“She is a delightful girl,” replied Edward, “it can't be denied; indeed, I don't think I ever saw so beautiful a girl, and as for her figure, it is perfect--perfect.” “Ay,” said the father, “and it's she that knows the difference between a decent sensible boy and a--gintleman--a highflyer. She was both kind and civil to you, Ned.” “I don't know as to the kindness,” replied Edward; “but she was certainly civil and agreeable, and I don't think it's in her nature to be anything else.” “Except when she ought,” said his father; “but listen, Ned--dress yourself up, get a buff waistcoat, a green jockey coat, a riding whip, and a pair o' shinin' top-boots, titivate yourself up like a dandy, then go to her wid lavendher water on your pocket-handkerchy, an' you'll see how she'll settle you. Be my sowl, you'll be the happy boy when you get her; don't you think so, Misther Hycy?” “Unquestionably, Mr. Burke, when you speak you shame an Oracle; as for Master Ned--why-- “'I'm owre young,--I'm owre young, I'm owre young to marry yet, I'm owre young, 'twould be a sin To take me from my Daddy yet.' I think, Master Edward, the Boy-god has already taken occupation; the vituline affection for the fair Katsey has set in; heigho, what a delightful period of life is that soft and lickful one of calf love, when the tongue rolls about the dripping lips, the whites of the eyes are turned towards the divine, the ox-eyed Katsey, and you are ready to stagger over and blare out the otherwise unutterable affection.” “Very well described, Hycy, I see you have not forgotten your Homer yet; but really Kathleen Cavanagh is a perfect Juno, and has the large, liquid, soft ox-eye in perfection.” “Let me look at you,” said Hycy, turning round and staring at him with a good deal of surprise; “begad, brother Ned, let me ask where you got your connoisseurship upon women? eh? Oh, in the dictionary, I suppose, where the common people say everything is to be found. Observe me, Mr. Burke, you are taking your worthy son out of his proper vocation, the Church. Send him to 'Maynewth,' he is too good a connoisseur on beauty to be out of the Tribunal.” “Hycy,” replied his brother, “these are sentiments that do you no credit, it is easy to sneer at religion or those who administer it,--much easier than to praise the one, it would appear, or imitate the virtues of the other.” “Beautiful rebuke,” said Hycy, again staring at him; “why, Masther Edward, you are a prodigy of wonderful sense and unspotted virtue; love has made you eloquent--“'I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue, I gat my death frae twa sweet e'en, Twa lovely e'en o' bonnie blue, &c, &c.'” “I am not in love yet, Hycy, but as my father wishes to bring about a marriage between Kathleen and myself, you know,” he added, smiling, “it will be my duty to fall in love with her as fast as I can.”