“Troth, and he is, Nancy, and a little bit farther, if you knew but all. Mr. Morrow, how do you do, sir?—And—eh?—Who's this we've got in the corner? A gintleman, boys, if cloth can make one! Mr. Morrow, introduce me.”
“Indeed, Father Ned, I hav'nt the pleasure of knowing the gintleman myself.”
“Well, no matter—come up, Pether. Sir, I have the honor of introducing you to my curate and coadjutor, the Reverend Pether M'Clatchaghan, and to myself, his excellent friend, but spiritual superior, the Reverend Edward Deleery, Roman Catholic Rector of this highly respectable and extensive parish; and I have further the pleasure,” he continued, taking up Andy Morrow's Punch, “of drinking your very good health, sir.”
“And I have the honor,” returned the stranger, rising up, and diving his head among the flitches of bacon that hung in the chimney, “of introducing you and the Rev. Mr. M'—M'—M'——”
“Clatchagan, sir,” subjoined Father Ned.
“Peter M'Illclatchagan, to Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandrinus.”
“By my word, sir, but it's a good and appropriate name, sure enough,” said Father Ned, surveying his enormous length; “success to me but you're an Alexandrine from head to foot—non solum Longinus, sed Alexandrinus.”
“You're wrong, sir, in the Latin,” said Father Peter.
“Prove it, Peter—prove it.”
“It should be non tantum, sir.”