“Why, then, Mr. Hycy,” replied the pedagogue, “I think, above all subjects, that a thorough understanding of that same comes most natural to an Irishman. It is a pleasant topic to discuss at all times.” “Much pleasanter than marriage, I think,” said Clinton, smiling. “Ah, Mr. Clinton,” replied the other, with a shrug, “_de mortuis nil nisi bonum_; but as touching beauty, in what sense do you ask my opinion?” “Whether now, for instance, would your learned taste prefer Miss Cavanagh or Miss Dora M'Mahon? and give your reasons.” “Taste, Mr. Hycy, is never, or at least seldom, guided by reason; the question, however, is a fair one.” “One at least on a fair subject,” observed Clinton. “Very well said, Mr. Clinton,” replied the schoolmaster, with a grin--“there goes wit for us, no less--and originality besides. See what it is to have a great janius!--ha! ha! ha!” “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.” “Indeed!” exclaimed both; and as they spoke, each cast a look of inquiry at the other. “What could bring them to Ahadarra, gentlemen?” asked Finigan, in a tone of voice which rendered it a nice point to determine whether it was a simple love of knowledge that induced him to put the question, or some other motive that might have lain within a kind of ironical gravity that accompanied it. “Why, I suppose a pair of good horses,” replied Hycy, “and their own inclination.” “It was not the last, at all events,” said Finigan, “that ever brought a thief to the gallows--ha! ha! ha! we must be facetious sometimes, Mr. Hycy.” “You appear to enjoy that joke, Mr. Finigan,” said Hycy, rather tartly.