FATHER TOM AND THE POPE,
As related by Mr. Michael Heffernan, Master of the National School at Tallymactaggart, in the County Leitrim, to a friend, during his official visit to Dublin for the purpose of studying political economy, in the spring of 1838.
BY SAMUEL FERGUSON.
I.
HOW FATHER TOM WENT TO TAKE POT-LUCK AT THE VATICAN.
When his Riv'rence was in Room, ov coorse the Pope axed him to takepot-look wid him. More be token, it was on a Friday; but, for all that,there was plenty of mate; for the Pope gev himself an absolution fromthe fast on account of the great company that was in it,--at laste soI'm tould. Howandiver, there's no fast on the dhrink, anyhow,--glory beto God!--and so, as they wor sitting, afther dinner, taking their suptogether, says the Pope, says he, "Thomaus," for the Pope, you know,spakes that away, and all as one as ov uz,--"Thomaus _a lanna_," sayshe, "I'm tould you welt them English heretics out ov the face."
"You may say that," says his Riv'rence to him again. "Be my soul," sayshe, "if I put your Holiness undher the table, you won't be the firstPope I floored."
Well, his Holiness laughed like to split; for you know, Pope was thegreat Prodesan that Father Tom put down upon Purgathory; and ov coorsethey knew all the ins and outs of the conthravarsy at Room. "Faix,Thomaus," says he, smiling across the table at him mightyagreeable,--"it's no lie what they tell me, that yourself is thepleasant man over the dhrop ov good liquor."
"Would you like to thry?" says his Riv'rence.
"Sure, and amn't I thrying all I can?" says the Pope. "Sorra bettherbottle ov wine's betuxt this and Salamanca, nor there's fornenst you onthe table; it's raal Lachrymachrystal, every spudh ov it."
"It's mortial could," says Father Tom.
"Well, man alive," says the Pope, "sure, and here's the best ov goodclaret in the cut decanther."
"Not maining to make little ov the claret, your Holiness," says hisRiv'rence, "I would prefir some hot wather and sugar, wid a glass ovspirits through it, if convanient."
"Hand me over the bottle of brandy," says the Pope to his head butler,"and fetch up the materi'ls," says he.
"Ah, then, your Holiness," says his Riv'rence, mighty eager, "maybeyou'd have a dhrop ov the native in your cellar? Sure, it's all onethrouble," says he, "and, troth, I dunna how it is, but brandy alwaysplays the puck wid my inthrails."
"'Pon my conscience, then," says the Pope, "it's very sorry I am,Misther Maguire," says he, "that it isn't in my power to plase you; forI'm sure and certaint that there's not as much whiskey in Room thisblessed minit as 'ud blind the eye ov a midge."
"Well, in troth, your Holiness," says Father Tom, "I knewn there was nouse in axing; only," says he, "I didn't know how else to exqueeze theliberty I tuck," says he, "of bringing a small taste," says he, "of thereal stuff," says he, hauling out an imperi'l quart bottle out ov hiscoat-pocket; "that never seen the face ov a guager," says he, setting itdown on the table fornenst the Pope; "and if you'll jist thry the fullov a thimble ov it, and it doesn't rise the cockles ov your Holiness'sheart, why then, my name," says he, "isn't Tom Maguire!" and with thathe out's wid the cork.
Well, the Pope at first was going to get vexed at Father Tom forfetching dhrink thataway in his pocket, as if there wasn't lashins inthe house: so says he, "Misther Maguire," says he, "I'd have you tocomprehind the differ betuxt an inwitation to dinner from the succissorof Saint Pether, and from a common nagur of a Prodesan squirean thatmaybe hasn't liquor enough in his cupboard to wet more nor his ownheretical whistle. That may be the way wid them that you wisit inLeithrim," says he, "and in Roscommon; and I'd let you know the differin the prisint case," says he, "only that you're a champion ov theChurch and entitled to laniency. So," says he, "as the liquor's come,let it stay. And, in troth, I'm curi's myself," says he, getting mightysoft when he found the delightful smell ov the _putteen_, "ininwistigating the composition ov distilled liquors; it's a branch ovnatural philosophy," says he, taking up the bottle and putting it to hisblessed nose.
Ah! my dear, the very first snuff he got ov it, he cried out, the dearman, "Blessed Vargin, but it has the divine smell!" and crossed himselfand the bottle half a dozen times running.
"Well, sure enough, it's the blessed liquor now," says his Riv'rence,"and so there can be no harm any way in mixing a dandy of punch; and,"says he, stirring up the materi'ls wid his goolden meeddlar,--foreverything at the Pope's table, to the very shcrew for drawing thecorks, was ov vergin goold,--"if I might make boold," says he, "to spakeon so deep a subjic afore your Holiness, I think it 'ud considherablywhacilitate the inwestigation ov its chemisthry and phwarmaceutics, ifyou'd jist thry the laste sup in life ov it inwardly."
"Well, then, suppose I do make the same expiriment," says the Pope, in amuch more condescinding way nor you'd have expected,--and wid that hemixes himself a real stiff facer.
"Now, your Holiness," says Father Tom, "this bein' the first time youever dispinsed them chymicals," says he, "I'll jist make bould to laydoun one rule ov orthography," says he, "for conwhounding them,_secundum mortem_."
"What's that?" says the Pope.
"Put in the sperits first," says his Riv'rence; "and then put in thesugar; and remember, every dhrop ov wather you put in after that, spoilsthe punch."
"Glory be to God!" says the Pope, not minding a word Father Tom wassaying. "Glory be to God!" says he, smacking his lips. "I never knewnwhat dhrink was afore," says he. "It bates the Lachymalchrystal out ovthe face!" says he,--"it's Necthar itself, it is, so it is!" says he,wiping his epistolical mouth wid the cuff ov his coat.
"'Pon my secret honor," says his Riv'rence, "I'm raally glad to see yourHoliness set so much to your satiswhaction; especially," says he, "as,for fear ov accidents, I tuck the liberty of fetching the fellow ov thatsmall vesshel," says he, "in my other coat-pocket. So devil a fear ofour running dhry till the but-end of the evening, anyhow," says he.
"Dhraw your stool into the fire, Misther Maguire," says the Pope, "forfaix," says he, "I'm bent on anilizing the metaphwysics ov thisphinomenon. Come, man alive, clear off," says he, "you're not dhrinkingat all."
