“They dine, dance, drink tea, talk politics and scandal, like other folk; but if you ask, what are the distinguishing features of the society—”
“What kind of sport does the country afford?” interrupted Roland, somewhat unceremoniously.
“Hunting, shooting, fishing, coursing—”
“What do you mean by hunting,—a fox, is it?”
“Yes, fox-hunting and hare-hunting, too.”
A very insolent laugh was Cashel's answer, as, turning to Mr. Softly, he said, “Well, I own, all this does strike me as a very tiresome kind of life. Do you like Ireland, sir?”
“I feel a deep interest in it,” said the curate, with a most solemn manner.
“Yes, that's all very well; but do you like it?”
“Were it not for its darkness,” said Mr. Softly, sighing, “I should say I liked it.”
“Darkness,” echoed Cashel,—“darkness; why, hang it, you are pretty far north here. What is the darkness you speak of?”