He has an
independence himself."
"Thrue for you, father; but what right would any girl have to expect to
be supported by the hard arnin' of me an' my husband, widout bringin'
somethin' forrid herself? You know, sir, that the fortune always goes
wid the wife; but am I to fortune off my son to a girl that has nothin'?
If my son, plase your Reverence, hadn't a coat to his back, or a guinea
in his pocket--as, God be praised, he has both--but, supposin' he
hadn't, what right would he have to expect a girl wid a handsome fortune
to marry him? There's Paddy Neil your sarvint-boy; now, if Paddy, who's
an honest man's son, axed your niece, wouldn't you be apt to lose your
timper?"
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Connell, I think your fire's rather hot--allow
me to drawback a little. Mrs. Connell, your health again!--Mr. Connell,
your fireside!"
"Thank you, Docthor; but faith I think you ought hardly to dhrink the
same fireside, becase it appears to be rather hot for your Reverence, at
the present time--ha, ha, ha! Jokin' still, Docthor, we must be. Well,
what harm! I wish we may never do worse!"
"And what fortune would you expect with a girl of genteel connexion--a
girl that's accomplished, well say in music, plain work, and Irish,
vernacularly?--hem! What fortune would you be expecting with such a
girl?"
"Why, Docthor, ahagur, the only music I'd wish for my son's wife is a
good timper; an' that's what their music-masthers can't tache thim.
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