"Is it dhrink?" says his Riv'rence; "by Gorra, your Holiness," says he,"I'd dhrink wid you till the cows 'ud be coming home in the morning."
So wid that they tackled to, to the second fugil apiece, and fell into alarned discourse.
But it's time for me now to be off to the lecthir at the Boord. O, mysorra light upon you, Docther Whately, wid your plitical econimy andyour hydherastatics! What the _divul_ use has a poor hedge-masther likeme wid sich deep larning as is only fit for the likes ov them two I leftover their second tumbler? Howandiver, wishing I was like them, inregard ov the sup ov dhrink, anyhow, I must brake off my norration forthe prisint; but when I see you again, I'll tell you how Father Tom madea hare ov the Pope that evening, both in theology and the cube root.
II.
HOW FATHER TOM SACKED HIS HOLINESS IN THEOLOGY AND LOGIC.
Well, the lecther's over, and I'm kilt out and out. My bitther curse beupon the man that invinted the same Boord! I thought onc't I'd fadomedthe say ov throuble; and that was when I got through fractions at ouldMat Kavanagh's school, in Firdramore,--God be good to poor Mat's sowl,though he did deny the cause the day he suffered! but its fluxionsitself we're set to bottom now, sink or shwim! May I never die if myhead isn't as throughother, as anything wid their ordinals andcardinals,--and, begad, it's all nothing to the econimy lecthir that Ihave to go to at two o'clock. Howandiver, I mustn't forget that we lefthis Riv'rence and his Holiness sitting fornenst one another in theparlor ov the Vatican, jist afther mixing their second tumbler.
When they had got well down into the same, they fell, as I was tellingyou, into learned discourse. For you see, the Pope was curious to findout whether Father Tom was the great theologinall that people said; andsays he "Mister Maguire," says he, "What answer do you make to theheretics when they quote them passidges agin thransubstantiation out ovthe Fathers?" says he.
"Why," says his Riv'rence, "as there is no sich passidges I make myselfmighty asy about them; but if you want to know how I dispose ov them,"says he, "just repate one ov them, and I'll show you how tocatapomphericate it in two shakes."
"Why then," says the Pope, "myself disremimbers the particlar passidgesthey allidge out ov them ould felleys," says he, "though sure enoughthey're more numerous nor edifying,--so we'll jist suppose that aheretic was to find sich a saying as this in Austin, 'Every sensible manknows that thransubstantiation is a lie,'--or this out of Tertullian orPlutarch, 'the bishop ov Rome is a common imposther,'--now tell me,could you answer him?"
"As easy as kiss," says his Riv'rence. "In the first, we're tounderstand that the exprission, 'Every sinsible man,' signifies simply,'every man that judges by his nath'ral sinses'; and we all know thatnobody follying them seven deludhers could ever find out the mystherythat's in it, if somebody didn't come in to his assistance wid an eighthsinse, which is the only sinse to be depended on, being the sinse ov theChurch. So that, regarding the first quotation which your Holiness hassupposed, it makes clane for us, and tee-totally agin the heretics."
"That's the explanation sure enough," says his Holiness; "and now whatdiv you say to my being a common imposther?"
"Faix, I think," says his Riv'rence, "wid all submission to the betterjudgment ov the learned father that your Holiness has quoted, he'd havebeen a thrifle nearer the thruth, if he had said that the bishop ovRome is the grand imposther and top-sawyer in that line over us all."
"What do you mane?" says the Pope, getting quite red in the face.
"What would I mane," says his Riv'rence, as composed as a docther ovphysic, "but that your Holiness is at the head ov all them,--troth I hada'most forgot I wasn't a bishop myself," says he, the deludher was goingto say, as the head of all _uz_, "that has the gift ov laving on hands.For sure," says he, "imposther and _imposithir_ is all one, so you'reonly to undherstand _manuum_, and the job is done. Auvuich!" says he,"if any heretic 'ud go for to cast up sich a passidge as that agin me,I'd soon give him a p'lite art ov cutting a stick to welt his own backwid."
"'Pon my apostolical word," says the Pope, "you've cleared up them twopints in a most satiswhactery manner."
"You see," says his Riv'rence,--by this time they wor mixing their thirdtumbler,--"the writings of them Fathers is to be thrated wid greatveneration; and it 'ud be the height ov presumption in any one to sitdown to interpret them widout providing himself wid a genteel assortmentov the best figures of rhetoric, sich as mettonymy, hyperbol,cattychraysis, prolipsis, mettylipsis, superbaton, pollysyndreton,hustheronprotheron, prosodypeia and the like, in ordher that he maynever be at a loss for shuitable sintiments when he comes to theirhigh-flown passidges. For unless we thrate them Fathers liberally to ahandsome allowance ov thropes and figures they'd set up heresy at onc't,so they would."
"It's thru for you," says the Pope; "the figures ov spache is thepillars ov the Church."
"Bedad," says his Riv'rence, "I dunna what we'd do widout them at all."
"Which one do you prefir?" says the Pope; "that is," says he, "whichfigure of spache do you find most usefullest when you're hard set?"
"Metaphour's very good," says his Riv'rence, "and so's mettonymy,--andI've known prosodypeia stand to me at a pinch mighty well,--but for aconstancy, superbaton's the figure for my money. Devil be in me," sayshe, "but I'd prove black white as fast as a horse 'ud throt wid only agood stick ov superbaton."
"Faix," says the Pope, wid a sly look, "you'd need to have it backed, Ijudge, wid a small piece of assurance."
"Well now, jist for that word," says his Riv'rence, "I'll prove itwidout aither one or other. Black," says he, "is one thing and white isanother thing. You don't conthravene that? But everything is aither onething or another thing; I defy the Apostle Paul to get over thatdilemma. Well! If anything be one thing, well and good; but if it beanother thing, then it's plain it isn't both things, and so can't be twothings,--nobody can deny that. But what can't be two things must be onething,--_Ergo_, whether it's one thing or another thing it's all one.But black is one thing and white is another thing,--_Ergo_, black andwhite is all one. _Quod erat demonsthrandum._"
"Stop a bit," says the Pope, "I can't althegither give in to your secondminer--no--your second major," says he, and he stopped. "Faix, then,"says he, getting confused, "I don't rightly remimber where it wasexactly that I thought I seen the flaw in your premises. Howsomdiver,"says he, "I don't deny that it's a good conclusion, and one that 'ud beov materil service to the Church if it was dhrawn wid a little moredistinctiveness."
