herty, with stern
deliberation, and fixing his eyes steadily and rather unpleasantly upon
Nutter (I think he saw that wink and perhaps did not understand its
import.)

'Ay, Sir, and Mrs. Magnolia Macnamara has as rich a head of hair as you
could wish to see,' says Nutter, thinking he was drawing him off very
cleverly.

'As _I_ could wish to see?' repeated O'Flaherty grimly.

'As _you_ could desire to see, Sir,' reiterated Nutter, firmly, for he
was not easily put down; and they looked for several seconds in silence
a little menacingly, though puzzled, at one another.

But O'Flaherty, after a short pause, seemed to forget Nutter, and
returned to his celestial theme.

'Be the powers, Sir, that young leedy has the most beautiful dimple in
her chin I ever set eyes on!'

'Have you ever put a marrow fat pea in it, Sir?' enquired Devereux,
simply, with all the beautiful rashness of youth.

'No, Sorr,' replied O'Flaherty, in a deep tone, and with a very
dangerous glare; 'and I'd like to see the man who, in my presence, id
preshum to teeke that libertee.'

'What a glorious name Magnolia is!' interposed little Toole in great
haste; for it was a practice among these worthies to avert
quarrels--very serious affairs in these jolly days--by making timely
little diversions, and it is wonderful, at a critical moment, what may
be done by suddenly presenting a trifle; a pin's point, sometimes--at
least, a marvellously small one--will draw off innocuously, the
accumulating electricity of a pair of bloated scowling thunder-clouds.

'It was her noble godmother, when the family resided at Castlemara, in
the county of Roscommon, the Lady Carrick-o'-Gunniol, who conferred it,'
said O'Flaherty, grandly, 'upon her god-daughter, as who had a better
right--I say, _who_ had a better right?' and he smote his hand upon the
table, and looked round inviting contradiction. 'My godmothers, in my
baptism--that's catechism--and all the town of Chapelizod won't put that
down--the Holy Church Catechism--while Hyacinth O'Flaherty, of
Coolnaquirk, Lieutenant Fireworker, wears a sword.'

'Nobly said, lieutenant!' exclaimed Toole, with a sly wink over his
shoulder.

'And what about that leedy's neeme, Sir?' demanded the enamoured
fireworker.

'By Jove, Sir, it is quite true, Lady Carrick-o'-Gunniol _was_ her
godmother:' and Toole ran off into the story of how that relationship
was brought about; narrating it, however, with great caution and
mild