"'Whoop! whoroo!' sez Tim. 'There's the young masther now! Hands off wid ye! Don't ye see him wid Miss Norah?'
"'Hould on a minnit, men,' sez the squireen. 'May be 'tis a mistake, afther all. Is that young jintleman Misther Sullivan?'
"'Oh, to be sure it is,' sez Tim. 'Who else 'u'd it be, I'd like to know? Misther Maurice! Maurice, achorra, spake to thim, av ye pl'ase, an' tell thim it's yerself that I see.'
"'Why will I do that?' sez the young jintleman, laughin'. 'Sure, 'twould be wastin' my breath, an' they knowin' it a'ready.'
"'Oh, murther! see that now!' sez Tim. 'An' they a frikenin' me out of my siven sinses all the while. Ayeh! Maurice a vick, but I forgive ye the bad thrick yees played me the day.'
"'Musha, thin, an' thank ye for nothin',' sez Maurice; 'for I does be thinkin' that 'tis yerself, Tim, as is to blame, seein' the fine clo'es on yer back.'
"'Yea, thin,' sez the squireen, burstin' into a great laugh, ''twore hisself, sure enough, as played the bould thrick, an' bothered me all out wid his single an' his double fluxshins; but, bedad, if the thrick wor in his hands last night, sure he'll confiss I trumped it dacently this mornin'.'"
AMOR, VIVAX, FRAGILIS.
BY H. H., M. D.