with a flourish, and the picture mayhap of a rose. Let the reader
imagine some hundreds of these interesting inscriptions, and he will
have an idea of the book.

Turning over the leaves I came presently on DOROTHEA'S hand. There
it was, the little neat, pretty handwriting, the dear old up-and-down
strokes that I had not looked at for many a long year,--the
Mediterranean heath, which grew on the sunniest banks of Fitz-Boodle's
existence, and here found, dear, dear little sprig! in rude Galwagian
bog-lands.

"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.