And now he began to enlarge on the theme of books, and he went on in this way till he became eloquent, enthusiastic, and glorious. He quaffed the limpid and transparent liquid, and its insinuating influences inspired him every moment to nobler flights of fancy, of rhetoric, and of eloquence. He began to grow learned. He discoursed about the Attic drama; the campaigns of Hannibal; the manners and customs of the Parthians; the doctrines of Zoroaster; the wars of Hercalius and Chosroes; the Comneni; the Paleologi; the writings of Snorro Sturlesson; the round towers of Ireland; the Phoenician origins of the Irish people proved by Illustrations from Plautus, and a hundred other things of a similar character. "And what are you engaged upon now?" I asked, at length, as I found myself fairly lost amid the multiplicity of subjects which he brought forward. "Engeeged upon?" he exclaimed, "well--a little of iviry thing, but this dee I've been busy with a rayconsthruction of the scholastic thaories rilitiv to the jureetion of the diluge of Juceelion. Have ye ivir persued the thraitises of the Chubingen school about the Noachic diluge?" "No." "Well, ye'll find it moighty foine an' insthructive raidin'. But in addition to this, I've been investigarin' the subject of maydyayvil jools." "Jools?" I repeated, in an imbecile way. "Yis, jools," said O'Halloran, "the orjil, ye know, the weeger of battle." "Oh, yes," said I, as light burst in upon me; "duels, I understand." "But the chafe subject that I'm engeeged upon is a very different one," he resumed, talking another swallow of the oft-replenished draught. "It's a thraitise of moine which I ixplict to upsit the thaories of the miserable Saxon schaymers that desthort the pleen facts of antiquetee to shoot their own narrow an' disthortid comprayhinsions. An' I till ye what--whin my thraitise is published, it'll make a chumult among thim that'll convulse the litherary wurruld." "What is your treatise about?" I asked, dreamily, for I only half comprehended him, or rather, I didn't comprehend him at all. "Oh," said he, "its a foine subject intoirely. It's a thraitise rilitiv' to the Aydipodayan Ipopaya." "What's that?" I asked. "The what?--" "The Aydipodayan Ipopaya," said O'Halloran. "The Aydipodayan Ipopaya?" I repeated, in a misty, foggy, and utterly woe-be-gone manner. "Tis," said he, "an' I'd like to have your opinion about that same," saying which, he once more filled his oft-replenished tumbler. It was too much. The conversation was getting beyond my depth. I had followed him in a vague and misty way thus far, but this Aydipodayan Ipopaya was an obstacle which I could not in any way surmount. I halted short, full in front of that insurmountable obstacle. So far from surmounting it, I couldn't even pretend to have the smallest idea what it was. I could not get over it, and therefore began to think of a general retreat. I rose to my feet. "Ye're not going yit?" he said.