“By my word, sir, but it's a good and appropriate name, sure enough,” said Father Ned, surveying his enormous length; “success to me but you're an Alexandrine from head to foot--non solum Longinus, sed Alexandrinus.” “You're wrong, sir, in the Latin,” said Father Peter. “Prove it, Peter--prove it.” “It should be non tantum, sir.” “By what rule Pether?” “Why, sir, there's a phrase in Corderius's Colloquies that I could condimn you from, if I had the book.” “Pether, you think you're a scholar, and, to do you justice, you're cute enough sometimes; but, Pether, you didn't travel for it, as I did--nor were you obliged to lep out of a college windy in Paris, at the time of the French Revolution, for your larning, as I was: not you, man, you ate the king's mutton comfortably at home in Maynooth, instead of travelling like your betters.” “I appale to this gintleman,” said Father Peter turning to the stranger. “Are you a classical scholar, sir--that is, do you understand Latin?” “What kind?” demanded the stranger dryly. “If you have read Corderius's Colloquies, it will do,” said Father Peter. “No, sir,” replied the other, “but I have read his commentator, _Bardolphus_, who wrote a treatise upon the _Nasus Rubricundus_ of the ancients.” “Well, sir, if you did, it's probable that you may be able to understand our dispute, so”-- “Peter, I'm afeard you've got into the wrong box; for I say he's no chicken that's read _Nasus Rubricundus_, I can tell you that; I had my own trouble with it: but, at any rate, will you take your punch, man alive, and don't bother us with your Latin?” “I beg your pardon, Father Ned: I insist that. I'm right; and I'll convince you that you're wrong, if God spares me to see Corderius to-morrow.” “Very well then, Pether, if you're to decide it to-morrow, let us have no more of it tonight.” During this conversation between the two reverend worthies, the group around the fire were utterly astonished at the erudition displayed in this learned dispute. “Well, to be sure, larnin's a great thing, entirely,” said M'Roarkin, aside, to Shane Fadh. “Ah, Tom, there's nothing like it: well, any way, it's wonderful what they know!” “Indeed it is, Shane--and in so short a time, too! Sure, it's not more nor five or six years since Father Pether there used to be digging praties on the one ridge with myself--by the same token, an excellent spadesman he was--and now he knows more nor all the Protestant parsons in the Diocy.” “Why, how could they know any thing, when they don't belong to the thrue church?” said Shane. “Thrue for you, Shane,” replied M'Roaran; “I disremimbered that clincher.” This discourse ran parallel with the dispute between the two priests, but in so low a tone as not to reach the ears of the classical champions, who would have ill-brooked this eulogium upon Father Peter's agricultural talent.