things, than Captain Edward Cloherty, R.A.M.C.; yet Miss Mangan, to
whom these exercises were dedicated, remained oblivious of them and
aloof, apparently wholly absorbed by Martha-like attentions with
regard to the public welfare, and particularly those connected with
the fire. It was not for nothing that Tishy had had to rise early on
many a winter morning to see that her father should go forth to his
work suitably warmed and fed. Now, with scathing criticisms of the
methods of Mr. Coppinger, she swept him from his position as stoker,
and, as by magic, or so it seemed to him, the sticks blazed, the
kettle began to sing. Miss Mangan's skill was not limited to the
prosaic lighting of material fires only. With the two most
distinguished young men of the party at her feet, she rose to the
height of all her various powers. The fire roared and crackled, the
kettle bubbled, and Tishy's grey and gleaming glances through the
smoke were like a succession of boxes of matches, cast upon the
responsive fires of Larry's and Georgy's holiday hearts.

The young May moon has often been a factor in affairs of the heart
whose importance cannot be ignored. It is true that on this especial
afternoon the mischief might seem to have been begun before she could,
strictly, have been held responsible; none the less her madness must
have been in the air, otherwise it is difficult to account for the
joint and simultaneous overthrow of two young gentlemen of taste and
quality, by Miss Tishy Mangan.

Georgy, aged but 19, just home from far and forlorn seas, with, as the
poet says, a heart for any fate, might have been excused for
swallowing any good provided for him by the gods, whole, and without
criticism, but for Mr. St. Lawrence Coppinger, lately come of age, a
man of taste, endowed with special _finesse_ of feeling, it might