'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.