"I'll make it as plain as the nose on your Holiness's face, bysuperbaton," says his Riv'rence. "My adversary says, black is notanother color, that is white? Now that's jist a parallel passidge widthe one out ov Tartulion that me and Hayes smashed the heretics on inClarendon Sthreet. 'This is my body, that is, the figure ov my body.'That's a superbaton, and we showed that it oughtn't to be read that wayat all but this way, 'This figure of my body _is_ my body.' Jist so widmy adversary's proposition, it mustn't be undherstood the way it reads,by no manner of manes; but it's to be taken this way,--'Black, that is,white, is not another color,'--green, if you like, or orange, by dad,for anything I care, for my case is proved. 'Black,' that is, 'white,'lave out the 'that,' by sinnalayphy, and you have the orthodoxconclusion, 'Black is white,' or by convarsion, 'White is black.'"
"It's as clear as mud," says the Pope.
"Bedad," says his Riv'rence, "I'm in great humor for disputin' to-night.I wisht your Holiness was a heretic jist for two minutes," says he,"till you'd see the flaking I'd give you!"
"Well, then, for the fun o' the thing suppose me my namesake, if youlike," says the Pope, laughing, "though, by Jayminy," says he, "he'snot one that I take much pride out ov."
"Very good,--devil a bitther joke ever I had," says his Riv'rence."Come, then, Misther Pope," says he, "hould up that purty face ov yours,and answer me this question. Which 'ud be the biggest lie, if I said Iseen a turkey-cock lying on the broad ov his back, and picking the starsout ov the sky, or if I was to say that I seen a gandher in the sameintherrestin' posture, raycreating himself wid similar asthronomicalexperiments? Answer me that, you ould swaddler?" says he.
"How durst you call me a swaddler, sir?" says the Pope, forgetting, thedear man, the part that he was acting.
"Don't think to bully me!" says his Riv'rence. "I always daar to spakethe truth, and it's well known that you're nothing but a swaddling ouldsent ov a saint," says he, never letting on to persave that his Holinesshad forgot what they were agreed on.
"By all that's good," says the Pope, "I often hard ov the imperance ovyou Irish afore," says he, "but I never expected to be called a saint inmy own house, either by Irishman or Hottentot. I'll till you what,Misther Maguire," says he, "if you can't keep a civil tongue in yourhead, you had betther be walking off wid yourself; for I beg lave togive you to undherstand, that it won't be for the good ov your health ifyou call me by sich an outprobrious epithet again," says he.
"O, indeed! then things is come to a purty pass," says his Riv'rence,(the dear funny soul that he ever was!) "when the lik ov you comparesone of the Maguires ov Tempo wid a wild Ingine! Why, man alive, theMaguires was kings ov Fermanagh three thousand years afore yourgrandfather, that was the first ov your breed that ever wore shoes andstockings" (I'm bound to say, in justice to the poor Prodesan, that thiswas all spoken by his Riv'rence by way of a figure ov spache), "was sinthis Majesty's arrand to cultivate the friendship of Prince Lee Boo inBotteney Bay! O, Bryan dear," says he, letting on to cry, "if you werealive to hear a _boddagh Sassenagh_ like this casting up his counthry tome ov the name ov Maguire."
"In the name ov God," says the Pope, very solemniously, "what _is_ themaning ov all this at all at all?" says he.
"Sure," says his Riv'rence, whispering to him across the table,--"sure,you know we're acting a conthrawarsy, and you tuck the part ov theProdesan champion. You wouldn't be angry wid me, I'm sure, f
or sarvingout the heretic to the best ov my ability."
"O begad, I had forgot," says the Pope, the good-natured ould crethur;"sure enough, you were only taking your part as a good Milesian Catholicought agin the heretic Sassenagh. Well," says he, "fire away now, andI'll put up wid as many conthroversial compliments as you plase to payme."
"Well, then, answer me my question, you santimonious ould dandy," sayshis Riv'rence.
"In troth, then," says the Pope, "I dunna which 'ud be the biggest lie,to my mind," says he; "the one appears to be about as big a bounce asthe other."
"Why, then, you poor simpleton," says his Riv'rence, "don't you persavethat forbye the advantage the gandher 'ud have in the length ov hisneck, it 'ud be next to empossible for the turkey-cock lying thataway tosee what he was about, by rason ov his djollars and other accouthrementshanging back over his eyes? The one about as big a bounce as the other!O you misfortunate crethur! if you had ever larned your A B C intheology, you'd have known that there's a differ betuxt them two lies sogreat, that, begad, I wouldn't wondher if it 'ud make a balance ov fiveyears in purgathory to the sowl that 'ud be in it. Ay, and if it wasn'tthat the Church is too liberal entirely, so she is, it 'ud cost hisheirs and succissors betther nor ten pounds to have him out as soon asthe other. Get along, man, and take half a year at dogmatical theology:go and read your Dens, you poor dunce, you!"
"Raaly," says the Pope, "you're making the heretic shoes too hot tohould me. I wundher how the Prodesans can stand afore you at all."
"Don't think to delude me," says his Riv'rence, "don't think to back outov your challenge now," says he, "but come to the scratch like a man, ifyou are a man, and answer me my question. What's the rason, now, thatJulius Caesar and the Vargin Mary was born upon the one day,--answer methat, if you wouldn't be hissed off the platform?"
Well, my dear, the Pope couldn't answer it, and he had to acknowledgehimself sacked. Then he axed his Riv'rence to tell him the rasonhimself; and Father Tom communicated it to him in Latin. But as that isa very deep question, I never hard what the answer was, except that I'mtould it was so mysterious, it made the Pope's hair stand on end. Butthere's two o'clock, and I'll be late for the lecthir.
III.
HOW FATHER TOM MADE A HARE OF HIS HOLINESS IN LATIN.
O Docther Whateley, Docther Whateley, I'm sure I'll never die anotherdeath, if I don't die aither ov consumption or production! I ever andalways thought that asthronomy was the hardest science that was tillnow,--and, it's no lie I'm telling you, the same asthronomy is a toughenough morsel to brake a man's fast upon,--and geolidgy is middling andhard too,--and hydherastatics is no joke,--but ov all the books ovscience that ever was opened and shut, that book upon P'litical Econimylifts the pins! Well, well, if they wait till they persuade me thattaking a man's rints out ov the counthry, and spinding them in forrainparts isn't doing us out ov the same, they'll wait a long time in truth.But you're waiting, I see, to hear how his Riv'rence and his Holinessgot on after finishing the disputation I was telling you of. Well, yousee, my dear, when the Pope found he couldn't hould a candle to FatherTom in theology and logic, he thought he'd take the shine out ov him inLatin anyhow; so says he, "Misther Maguire," says he, "I quite agree widyou that it's not lucky for us to be spaking on them deep subjects insich langidges as the evil spirits is acquainted wid; and," says he, "Ithink it 'ud be no harm for us to spake from this out in Latin," sayshe, "for fraid the devil 'ud undherstand what we are saying."
