d quarto.

'Not _what_, Thir?' demanded Puddock, briskly, but plainly disconcerted.

'Not anything--anything _bad_--or, or--there's no use in purtendin',
Puddock,' he resumed, turning quite yellow. 'I see, Sir, I see by your
looks, it's what you think, I'm poisoned!'

'I--I--do _not_, Thir, think you're poisoned,' he replied indignantly,
but with some flurry; 'that is, there's a great deal in it that could
not pothibly do you harm--there's only one ingredient, yes--or, or, yes,
perhapth three, but thertainly no more, that I don't quite know about,
depend upon it, 'tis nothing--a--nothing--a--seriouthly--a--But why, my
dear Thir, why on earth did you violate the thimple directions--why did
you thwallow a particle of it?'

'Och, why did I let it into my mouth at all--the divil go with it!'
retorted poor O'Flaherty; 'an' wasn't I the born eediot to put them
devil's dumplins inside my mouth? but I did not know what I was
doin'--no more I didn't.'

'I hope your head'th better,' said Puddock, vindicating by that
dignified enquiry the character of his recipe.

'Auch! my head be smathered, what the puck do I care about it?'
O'Flaherty broke out. 'Ah, why the devil, Puddock, do you keep them ould
women's charrums and devilments about you?--you'll be the death of some
one yet, so you will.'

'It's a recipe, Sir,' replied Puddock, with the same dignity 'from
which my great uncle, General Neagle, derived frequent benefit.'

'And here I am,' says O'Flaherty, vehemently; 'and you don't know
whether I'm poisoned or no!'

At this moment he saw Dr. Sturk passing by, and drummed violently at the
window. The doctor was impressed by the summons; for however queer the
apparition, it was plain he was desperately in earnest.

'Let's see the recipe,' said Sturk, drily; 'you think you're poisoned--I
know you do;' poor O'Flaherty had shrunk from disclosing the extent of
his apprehensions, and only beat about the bush; 'and if you be, I lay
you fifty, I can't save you, nor all the doctors in Dublin--show me the
recipe.'

Puddock put it before him, and Sturk looked at the back of the volume
with a leisurely disdain, but finding no title there, returned to the
recipe. They both stared on his face, without breathing, while he conned
it over. When he came about half-way, he whistled; and when he arrived
at the end, he frowned hard; and squeezed his lips together till the red
disappeared altogether, and he looked again at the back of the