ses O'Grady cast
fearful sidelong glances at "Pa," whose strange irritation always
bespoke his not being in what good people call a "sweet state of mind;"
he laid hold of a tea-spoon, and began beating a tattoo on the
mantel-piece to a low smothered whistle of some very obscure tune, which
was suddenly stopped to say to Furlong, very abruptly--

"So Egan diddled you?"

"Why, he certainly, as I conceive, pwactised, or I might say, in
short--he--a--in fact----"

"Oh, yes," said O'Grady, cutting short Furlong's humming and hawing;
"oh, yes, I know--diddled you."

Bang went the spoon again, keeping time with another string of nonsense.
"Diddled you--diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped
over the moon--who was there?"

"A Mister Dawson."

"Phew!" ejaculated O'Grady with a doleful whistle; "Dick the devil! You
are in nice hands! All up with us--up with us--

Up, up, up,
And here we go down, down, down, down, derry down!

Oh, murther!" and the spoon went faster than before. "Any one else?"

"Mister Bermingham."

"Bermingham!" exclaimed O'Grady.

"A cle'gyman, I think," drawled Furlong.

"Bermingham!" reiterated O'Grady. "What business has he there, and
be ----!" O'Grady swallowed a curse when he remembered he was a
clergyman. "The enemy's camp--not his principles! Oh, Bermingham,
Bermingham,--B_rim_magem, B_rum_magem, Sheffield, Wolverhampton--Murther!
Any one else? Was Durfy there?"

"No," said Furlong; "but there was an odd pe'son, whose name wymes to
his--as you seem fond of wymes, Mister O'Gwady."

"What!" said O'Grady, quickly, and fixing his eyes on Furlong;
"Murphy?"

"Yes. Miste' Muffy."

O'Grady gave a more doleful whistle than before, and banging the spoon
faster than ever, exclaimed again, "Murphy!--then I'll tell you what it
is; do you see that?" and he held up the spoon before Furlong, who,
being asked the same question several times, confessed he _did_ see the
spoon. "Then I'll tell you what it is," said O'Grady again, "I wouldn't
give you _that_ for the election;" and, with a disdainful jerk, he threw
the spoon into the fire, after which he threw himself back in his chair
with an appearance of repose, while he glanced fiercely up at the
ceiling, and indulged in a _very_ low whistle indeed. One of the girls
stole softly round to the fire and gently took up the tongs to recover
the spoon; it made a slight rattle, and her father turned smartly round,
and said, "Can't