owsomdiver,"
says he, "I don't deny that it's a good conclusion, and one that 'ud be
ov materi'l service to the Church if it was dhrawn wid a little more
distinctiveness."

"I'll make it as plain as the nose on your Holiness's face, by
superbaton," says his Riv'rence. "My adversary says, black is not
another colour, that is, white? Now that's jist a parallel passidge wid
the one out ov Tartullian that me and Hayes smashed the heretics on in
Clarendon 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 way
at all, but this way, 'This figure of my body _is_ my body.' Jist so wid
my 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 colour,'--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 orthodox
conclusion, 'Black is white,' or by convarsion, 'White is black.'"

"It's as clear as mud," says the Pope.

"Begad," says his Riv'rence, "I'm in great humour 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 you
like," says the Pope, laughing, "though, by Jayminy," says he, "he's not
one that I take much pride out ov."

"Very good--devil a betther 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 I seen
a turkey-cock lying on the broad ov his back, and picking the stars out
ov the sky, or if I was to say that I seen a gandher in the same
intherestin' posture, raycreating himself wid similar asthronomical
experiments? Answer me that, you ould swaddler?" says he.

"How durst you call me a swaddler, sir?" says the Pope, forgetting, the
dear man, the part that he was acting.

"Don't think for to bully me!" says his Riv'rence, "I always daar to
spake the truth, and it's well known that you're nothing but a swaddling
ould sinner ov a saint," says he, never letting on to persave that his
Holiness had forgot what they were agreed on.

"By all that's good," says the Pope, "I often hard ov the imperance ov
you Irish afore," says he, "but I never expected t