“Look at the other side of the page,” says Lynch, rather sarcastically (for I don't care to confess that I kissed the name of “Dorothea v. Klingenspohr, born v. Speck” written under an extremely feeble passage of verse). “Look at the other side of the paper!” I did, and what do you think I saw? I saw the writing of five of the little Klingenspohrs, who have all sprung up since my time. ***** “Ha! ha! haw!” screamed the impertinent young Irishman, and the story was all over Connemara and Joyce's Country in a day after. CHAPTER II. OTTILIA IN PARTICULAR. Some kind critic who peruses these writings will, doubtless, have the goodness to point out that the simile of the Mediterranean heath is applied to two personages in this chapter--to Ottilia and Dorothea, and say, Psha! the fellow is but a poor unimaginative creature not to be able to find a simile apiece at least for the girls; how much better would WE have done the business! Well, it is a very pretty simile. The girls were rivals, were beautiful, I loved them both,--which should have the sprig of heath? Mr. Cruikshank (who has taken to serious painting) is getting ready for the exhibition a fine piece, representing Fitz-Boodle on the Urrisbeg Mountain, county Galway, Ireland, with a sprig of heath in his hand, hesitating, like Paris, on which of the beauties he should bestow it. In the background is a certain animal between two bundles of hay; but that I take to represent the critic, puzzled to which of my young beauties to assign the choice. If Dorothea had been as rich as Miss Coutts, and had come to me the next day after the accident at the ball and said, “George, will you marry me?” it must not be supposed I would have done any such thing. THAT dream had vanished for ever: rage and pride took the place of love; and the only chance I had of recovering from my dreadful discomfiture was by bearing it bravely, and trying, if possible, to awaken a little compassion in my favor. I limped home (arranging my scheme with great presence of mind, as I actually sat spinning there on the ground)--I limped home, sent for Pflastersticken, the court-surgeon, and addressed him to the following effect: “Pflastersticken,” says I, “there has been an accident at court of which you will hear. You will send in leeches, pills, and the deuce knows what, and you will say that I have dislocated my leg: for some days you will state that I am in considerable danger. You are a good fellow and a man of courage I know, for which very reason you can appreciate those qualities in another; so mind, if you breathe a word of my secret, either you or I must lose a life.”