir?” asked the judge.
“The elevation for the new jail at Naas, my Lord,” replied Linton, gravely.
“I 'm very glad to hear it. We have been sadly crippled for room there latterly.”