This man's name, or rather his nickname, was Dandy Dulcimer, an epithet bestowed upon him in consequence of the easy and strolling life he led, supporting himself, as he passed from place to place, by his performances upon that simple but pleasing instrument.
"Pat," said the stranger in the course of the evening, "have you succeeded in procuring me this cousin of yours ?" for in that relation he stood to Pat.
"I expect him here every minute, sir," replied Pat; "and there's one thing I'll lay down my life on--you may trust him as you would any one of the twelve apostles--barring that blackguard Judas.

Take St.Pettier, or St.Paul, or any of the dacent apostles, and the divil a one of them honester than Dandy.

Not that he's a saint like them either, or much overburdened with religion, poor fellow; as for honesty and truth--divil a greater liar ever walked in the mane time; but, by truth, I mane truth to you, and to any one that employs him--augh, by my soul, he's the flower of a boy." "He won't bring his dulcimer with him, I hope." "Won't he, indeed?
Be me sowl, sir, you might as well separate sowl and body, as take Dandy from his dulcimer.

Like the two sides of a scissors, the one's of no use widout the other.

They must go together, or Dandy could never cut his way through the world by any chance.