"Not a hair I care," says Father Tom, "whether they undherstand whatwe're saying or not, as long as we keep off that last pint we werdiscussing, and one or two others. Listners never hear good ovthemselves," says he, "and if Belzhebub takes anything amiss that aitheryou or me says in regard ov himself or his faction, let him stand forridlike a man, and never fear, I'll give him his answer. Howandiver, ifit's for a taste ov classic conwersation you are, jist to put us in mindov ould Cordarius," says he, "here's at you." And wid that he lets flyat his Holiness wid his health in Latin.
"Vesthrae Sanctitatis salutem volo," says he.
"Vesthrae Revirintiae salutritati bibo," says the Pope to him again(haith, it's no joke, I tell you, to remimber sich a power ov larning)."Here's to you wid the same," says the Pope, in the raal Ciceronian."Nunc poculum alterhum imple," says he.
"Cum omni jucunditate in vita," says his Riv'rence. "Cum summaconcupiscintia et animositate," says he, as much as to say, "Wid all theveins ov my heart, I'll do that same,"--and so wid that they mix'd theirfourth gun apiece.
"Aqua vitae vesthra sane est liquor admirabilis," says the Pope.
"Verum est pro te,--it's thrue for you,"--says his Riv'rence, forgettingthe idyim ov the Latin phwraseology in a manner.
"Prava est tua Latinitas, domine," says the Pope, finding fault like widhis etymology.
"Parva culpa mihi," "small blame to me, that's," says his Riv'rence,"nam multum laboro in partibus interioribus," says he--the dear man!that never was at a loss for an excuse!
"Quid tibi incommodi?" says the Pope, axing him what ailed him.
"Habesne id quod Anglice vocamus a looking-glass," says his Riv'rence.
"Immo, habeo speculum splendidissimum subther operculum pyxidis hujusstarnutatoriae," says the Pope, pulling out a beautiful goold snuff-box,wid a looking-glass in undher the lid--"Subther operculum pyxidis hujusstarnutatorii--no--starnutatoriae--quam dono accepi ab Arch-duceAusthriaco siptuagisima praetherita," says he,--as much as to say that hegot the box in a prisint from the Queen ov Spain last Lint, if I rightlyremimber.
Well, Father Tom laughed like to burst. At last, says he, "PatherSancte," says he, "sub errore jaces. 'Looking-glass' apud nos habetsignificationem quamdam peculiarem ex tempore diei dependentem,"--therewas a sthring ov accusatives for yes!--"nam mane speculum sonat," sayshe, "post prandium vero mat--mat--mat--sorra be in me but I disremimberthe classic appellivation ov the same article. Howandiver, his Riv'rencewent on explaining himself in such a way as no scholar could mistake."Vesica mea," says he, "ab illo ultimo eversore distenditur, donecsimilis est rumpere. Verbis apertis," says he, "Vesthrae Sanctitatispraesentia salvata, aquam facere valde desidhero."
"Ho, ho, ho!" says the Pope, grabbing up his box, "si inquinavisses meampyxidem, excimnicari debuisses--Hillo, Anthony," says he to his headbutler, "fetch Misther Maguire a--"
"You spoke first!" says his Riv'rence, jumping off his sate,--"you spokefirst in the vernacular! I take Misther Anthony to witness," says he.
"What else would you have me to do?" says the Pope, quite dogged like tosee himself bate thataway at his own waypons. "Sure," says he, "Anthonywouldn't undherstand a B from a bull's foot, if I spoke to him any otherway."
"Well, then," says his Riv'rence, "in considheration ov theneedcessity," says he, "I'll let you off for this time! but mind now,afther I say _praestho_, the first ov us that spakes a word ov English isthe hare--_praestho_!"
Neither ov them spoke for near a minit, considering wid themselves howthey were to begin sich a great thrial ov shkill. At last, says thePope,--the blessed man, only think how 'cute it was ov him!--"DomineMaguire," says he, "valce desidhero, certiorem fieri de significationeistius verbi _eversor_ quo jam jam usus es"--(well, surely I _am_ theboy for the Latin!)
"_Eversor_, id est cyathus," says his Riv'rence, "nam apud nos_tumbleri_ seu eversores, dicti sunt ab evertendo ceremoniam interamicos; non, ut Temperantiae Societatis frigidis fautoribus placet, abevertendis ipsis potatoribus." (It's not every masther undher theBoord, I tell you, could carry sich a car-load ov the dead langidges.)"In agro vero Louthiano et Midensi," says he, "nomine gaudent quodamsecundum linguam Anglicanam significante bombardam seu tormentum; quiaex eis tanquam ex telis jaculatoriis liquorem facibus immittere solent.Etiam inter haereticos illos melanostomos" (that was a touch ov Greek)."Presbyterianos Septentrionales, qui sunt terribiles potatores, Cyathidicti sunt _faceres_, et dimidium Cyathi _haef-a-glessus_. DimidiumCyathi vero apud Metropolitanos Hibernicos dicitur _dandy_."
"En verbum Angli
canum!" says the Pope, clapping his hands,--"leporem tefecisti"; as much as to say that he had made a hare of himself.
"_Dandaeus, dandaeus_ verbum erat," says his Riv'rence,--O, the dear man,but it's himself that was handy ever and always at getting out ov ahobble,--"_dandaeus_ verbum erat," says he, "quod dicturus eram, cum meintherpillavisti."
"Ast ego dico," says the Pope very sharp, "quod verbum erat _dandy_."
"Per tibicinem qui coram Mose modulatus est," says his Riv'rence, "idflagellat mundum! _Dandaeus_ dixi, et tu dicis _dandy_; ergo tu es lepus,non ego--Ah, ha! Saccavi vesthram Sanctitatem!"
"Mendacium est!" says the Pope, quite forgetting himself, he was so madat being sacked before the sarvints.
