“Surely myself doesn’t doubt it.  I suppose, by shuttin’ my eyes, the same lad could prove anything to me.”

“But, Dinny, avourneen, you didn’t prove Phadrick to be an ass yit.  Will you do that by histhory, too, Dinny, or by the norrations of Illocution?”

“Father, I’m surprised at your gross imperception.  Why, man, if you were not a rara avis of somnolency, a man of most frolicsome determinations, you’d be able to see that I’ve proved Phadrick to be an ass already.”

“Throth, I deny that you did; there wasn’t a word about my bein’ an ass, in the last discoorse.  It was all upon the differ atween black an’ white.”

“Oh, how I scorn your gravity, man! Ignorantia, as I said, is your date an’ superscription; an’ when you die, you ought to go an’ engage a stone-cutter to carve you a headstone, an’ make him write on it, Hic jacet Ignorantius Redivicus.  An’ the translation of that is, accordin’ to Publius Virgilius Maro—­’here lies a quadruped who didn’t know the differ atween black an’ white.’”

“Well, by the livin’, Dinny, I dunna where you get all this deep readin’.”

“Sure he gets it all in the Dixonary.”

“Bedad, that Dixonary must be a fine book entirely, to thim that undherstand it.”

“But, Dinny, will you tell Phadrick the Case of Conscience atween Barny Branagan’s two goats an’ Parra Ghastha’s mare?”

“Fadher, if you were a grammarian, I’d castigate your incompatability as it desarves—­I’d lay the scourge o’ syntax upon you, as no man ever got it since the invintion o’ the nine parts of speech.  By what rule of logic can you say that aither Barny Branagan’s goats or Parra Ghastha’s mare had a conscience?  I tell you it wasn’t they had the conscience, but the divine who decided the difficulty.  Phadrick, lie down till I illusthrate.”

“How is that, Dinny?  I can hear you sittin’.”

“Lie down, you reptile, or I shall decline the narration altogether.”

“Arra, lie down, Phadrick; sure he only wants to show you the rason o’ the thing.”

“Well, well; I’m down.  Now Dinny, don’t let your feet be too larned, if you plase.”

“Silence!—­taceto! you reptile.  Now, Phadrick, here, on this side o’ you, lies Barny Branagan’s field; an’ there, on that side, lies a field of Parra Ghastha’s; you’re the ditch o’ mud betuxt them.”

“The ditch o’ mud!  Faix that’s dacent!”

“Now here, on Barny Branagan’s side, feeds Parra Ghastha’s mare; an’ there, on Parra Ghastha’s side, feed Barny Branagan’s goats.  Do you comprehend?  Do you insinuate?”

“I do—­I do.  Death alive! there’s no use in punchin’ my sides wid your feet that way.”

“Well, get up now an’ set your ears.”

“Now listen to him, Phadrick!”