“Himalaya, Scroope,——the Himalaya.”
“The highest mountains in the world!” continued Purvis.
“For wet under foot, and a spongy soil that never dries, I'll back the Galtees against them any day. See, now, you can walk from morning to night, and be over your head at every step you go.”
“Where are they?” inquired Scroope.
“Why, where would they be? In Ireland, to be sure; and here's prosperity to her, and bad luck to Process-servers, 'Polis,' and Poor-Law Commissioners!” Dalton drained his glass with solemn energy to his toast, and looked as though his heart was relieved of a weight by this outburst of indignation.
“You Irish are so patriotic!” exclaimed Mrs. Ricketts, enthusiastically.
“I believe we are,” replied Dalton. “'T is only we 've an odd way of showing it.”
“I remark that they ne-never live in Ireland when they can li-live out of it,” cackled Purvis.
“Well, and why not? Is it by staying at home in the one place people learns improvements? you might drink whiskey-punch for forty years and never know the taste of champagne. Potatoes wouldn't teach you the flavor of truffles. There's nothing like travellin'!”
“Very true,” sighed Mrs. Ricketts; “but, as the poet says, 'Where'er I go, whatever realms I see—“'