Well, if it hadn't been that his Holiness was in it, Father Tom 'ud havegiven him the contints of his tumbler betuxt the two eyes, for callinghim a liar; and, in troth, it's very well it was in Latin the offencewas conveyed, for, if it had been in the vernacular, there's no sayingwhat 'ud ha' been the consequence. His Riv'rence was mighty angryanyhow. "Tu senex lathro," says he, "quomodo audes me mendacempraedicare?"
"Et, tu, sacrilege nebulo," says the Pope, "quomodo audacitatem habeas,me Dei in terris vicarium, lathronem conwiciari?"
"Interroga circumcirca," says his Riv'rence.
"Abi ex aedibus meis," says the Pope.
"Abi tu in malam crucem," says his Riv'rence.
"Excimnicabo te," says the Pope.
"Diabolus curat," says his Riv'rence.
"Anathema sis," says the Pope.
"Oscula meum pod--" says his Riv'rence--but, my dear, afore he couldfinish what he was going to say, the Pope broke out into the vernacular,"Get out o' my house, you reprobate!" says he, in sich a rage that hecould contain himself widin the Latin no longer.
"Ha, ha, ha!--ho, ho, ho!" says his Riv'rence. "Who's the hare now, yourHoliness? O, by this and by that, I've sacked you clane! Clane andclever I've done it, and no mistake! You see what a bit of desate willdo wid the wisest, your Holiness,--sure it was joking I was, on purposeto aggravate you,--all's fair, you know, in love, law, and conthravarsy.In troth if I'd thought you'd have taken it so much to heart, I'd haveput my head into the fire afore I'd have said a word to offend you,"says he, for he seen that the Pope was very vexed. "Sure, God forbid,that I'd say anything agin your Holiness, barring it was in fun: foraren't you the father ov the faithful, and the thrue vicar ov God uponearth? And aren't I ready to go down on my two knees this blessed minitand beg your apostolical pardon for every word that I said to yourdisplasement?"
"Are you in arnest that it is in fun you wer?" says the Pope.
"May I never die if I aren't," says his Riv'rence. "It was all toprovoke your Holiness to commit a brache ov the Latin, that I tuck thesmall liberties I did," says he.
"I'd have you to take care," says the Pope, "how you take sich smallliberties again, or maybe you'll provoke me to commit a brache ov thepace."
"Well, and if I did," says his Riv'rence, "I know a sartan preparationov chymicals that's very good for curing a brache either in Latinity orfriendship."
"What's that?" says the Pope, quite mollified, and sitting down again atthe table that he had ris from in the first pluff of his indignation."What's that?" says he, "for 'pon my Epistolical 'davy, I think it'udn't be asy to bate this miraculous mixthir that we've been thrying toanilize this two hours back," says he, taking a mighty scientifical swigout ov the bottom ov his tumbler.
"It's good for a beginning," says his Riv'rence; "it lays a very natefoundation for more sarious operation: but we're now arrived at a pariodov the evening when it's time to proceed wid our shuperstructure bycompass and square, like free and excipted masons as we both are."
My time's up for the present; but I'll tell you the rest in the eveningat home.
IV.
HOW FATHER TOM AND HIS HOLINESS DISPUTED AT METAPHYSICS AND ALGEBRA.
God be wid the time when I went to the classical seminary ov Firdramore!when I'd bring my sod o' turf undher my arm, and sit down on my shnugboss o' straw, wid my back to the masther and my shins to the fire, andscore my sum in Dives's denominations ov the double rule o' three, orplay fox and geese wid purty Jane Cruise that sat next me, as plisantlyas the day was long, widout any one so much as saying, "Mikey Hefferman,what's that you're about?"--for ever since I was in the one lodge widpoor ould Mat I had my own way in his school as free as ever I had in mymother's shebeen.
God be wid them days, I say again, for it's althered times wid me, Ijudge, since I got undher Carlisle and Whateley. Sich sthrictness! sichordher! sich dhrilling, and lecthiring, and tuthoring as they do get onwid! I wisht to gracious the one half ov their rules and regilations wassunk in the say. And they're getting so sthrict too about having fairplay for the heretic childer! We've to have no more schools in thechapels, nor masses in the schools. O, by this and by that, it'll neverdo at all!
The ould plan was twenty times betther: and, for my own part, if itwasn't that the clargy supports them in a manner, and the grant's athing not easily done widout these hard times, I'd see if I couldn't geta sheltered spot nigh hand the chapel, and set up again on the goodould principle: and faix, I think our metropolitan 'ud stand to me, forI know that his Grace's motto was ever and always, that, "Ignorance isthe thrue mother ov piety."
But I'm running away from my narrative entirely, so I am. "You'll plaseto ordher up the housekeeper, then," says Father Tom to the Pope, "wid apint ov sweet milk in a skillet, and the bulk ov her fist ov butther,along wid a dust ov soft sugar in a saucer, and I'll show you the way ofproducing a decoction that, I'll be bound, will hunt the thirst out ovevery nook and corner in your Holiness's blessed carcidge."
The Pope ordhered up the ingredients, and they were brought in by thehead butler.
"That'll not do at all," says his Riv'rence, "the ingredients won'tcombine in due proportion unless ye do as I bid yes. Send up thehousekeeper," says he, "for a faymale hand is ondispinsably necessary toproduce the adaption of the particles and the concurrence of thecorpus'cles, widout which you might boil till morning and never fetchthe cruds off ov it."
Well, the Pope whispered to his head butler, and by and by up therecomes an ould faggot ov a _Cuillean_, that was enough to frighten ahorse from his oats.
"Don't thry for to desave me," says his Riv'rence, "for it's no use, Itell yes. Send up the housekeeper, I bid yes: I seen her presarvinggooseberries in the panthry as I came up: she has eyes as black as asloe," says he, "and cheeks like the rose in June; and sorra taste ovthis celestial mixthir shall crass the lips ov man or morteal thisblessed night till she stirs the same up wid her own delicate littlefinger."
"Misther Maguire," says the Pope, "it's very unproper ov you to spakethat way ov my housekeeper: I won't allow it, sir."
"Honor bright, your Holiness," says his Riv'rence, laying his hand onhis heart.
"O, by this and by that, Misther Maguire," says the Pope, "I'll havenone of your insinivations; I don't care who sees my whole household,"says he; "I don't care if all the faymales undher my roof was paradeddown the High Street of Room," says he.
