“It’s by the merest chance that I happen to have the cause of it in my pocket,” replied M’Mahon, who, as he spoke, handed him the letter which Peety Dhu had delivered to him from Hycy himself.  “Read that,” said he, “and I think you’ll have no great trouble in understanding why I felt as I did;—­an’ indeed, Hycy, to tell you the truth, I never had the same opinion of you since.”  Hycy, to his utter amazement, read as follows: 

“My Dear Miss Cavanagh:—­

“Will you permit little Cupid, the god of Love, to enrol the name of Hycy Burke on the long list of your adorers?  And if you could corrupt the little stone-blind divinity to blot out every name on it but my own, I should think that a very handsome anticipation of the joys of Paradise could be realized by that delightful fact.  I say anticipation—­for my creed is, that the actual joys of Paradise exist no where, but within the celestial circle of your ambrosial arms.  That is the Paradise which I propose to win; and you may rest assured that I shall bring the most flaming zeal, the most fervent devotion, and all the genuine piety of a true worshipper, to the task of attaining it.  I shall carry, for instance, a little Bible of Love in my pocket—­for I am already a divinity student or a young collegian under little Cupid aforesaid—­and I will have it all dogeared with refreshing texts for my edification.  I should state, however, that I am, as every good Christian is, awfully exclusive in my creed; and will suffer no one, if I can prevent it, to approach the Paradise I speak of but myself.  In fact I am as jealous as the very Deuce—­whoever that personage may be—­quite an Othello in my way—­a perfect raw-head-and-bloody-bones—­with a sharp appetite and teeth like a Walrus, ready to bolt my rivals in dozens.  It is said, my divine creature, or rather it is hinted, that a certain clodhopping boor, from the congenial wilds of Ahadarra, is favored by some benignant glances from those lights of yours that do mislead the moon.  I hope this is not so—­bow wow!—­ho! ho!—­I smell the blood of a rival; and be he great or small, red or black, or of any color in the rainbow, I shall have him for my. breakfast—­ho! ho!  You see now, my most divine Kathleen, what a terrible animal to all rivals and competitors for your affections I shall be; and that if it were only for their own sakes, and to prevent carnage and cannibalism, it will be well for you to banish them once and forever, and be content only with myself.

“Seriously, my dear Kathleen, I believe I am half-crazed; and, if so, you are the sole cause of it.  I can think of no other object than your beautiful self; and I need scarcely say, that I shall have neither peace nor happiness unless I shall be fortunate enough to gain a place in your tender bosom.  As for the Ahadarra man, I am surprised you should think of such an ignorant clodhopper—­a fellow whose place Providence especially allotted to between the stilts of a plough, and at the tail of a pair of horses.  Perhaps you would be kind enough to take a walk on Thursday evening, somewhere near the river—­where I hope I shall have an opportunity of declaring my affection for you in person.  At all events I shall be there with the ardent expectation of meeting you.