"Heaven reward these generous promises," replied Ichabod, with a smile of incredulity. "Well it is that the maiden hath escaped the snares of her first lover, who was a soldier of Antichrist—a musqueteer of the bluidy Dunbarton."
"Say rather the most princely earl of the noble house of Douglas! Ha, ha—by my faith! we whigs are winning the false lemans of the cavaliers in glorious style."
"And now, my lord, I have one other boon to crave," said Ichabod, producing a tattered and dog-eared MS. from a bunker. "This is a book of which doubtless your Lordship hath heard; my Bombshell aimet at the taile of the Great Beast."
"Oh, the devil take thy bombshell—"
"Shame, my lord. It proveth that Jonah—"
"Swallowed the whale; eh, Master Ichabod?" said the gay lord, pirouetting about and laughing boisterously.
"Oh, my Lord, for a centiloquy—"
"Ha, ha! a what?"
"A hundredfold discourse, to convince thee of the crime of this irreverence and irreligion."
"I crave pardon, but what do you want, eh?"