"O, it's plain to be seen how little you care who sees them," says hisRiv'rence. "You're afeard, now, if I was to see your housekeeper, thatI'd say she was too handsome."
"No, I'm not!" says the Pope, "I don't care who sees her," says he."Anthony," says he to the head butler, "bid Eliza throw her apron overher head, and come up here." Wasn't that stout in the blessed man? Well,my dear, up she came, stepping like a three-year-old, and blushing likethe brake o' day: for though her apron was thrown over her head as shecame forrid, till you could barely see the tip ov her chin,--more betoken there was a lovely dimple in it, as I've been tould,--yet she letit shlip abit to one side, by chance like, jist as she got fornenst thefire, and if she wouldn't have given his Riv'rence a shot if he hadn'tbeen a priest, it's no matther.
"Now, my dear," says he, "you must take that skillet, and hould it overthe fire till the milk comes to a blood hate; and the way
you'll knowthat will be by stirring it onc't or twice wid the little finger ov yourright hand, afore you put in the butther: not that I misdoubt," says he,"but that the same finger's fairer nor the whitest milk that ever camefrom the tit."
"None of your deludhering talk to the young woman, sir," says the Pope,mighty stern. "Stir the posset as he bids you, Eliza, and then be offwid yourself," says he.
"I beg your Holiness's pardon ten thousand times," says his Riv'rence,"I'm sure I meant nothing onproper; I hope I'm uncapable ov any sichdirilection of my duty," says he. "But, marciful Saver!" he cried out,jumping up on a suddent, "look behind you, your Holiness,--I'm blest butthe room's on fire!"
Sure enough the candle fell down that minit, and was near setting fireto the windy-curtains, and there was some bustle, as you may suppose,getting things put to rights. And now I have to tell you ov a reallyonpleasant occurrence. If I was a Prodesan that was in it, I'd say thatwhile the Pope's back was turned, Father Tom made free wid the two lipsof Miss Eliza; but, upon my conscience, I believe it was a mere mistakethat his Holiness fell into on account of his being an ould man and nothaving aither his eyesight or his hearing very parfect. At any rate, itcan't be denied but that he had a sthrong imprission that sich was thecase; for he wheeled about as quick as thought, jist as his Riv'rencewas sitting down, and charged him wid the offince plain and plump. "Isit kissing my housekeeper before my face you are, you villain!" says he."Go down out o' this," says he, to Miss Eliza, "and do you be packingoff wid you," he says to Father Tom, "for it's not safe, so it isn't, tohave the likes ov you in a house where there's temptation in your way."
"Is it me?" says his Riv'rence; "why what would your Holiness be at, atall? Sure I wasn't doing no such thing."
"Would you have me doubt the evidence ov my sinses?" says the Pope;"would you have me doubt the testimony of my eyes and ears?" says he.
"Indeed I would so," says his Riv'rence, "if they pretend to haveinformed your Holiness ov any sich foolishness."
"Why," says the Pope, "I've seen you afther kissing Eliza as plain as Isee the nose on your face; I heard the smack you gave her as plain asever I heard thundher."
"And how do you know whether you see the nose on my face or not?" sayshis Riv'rence, "and how do you know whether what you thought wasthundher, was thundher at all? Them operations on the sinses," says he,"comprises only particular corporal emotions, connected wid sartainconfused perciptions called sinsations, and isn't to be depended upon atall. If we were to follow them blind guides we might jist as well turnheretics at onc't. 'Pon my secret word, your Holiness, it's neithercharitable nor orthodox ov you to set up the testimony ov your eyes andears agin the characther ov a clergyman. And now, see how aisy it is toexplain all them phwenomena that perplexed you. I ris and went overbeside the young woman because the skillet was boiling over, to helpher to save the dhrop ov liquor that was in it; and as for the noise youheard, my dear man, it was neither more nor less nor myself dhrawing thecork out ov this blissid bottle."
"Don't offer to thrape that upon me!" says the Pope; "here's the cork inthe bottle still, as tight as a wedge."
"I beg your pardon," says his Riv'rence, "that's not the cork at all,"says he; "I dhrew the cork a good two minits ago, and it's very purtilyspitted on the end ov this blessed corkshcrew at this prisint moment;howandiver you can't see it, because it's only its real prisince that'sin it. But that appearance that you call a cork," says he, "is nothingbut the outward spacies and external qualities of the cortical nathur.Them's nothing but the accidents of the cork that you're looking at andhandling; but, as I tould you afore, the real cork's dhrew and is hereprisint on the end ov this nate little insthrument, and it was the noiseI made in dhrawing it, and nothing else, that you mistook for the soundov the _pogue_."
You know there was no conthravening what he said; and the Pope couldn'topenly deny it. Howandiver he thried to pick a hole in it this way."Granting," says he, "that there is the differ you say betwixt thereality ov the cork and these cortical accidents; and that it's quitepossible, as you allidge, that the thrue cork is really prisint on theend ov the shcrew, while the accidents keep the mouth ov the bottlestopped--still," says he, "I can't undherstand, though willing to acquityou, how the dhrawing ov the real cork, that's onpalpable and widoutaccidents, could produce the accident of that sinsible explosion I heardjist now."
"All I can say," says his Riv'rence, "is that it was a rale accident,anyhow."
"Ay," says the Pope, "the kiss you gev Eliza, you mane."
"No," says his Riv'rence, "but the report I made."
"I don't doubt you," says the Pope.
"No cork could be dhrew with less noise," says his Riv'rence.
"It would be hard for anything to be less nor nothing, barring algebra,"says the Pope.
"I can prove to the conthrary," says his Riv'rence. "This glass ovwhiskey is less nor that tumbler ov punch, and that tumbler ov punch isnothing to this jug ov _scaltheen_."
"Do you judge by superficial misure or by the liquid contents?" says thePope.
"Don't stop me, betwixt my premises and my conclusion," says hisRiv'rence: "_Ergo_, this glass ov whiskey is less nor nothing; and forthat raison I see no harm in life in adding it to the contents ov thesame jug, just by way ov a frost-nail."
"Adding what's less nor nothing," says the Pope, "is subtractionaccording to algebra, so here goes to make the rule good," says he,filling his tumbler wid the blessed stuff, and sitting down again at thetable, for the anger didn't stay two minits on him, the good-heartedould sowl.
"Two minuses make one plus," says his Riv'rence, as ready as you plase,"and that'll account for the increased daycrement I mane to take theliberty of producing in the same mixed quantity," says he, follying hisHoliness's epistolical example.
