An Apartment in Bannote Castle.
Footmen bringing in Baskets of Flowers.
Miss O’HARA and Sir WILLIAM HAMDEN.
Clara. Now, my dear uncle, I want to consult you.
Sir W. And welcome, my child. But if it is about flowers, you could not consult a worse person, for I scarcely know a rose from a ——. What is this you have here—a thistle?
Clara. Yes, sir; and that is the very thing I want your opinion about.
Sir W. Well, my dear, all I know about thistles, I think, is, that asses love thistles—will that do?
Clara. Oh, no, sir—pray be serious, for I am in the greatest hurry to settle how it is all to be. You know it is St. Patrick’s day.
Sir W. Yes, and here is plenty of shamrock, I see.
Clara. Yes, here is the shamrock—the rose, the ever blowing rose—and the thistle. And as we are to have Scotch, English, and Irish at our little fête champêtre this evening, don’t you think it would be pretty to have the tents hung with the rose, thistle, and shamrock joined?