"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 you let the fire alone?--there's coal enough on it; the devil burn 'em all--Egan, Murphy, and all o' them! What do you stand there for, with the tongs in your hands, like a hairdresser, or a stuck pig? I tell you, I'm as hot as a lime-kiln; go out o' that." The daughter retired, and the spoon was left to its fate; the ladies did not dare to utter a word; O'Grady continued his gaze on the ceiling and his whistle; and Furlong, very uncomfortable and much more astonished, after sitting in silence for some time, thought a retreat the best move he could make, and intimated his wish to retire. Mrs. O'Grady gently suggested it was yet early; which Furlong acknowledged, but pleaded his extreme fatigue after a day of great exertion. "I suppose you were canvassing," said O'Grady, with a wicked grin. "Ce'tainly not; they could sca'cely pwesume on such a thing as that, I should think, in _my_ pwesence."