No man can say that that is my
manuscription, Mr. Hycy." These words he uttered with great coolness;
and Hycy, who was in many things a shrewd young fellow, deemed it better
to wait until the liquor, which was fast disappearing, should begin to
operate. At length, when about three-quarters of an hour had passed, he
resolved to attack his vanity.
"Well, well, Finigan, as regards this letter, I must say I feel a good
deal disappointed."
"Why so, Mr. Hycy?"
"Why, because I did not think there was any other man in the country who
could have written it."
"Eh? how is that now?"
"Faith, it's very simple; the letter is written with surprising
ability--the language is beautiful--and the style, like the land of
Canaan, flowing with milk and honey. It is certainly a most uncommon
production."
"Now, seriously, do you think so? At all events, Mr. Hycy, it was
written by a friend of yours--that's a clear case."
"I think so; but what strikes me is its surprising ability; no wonder
the writer should say that he is not unknown to fame--he could not
possibly remain in obscurity."
"Mr. Hycy, your health--I remember when you were wid me you certainly
were _facile princeps_ for a ripe judgment, even in your rudiments;
so then, you are of opinion that the epistle in question has janius?
I think myself it is no everyday production; not I believe such as
the thistle-browser Heffernan, or Misther Demosthenes M'Gosther could
achieve--the one wid his mile and a half, and the other wid his three
townlands of reputation.
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