" says his Riv'rence, putting back his pound-note
in his pocket-book, "only," says he, "it's hardly fair to expect a brute
baste to be so well skilled in the science ov chronology."

In troth his Riv'rence was badly used in the same bate, for he won it
clever; and, indeed, I'm afeared the shabby way he was thrated had some
effect in putting it into his mind to do what he did. "Will your
Holiness 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 to
the smell of the tobaccay."

"Oh, you had betther take a dhraw," says his Riv'rence, "it'll relish
the dhrink, that 'ud be too luscious entirely, widout something to
flavour it."

"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 at
this present time; but a smoke," says he, "'ud flavour both the devil
and the 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 salubrious
spacies of the philosophic weed."

"Then, I don't care if I do take a dhraw," says the Pope. Then Father
Tom held the coal himself till his Holiness had the pipe lit; and they
sat widout saying anything worth mentioning for about five minutes.

At last the Pope says to his Riv'rence, "I dunna what gev me this plaguy
hiccup," says he. "Dhrink about," says he--"Begorra," he says, "I think
I'm getting merrier nor's good for me. Sing us a song, your Riv'rence,"
says he.

Father Tom then sung him Monatagrenoge and the Bunch o' Rushes, and
he was mighty well pleased wid both, keeping time wid his hands, and
joining in in the choruses, when his hiccup 'ud let him. At last, my
dear, he opens the lower buttons ov his waistcoat, and the top one of
his waistband, and calls to Masther Anthony to lift up one ov the
windys. "I dunna what's wrong wid me, at all at all," says he, "I'm
mortial sick."

"I thrust," says his Riv'rence, "the pasthry that you ate at dinner
hasn't disagreed wid your Holiness's stomach."

"Oh my! oh!" says the Pope, "what's this at all?" gasping for
breath, and as pale as a sheet, wid a could swate bursting out
over his forehead, and the palms ov his hands spread out to catch
the air. "Oh my! oh my!" says he, "fetch me a basin!--Don't spake
to me. Oh!--oh!--blood alive!--Oh, my head, my head,