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For we're ahl jolly fellows wheriver we go Ogedashin, den thashin, na boneen sheen lo!" Potts was called on. No, he couldn't sing, but he could show them a trick or two. And with his grimy euchre-deck he kept his word, showing that he was not the mere handy-man, but the magician of the party.
But Nicholas was absorbed in his carving. Again Mr. O'Flynn obliged, roaring with great satisfaction: "'I'm a stout rovin' blade, and what matther my name, For I ahlways was wild, an' I'll niver be tame; An' I'll kiss putty gurrls wheriver I go, An' what's that to annyone whether or no. Chorus. "'Ogedashin, den thashin, come, boys! let us drink; 'Tis madness to sorra, 'tis folly to think.
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