Cavanagh, my classicality tells me, that
the poet Maro blundered like a Hibernian, when he made the same fame a
trumpeter, in which, wid the exception of one point, he was completely
out of keeping. There's not in all litherature another instance of a
female trumpeter; and for sound raisons--if the fair sex were to get
possession of the tuba, God help the world, for it would soon be a noisy
one. However, let me recollect myself--where was I? Oh! ay--I am afraid
that if what fame says--an' by the way, her trumpet must have been a
speaking one--be true, that there's a fair individual here whose spirits
are not of the most exalted character; and indeed, and as I am the
noblest work of God--an honest man--I feel sorry to hear the fact."
The first portion of this address, we need scarcely say, was the only
part of it which was properly understood, if we except a word or two at
the close.
"God save you, Misther Finigan."
"O'Finigan, if you plase, Mrs. Cavanagh."
"Well, well," she replied, "O'Finigan, since it must be so; but in troth
I can!t always remember it, Misther Finigan, in regard that you didn't
always stand out for it yourself. Is there any news stirrin', you that's
abroad?"
"Not exactly news, ma'am; but current reports that are now no novelty.
The M'Mahon's--"
"Oh, never mind them," exclaimed Mrs.
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