“I like your description well enough, on the whole,” said Walter, “and when I look out for a wife, I shall come to you for advice.”
“Your honour may have it already--Miss Ellinor’s jist the thing.”
Walter turned away his head, and told Bunting, with great show of indignation, not to be a fool.
The Corporal, who was not quite certain of his ground here, but who knew that Madeline, at all events, was going to be married to Aram, and deemed it, therefore, quite useless to waste any praise upon her, thought that a few random shots of eulogium were worth throwing away on a chance, and consequently continued.
“Augh, your honour--‘tis not ‘cause I have eyes, that I be’s a fool. Miss Ellinor and your honour be only cousins, to be sure; but more like brother and sister, nor any thing else. Howsomever, she’s a rare cretur, whoever gets her has a face that puts one in good-humour with the world, if one sees it first thing in the morning--‘tis as good as the sun in July--augh! But, as I was saying, your honour--‘bout the women-creturs in general--” “Enough of them, Bunting; let us suppose you have been so fortunate as to find one to suit you--how would you woo her? Of course, there are certain secrets of courtship, which you will not hesitate to impart to one, who, like me, wants such assistance from art--much more than you can do, who are so bountifully favoured by Nature.”
“As to Nature,” replied the Corporal, with considerable modesty, for he never disputed the truth of the compliment--“‘tis not ‘cause a man be six feet without’s shoes, that he’s any nearer to lady’s heart. Sir, I will own to you, howsomever it makes ‘gainst your honour and myself, for that matter--that don’t think one is a bit more lucky with the ladies for being so handsome! ‘Tis all very well with them ere willing ones, your honour--caught at a glance; but as for the better sort, one’s beauty’s all bother! Why, Sir, when we see some of the most fortunatest men among she-creturs--what poor little minnikens they be! One’s a dwarf--another knock-kneed--a third squints--and a fourth might be shown for a hape! Neither, Sir, is it your soft, insinivating, die-away youths, as seem at first so seductive; they do very well for lovers, your honour; but then it’s always rejected ones! Neither, your honour, does the art of succeeding with the ladies ‘quire all those finniken, nimini-pinimi’s, flourishes, and maxims, and saws, which the Colonel, my old master, and the great gentlefolks, as be knowing, call the art of love--baugh! The whole science, Sir, consists in these two rules--‘Ask soon, and ask often.’”