"By all that's good," says the Pope, "that's the best stuff I evertasted; you call it a mix'd quantity, but I say it's prime."
"Since it's ov the first ordher, then," says his Riv'rence, "we'll havethe less deffeequilty in reducing it to a simple equation."
"You'll have no fractions at my side anyhow," says the Pope. "Faix, I'mafeared," says he, "it's only too aisy ov solution our sum is like tobe."
"Never fear for that," says his Riv'rence, "I've a good stick ov surdshere in the bottle; for I tell you it will take us a long time toexthract the root ov it, at the rate we're going on."
"What makes you call the blessed quart an irrational quantity?" says thePope.
"Because it's too much for one and too little for two," says hisRiv'rence.
"Clear it ov its coefficient, and we'll thry," says the Pope.
"Hand me over the exponent then," says his Riv'rence.
"What's that?" says the Pope.
"The shcrew, to be sure," says his Riv'rence.
"What for?" says the Pope.
"To dhraw the cork," says his Riv'rence.
"Sure, the cork's dhrew," says the Pope.
"But the sperets can't get out on account ov the accidents that's stuckin the neck ov the bottle," says his Riv'rence.
"Accident ought to be passable to sperit," says the Pope, "and thatmakes me suspect that the reality ov the cork's in it afther all."
"That's a barony-masia," says his Riv'rence, "and I'm not bound toanswer it. But the fact is, that it's the accidents ov the sperits toothat's in it, and the reality's passed out through the cortical spacies,as you say; for, you may have observed, we've both been in real goodsperits ever since the cork was dhrawn, and where else would the realsperits come from if they wouldn't come out ov the bottle?"
"Well, then," says the Pope, "since we've got the reality, there's nouse throubling ourselves wid the accidents."
"O, begad," says his Riv'rence, "the accidents is very essential too;for a man may be in the best ov good sperits, as far as his immaterialpart goes, and yet need the accidental qualities ov good liquor to huntthe sinsible thirst out ov him." So he dhraws the cork in earnest, andsets about brewing the other skillet ov _scaltheen_; but, fai
z, he hadto get up the ingradients this time by the hands ov ould Moley; thoughdevil a taste ov her little finger he'd let widin a yard ov the samecoction.
But, my dear, here's the "Freeman's Journal," and we'll see what's thenews afore we finish the residuary proceedings of their two Holinesses.
V.
THE REASON WHY FATHER TOM WAS NOT MADE A CARDINAL.
_Hurroo_, my darlings!--didn't I tell you it 'ud never do? Success tobould John Tuam and the ould siminary ov Firdramore! O, more power toyour Grace every day you rise, 'tis you that has broken their Boord intoshivers undher your feet! Sure, and isn't it a proud day for Ireland,this blessed feast ov the chair ov Saint Pether? Isn't Carlisle andWhateley smashed to pieces, and their whole college of swaddlingteachers knocked into smidhereens. John Tuam, your sowl, has tuck hispasthoral staff in his hand and heathen them out o' Connaught as fast asever Pathric druve the sarpints into Clew Bay.
Poor ould Mat Kevanagh, if he was alive this day, 'tis he would be thehappy man. "My curse upon their g'ographies and Bibles," he used to say;"where's the use ov perplexing the poor childre wid what we don'tundherstand ourselves?" No use at all, in troth, and so I said from thefirst myself.
Well, thank God and his Grace, we'll have no more thrigonomethry norscripther in Connaught. We'll hould our lodges every Saturday night, aswe used to do, wid our chairman behind the masther's desk, and we'llhear our mass every Sunday morning wid the blessed priest standing aforethe same.
I wisht to goodness I hadn't parted wid my Seven Champions ovChristendom and Freney the Robber: they're books that'll be in greatrequist in Leithrim as soon as the pasthoral gets wind. Glory be to God!I've done wid their lecthirs,--they may all go and be d--d wid theirconsumption and production.
I'm off to Tallymactaggart before daylight in the morning, where I'llthry whether a sod or two o' turf can't consume a cart-load ov heresy,and whether a weekly meeting ov the lodge can't produce a new thayory ovrints.
But afore I take my lave ov you, I may as well finish my story aboutpoor Father Tom that I hear is coming up to slate the heretics in Adamand Eve during the Lint.
The Pope--and indeed it ill became a good Catholic to say anything aginhim--no more would I, only that his Riv'rence was in it--but you see thefact ov it is, that the Pope was as envious as ever he could be, atseeing himself sacked right and left by Father Tom; and bate out o' theface, the way he was, on every science and subjec' that was started. So,not to be outdone altogether, he says to his Riv'rence, "you're a manthat's fond of the brute crayation, I hear, Misther Maguire?"
"I don't deny it," says his Riv'rence. "I've dogs that I'm willing torun agin any man's, ay, or to match them agin any other dogs in theworld for genteel edication and polite manners," says he.
"I'll hould you a pound," says the Pope, "that I've a quadhruped in mypossession that's a wiser baste nor any dog in your kennel."
"Done," says his Riv'rence, and they staked the money.
"What can this larned quadhruped o' yours do?" says his Riv'rence.
"It's my mule," says the Pope, "and, if you were to offer her gooldenoats and clover off the meadows o' Paradise, sorra taste ov aither she'dlet pass her teeth till the first mass is over every Sunday or holidayin the year."
"Well, and what 'ud you say if I showed you a baste ov mine," says hisRiv'rence, "that, instead ov fasting till first mass is over only, fastsout the whole four-and-twenty hours ov every Wednesday and Friday in theweek as reg'lar as a Christian?"
"O, be asy, Masther Maguire," says the Pope.
"You don't b'lieve me, don't you?" says his Riv'rence; "very well, I'llsoon show you whether or no." And he put his knuckles in his mouth, andgev a whistle that made the Pope stop his fingers in his ears. Theaycho, my dear, was hardly done playing wid the cobwebs in the cornish,when the door flies open, and in jumps Spring. The Pope happened to besitting next the door, betuxt him and his Riv'rence, and, may I neverdie, if he didn't clear him, thriple crown and all, at one spring."God's presence be about us!" says the Pope, thinking it was an evilspirit come to fly away wid him for the lie that he had told in regardov his mule (for it was nothing more nor a thrick that consisted ingrazing the brute's teeth): but, seeing it was only one ov the greatestbeauties ov a greyhound that he'd ever laid his epistolical eyes on, hesoon recovered ov his fright, and began to pat him, while Father Tom risand went to the sideboord, where he cut a slice ov pork, a slice ovbeef, a slice ov mutton, and a slice ov salmon, and put them all on aplate thegither. "Here, Spring, my man," says he, setting the plate downafore him on the hearthstone, "here's your supper for you this blessedFriday night." Not a word more he said nor what I tell you; and, you maybelieve it or not, but it's the blessed truth that the dog, afther jisttasting the salmon, and spitting it out again, lifted his nose out o'the plate, and stood wid his jaws wathering, and his tail wagging,looking up in his Riv'rence's face, as much as to say, "Give me yourabsolution, till I hide them temptations out o' my sight."
