“Certainly, sir, I have heard of the moon.”
“Come now, he’s heard of the moon. How learned they are getting in this cursed peninsula! This must be one of the clergy.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with sternness, for the sauciness of his look was hard to condone; “I have heard of the moon continually; and under your good favour I am willing to hear of this England of which you make mention. Where may it be?”
“Well, to begin with, I could never learn that it was in Spain. Thereby I have a predilection to my prayers, that I may reward heaven for its good kindness.”
This incensed me greatly.
“It must be a barbarous land this England, if I may judge by what it breeds,” was my rejoinder.
“Barbarous indeed,” said he. “There are more barbers in England than there are honest men in this peninsula.”
“You misunderstand me, sir, I am afraid.”
“I hope I do misunderstand you, my son; for if I do not, it would almost appear that you are a native of this damnable country.”
“Mother of Jesus!” I cried, “this is intolerable.”