“Well, Mr. O'Finigan,” pursued Hycy, “but about the ladies? You have not given us your opinion.”
“Why, then, they are both highly gifted wid beauty, and strongly calculated to excite the amorous sentiments of refined and elevated affection.”
“Well done, Mr. Plantation,” said Hycy; “you are improving—proceed.”
“Miss Cavanagh, then,” continued Finigan, “I'd say was a goddess, and Miss M'Mahon her attendant nymph.”
“Good again, O'Finigan,” said Clinton; “you are evidently at home in the mythology.”
“Among the goddesses, at any rate,” replied the master, with another grin.
“Provided there is no matrimony in the question,” said Clinton.
“Ah, Mr. Clinton, don't, if you please. That's a subject you may respect yet as much as I do; but regarding my opinion of the two beauties in question, why was it solicited, Mr. Hycy?” he added, turning to that worthy gentlemen.
“Faith, I'm not able to say, most learned Philomath; only, is it true that Bryan, the clodhopper, has matrimonial designs upon the fair daughter of the regal Cavanagh?”
“Sic vult fama, Mr. Hycy, upon condition that a certain accomplished young gentleman, whose surname commences with the second letter of the alphabet, won't offer—for in that case, it is affirmed, that the clodhopper should travel. By the way, Mr. Clinton, I met your uncle and Mr. Fethertonge riding up towards Ahadarra this morning.”