"There's a dog that knows his duty," says his Riv'rence; "there's abaste that knows how to conduct himself aither in the parlor or thefield. You think him a good dog, looking at him here: but I wisht youseen him on the side ov Sleeve-an-Eirin! Be my soul, you'd say the hillwas running away from undher him. O, I wisht you had been wid me," sayshe, never letting on to see the dog stale, "one day, last Lent, that Iwas coming from mass. Spring was near a quarther ov a mile behind me,for the childher was delaying him wid bread and butther at the chapeldoor; when a lump ov a hare jumped out ov the plantations ov GrouseLodge and ran acrass the road; so I gev the whilloo, and knowing thatshe'd take the rise of the hill, I made over the ditch, and up throughMullaghcashel as hard as I could pelt, still keeping her in view, butafore I had gone a perch, Spring seen her, and away the two went likethe wind, up Drumrewy, and down Clooneen, and over the river, widout hisbeing able onc't to turn her. Well, I run on till I come to theDiffagher, and through it I went, for the wather was low and I didn'tmind being wet shod, and out on the other side, where I got up on aditch, and seen sich a coorse as I'll be bound to say was never seenafore or since. If Spring turned that hare onc't that day, he turned herfifty times, up and down, back and for'ard, throughout and about. Atlast he run her right into the big quarryhole in Mullaghbawn, and when Iwent up to look for her fud, there I found him sthretched on his side,not able to stir a foot, and the hare lying about an inch afore his noseas dead as a door-nail, and divil a mark of a tooth upon her. Eh,Spring, isn't that thrue?" says he. Jist at that minit the clock sthrucktwelve, and, before you could say thrap-sticks, Spring had the platefulof mate consaled. "Now," says his Riv'rence, "hand me over my pound, forI've won my bate fairly."
"You'll excuse me," says the Pope, pocketing his money, "for we put theclock half an hour back, out ov compliment to your Riv'rence," says he,"and it was Sathurday morning afore he came up at all."
"Well, it's no matther," says his Riv'rence, putting back his pound-notein his pocket-book. "Only," says he, "it's hardly fair to expect a brutebaste to be so well skilled in the science ov chronology."
In troth his Riv'rence was badly used in the same bet, for he won itclever; and, indeed, I'm afeard the shabby way he was thrated had someeffect in putting it into his mind to do what he did. "Will yourHoliness take a blast ov the pipe?" says he, dhrawing out his dhudeen.
"I never smoke," says the Pope, "but I haven't the least objection tothe smell of the tobaccay."
"O, you had betther take a dhraw," says his Riv'rence, "it'll relish thedhrink, that 'ud be too luscious entirely, widout something to flavorit."
"I had thoughts," said the Pope, wid the laste sign ov a hiccup on him,"ov getting up a broiled bone for the same purpose."
"Well," says his Riv'rence, "a broiled bone 'ud do no manner ov harm atthis present time; but a smoke," says he, "'ud flavor both the devil andthe dhrink."
"What sort o' tobaccay is it that's in it?" says the Pope.
"Raal nagur-head," says his Riv'rence, "a very mild and salubriousspacies
ov the philosophic weed."
"Then, I don't care if I do take a dhraw," says the Pope. Then FatherTom held the coal himself till his Holiness had the pipe lit; and theysat widout saying anything worth mentioning for about five minutes.
At last the Pope says to his Riv'rence, "I dunna what gev me this plaguyhiccup," says he. "Dhrink about," says he--"Begorra," he says, "I thinkI'm getting merrier'an's good for me. Sing us a song, your Riv'rence,"says he.
Father Tom then sung him Monatagrenage and the Bunch o' Rushes, and hewas mighty well pleased wid both, keeping time wid his hands, andjoining in the choruses, when his hiccup 'ud let him. At last, my dear,he opens the lower button ov his waistcoat, and the top one of hiswaistband, and calls to Masther Anthony to lift up one ov the windys. "Idunna what's wrong wid me, at all at all," says he; "I'm mortal sick."
"I thrust," says his Riv'rence, "the pasthry that you ate at dinnerhasn't disagreed wid your Holiness's stomach."
"O my! oh!" says the Pope, "what's this at all?" gasping for breath, andas pale as a sheet, wid a could swate bursting out over his forehead,and the palms ov his hands spread out to cotch the air. "O my! O my!"says he, "fetch me a basin!--Don't spake to me. Oh!--oh!--bloodalive!--O, my head, my head, hould my head!--oh!--ubh!--I'mpoisoned!--ach!"
"It was them plaguy pasthries," says his Riv'rence. "Hould his headhard," says he, "and clap a wet cloth over his timples. If you couldonly thry another dhraw o' the pipe, your Holiness, it 'ud set you torights in no time."
"Carry me to bed," says the Pope, "and never let me see that wild Irishpriest again. I'm poisoned by his manes--ubplsch!--ach!--ach!--He dinedwid Cardinal Wayld yestherday," says he, "and he's bribed him to take meoff. Send for a confessor," says he, "for my latther end's approaching.My head's like to split--so it is!--O my! O my!--ubplsch!--ach!"
Well, his Riv'rence never thought it worth his while to make him ananswer; but, when he seen how ungratefully he was used, afther all histhrouble in making the evening agreeable to the ould man, he calledSpring, and put the but-end ov the second bottle into his pocket, andleft the house widout once wishing "Good night, an' plaisant dhrames toyou"; and, in troth, not one of _them_ axed him to lave them a lock ovhis hair.
That's the story as I heard it tould: but myself doesn't b'lieve overone half of it. Howandiver, when all's done, it's a shame, so it is,that he's not a bishop this blessed day and hour: for, next to thegoiant ov Saint Garlath's, he's out and out the cleverest fellow ov thewhole jing-bang.