are you but a _nux vomica?_ A fit of the ague's a thrifle compared to
your asinity."

The "boys" were delighted at this encounter, and utterly forgetful of
the pacific occasion on which they had assembled, began to pit them
against each other with great glee.

"That's a hard hit, Misther Costigan; but you won't let it pass, any
how."

"The ague an' you are ould acquaintances," retorted Costigan; "whenever
a skrimmage takes place, you're sure to resave a visit from it."

"Why, I'm not such a hare as yourself," replied his rival, "nor such a
great hand at batin' the absent--ha, ha, ha!"

"Bravo, Misther Connell--that's a leveller; come, Misther Costigan,
bedad, if you don't answer that you're bate."

"By this and by that, man alive, if you don't mend your manners, maybe
I'd make it betther for you to be absent also. You'll only put me to the
throuble of men din' them for you."

"Mend my manners!" exclaimed his opponent, with a bitter sneer,--"you
to mend them! out wid your budget and your hammer, then; you're the very
tinker of good manners--bekase for one dacency you'd mend, you'd spoil
twenty."

"I'm able to hammer you at all events, or, for that matther, any one
of your illiterate gineration. Sure it's well known that you can't tach
Voshther (Voster) widout the Kay."

"Hould there, if you plase," exclaimed one of his opponent's relations;
"don't lug in his family; that's known to be somewhat afore your own, I
bleeve. There's no Informers among them, Misther Costigan: keep at home,
masther, if you plase."

"At home! That's more than some o' your own cleavings (* distant
relations) have been able to do," rejoined Costigan, alluding to one of
the young fellow's acquaintances who had been transported.

"Do you mane to put an affront upon me?" said the other.

"Since the barrhad (* cap) fits you, wear it," replied Costigan.

"Very right, masther, make him a present of it," exclaimed one of
Costigan's distant relations; "he desarves that, an' more if he'd get
it."

"Do I?" said the other; "an' what have you to say on the head of it,
Bartle?"

"Why, not much," answered Bartle, "only that you ought to've left it
betune them; an' that I'll back Misther Costigan agin any rascal that
'ud say there was ever a dhrop of his blood in an Informer's veins."

"I say it for one," replied the other.

"And I, for another," said Connell; "an' what's worse, I'll hould a
wager, that if he was searched this minute, you'