’Every thing, Thir, in thith particular retheipt,’ answered Puddock, a little loftily.

‘But,’ said Nutter, who, though no great talker, would make an effort to prevent a quarrel, and at the same time winking to Puddock in token that O’Flaherty was just a little ‘hearty,’ and so to let him alone; ’what signifies pigs’ hair, compared with human tresses?’

‘Compared with human tresses?’ interrupted O’Flaherty, 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 mildness, extracting all the satire, and giving it quite a dignified and creditable character, for the Lieutenant Fireworker smelt so confoundedly of powder that the little doctor, though he never flinched when occasion demanded, did not care to give him an open.  Those who had heard the same story from the mischievous merry little doctor before, were I dare say, amused at the grand and complimentary turn he gave it now.