“Darcy,” said Deaker, addressing a thin, red-faced man beside him, “I saw a pretty bit of goods in Castle Cumber market on Thursday.”

“Why, Deaker,” replied the other, “is it possible that with one foot and more than half your body in the grave, and your shadow in h—­l, you sinner, you have not yet given up your profligacy.”

“Eat, drink, and be merry, Tom, for tomorrow we die; but about this pretty bit of goods—­I tried to price her, but it wouldn’t do; and when I pressed hard, what do you think of the little tit, but put herself under the protection of old Priest Roche, and told him I had insulted her.”

“Who is she, Deaker?” inquired a young fellow with a good deal of libertine interest.

“Ah, Bob,” replied Deaker, laughing; “there you are, one of the holy triad.  Here, Baronet—­did you ever hear what Mad Jolly-block, their father, the drinking parson of Mount Carnal, as some one christened his residence, said of his three sons?—­and that chap there’s one of them.”

“No; let us hear it.”

“‘Dan,’ said the father, speaking of the eldest, ’would eat the devil; Jack,’ the second, ’would drink the devil; and Bob, this chap here, ’would both eat and drink him, in the first, place, and outwit him afterwards.’  That’s Bob, the youngest—­he there with a lip like a dropsical sausage.  He has sent him here to pick up a little honesty, and much loyalty.”

“And a great deal of morality,” replied Bob, laughing, “from Deaker the virtuous.”

“No, no,” replied Deaker; “you need never leave your Reverend father’s wing for that.”

“Deaker, do you fleece the poor as much as ever?” replied Bob.

“Ah, you are another sweet Agent, as times go.  Do you touch them at the renewals as usual?”

“Egad, Bob, I was very good at that; but there’s an unmatrimonial son of mine, Val the Vulture, there, and d—­me, when I look back upon my life, and compare it with his, it’s enough to make me repent of my humanity, to think of the opportunities I have neglected.”

“Gentlemen,” observed Hartley, “it strikes me, no matter what the multiplicity of other virtues we possess, there is somehow nothing like a superabundance of shame among us; we appear to glory in our vices.”

“Why confound it, Hartley,” replied Deaker, “where’s the use of assuming what we do not and cannot feel?  Would you have me preach honesty, who am as d——­d a rogue as there is here?  Indeed, with the exception of that whelp of mine, I believe the greatest—­but that fellow’s my master.”

“Nobody can quarrel with your candor, Deaker, because it’s all at your own expense,” said the treasurer.

“Egad, and here it is at yours, Gilburne; with the exception always of myself and my son, you are the deepest rogue here—­and I am very much afraid that your securities will be of my opinion when it is too late.”  He laughed heartily at this; and then, as usual, took to whistling his favorite tune of the Boyne Water.