“The heavens mark you to grace, Dinny. You did that in brave style. Phadrick, ahagur, he'll make the darlin' of an arguer whin he gets the robes an him.” “I don't deny that; he'll be aquil to the best o' thim: still, Denis, I'd rather, whin I want to pronounce upon colors, that he'd let me keep my eyes open.” “Ay, but he did it out o' the books, man alive; an' there's no goin' beyant thim. Sure he could prove it out of the Divinity, if you went to that. An' what is still more, he could, by shuttin' your eyes, in the same way prove black to be white, an' white black, jist as asy.” “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!”