nothing increases the weight of the brain, and accelerates to gravity and solidity more than good feeding.  Pay attention, therefore, to my words, for I expect that they will be duly observed:—­buy me a knife and fork; and when I get them, it’s not to lay them past to rust, you consave.  The beef and mutton must follow; and in future I’m resolved to have my tay breakfast.  There are geese, and turkeys, and pullets enough about the yard, and I am bent on accomplishing myself in the art of carving them.  I’m not the man now to be placed among the other riff-raff’ of the family over a basket of potatoes, wid a black clerical coat upon me, and a noggin of milk under my arm!  I tell you the system must be changed:  the schoolmaster is abroad, and I’ll tolerate such vulgarity no longer.  Now saddle the horse till I ride across the bog to Pether Rafferty’s Station, where I’m to sarve mass; plase heaven, I’ll soon be able to say one myself, and give you all a lift in spirituals—­ehem!”

“Throth, Dinny, I b’lieve you’re right, avick; and——­”

“Vick me no longer, father—­that’s another thing I forgot.  It’s full time that I should be sirred; and if my own relations won’t call me Sir instead of Dinny, it’s hardly to be expected that strangers will do it.  I wish to goodness you had never stigmatized me wid so vulgar an epithet as Dinny.  The proper word is Dionysius; and, in future, I’ll expect to be called Misther Dionysius.”

“Sure, I or your mother needn’t be sirrin’ you, Dinny?”

“I haven’t made up my mind as to whether I’ll demand that proof of my respectability from you and my mother, or not; but on this I’m immovable, that instead of Dinny, you must, as I said, designate me Dionysius.”

“Well, well, avourneen, I suppose only it’s right you wouldn’t be axin’ us; but I’m sure your poor mother will never be able to get her tongue about Dionnisis, it’s so long and larned a word.”

“It is a larned word, no doubt; but she must persevere until she’s able to masther it.  I wouldn’t for three tenpennies that the priest would hear one of you call me Dinny; it would degradate me very much in his estimation.  At all events, if my mother cannot manage the orthography of Dionysius, let it be Denis, or anything but that signature of vulgarity, Dinny.  Now, father, you won’t neglect to revale what I’ve ordered to the family?”

“No, indeed, I will not, avick—­I mane—­Dionnisis, avourneen—­I’ll tell them everything as you ordhered; but as to Dionnisis, I’m cock sure that poor Mave will never be able to get her ould tongue about so newfangled a piece of larnin’ as that is.  Well, well, this knowledge bates the world!”

When the horse was saddled, and Dionysius on his way with all due pomp to the Station, old Denis broke the matter to his wife.

“Mave, achora,” said,he, “I have sthrange news to tell you:  sure Dionnisis is goin’ to make himself a gintleman.”