abroad, and I'll tolerate such vulgarity no longer. Now saddle the horse
till I ride across the bog to Pether Rafferty's Station, where I'm to
sarve mass; plase heaven, I'll soon be able to say one myself, and give
you all a lift in spirituals--ehem!"

"Throth, Dinny, I b'lieve you're right, avick; and----"

"Vick me no longer, father--that's another thing I forgot. It's full
time that I should be sirred; and if my own relations won't call me Sir
instead of Dinny, it's hardly to be expected that strangers will do it.
I wish to goodness you had never stigmatized me wid so vulgar an epithet
as Dinny. The proper word is Dionysius; and, in future, I'll expect to
be called Misther Dionysius."

"Sure, I or your mother needn't be sirrin' you, Dinny?"

"I haven't made up my mind as to whether I'll demand that proof of
my respectability from you and my mother, or not; but on this I'm
immovable, that instead of Dinny, you must, as I said, designate me
Dionysius."

"Well, well, avourneen, I suppose only it's right you wouldn't be axin'
us; but I'm sure your poor mother will never be able to get her tongue
about Dionnisis, it's so long and larned a word."

"It is a larned word, no doubt; but she must persevere until she's able
to masther it. I wouldn't for three tenpennies that the priest would
hear one of you call me Dinny; it would degradate me very much in his
estimation. At all events, if my mother cannot manage the orthography of
Dionysius, let it be Denis, or anything but that signature of vulgarity,
Dinny. Now, father, you won't neglect to revale what I've ordered to the
family?"

"No, indeed, I will not, avick--I mane--Dionnisis, avourneen--I'll tell
them everything as you ordhered; but as to Dionnisis, I'm cock sure that
poor Mave will never be able to get her ould tongue about so newfangled
a piece of larnin' as that is. Well, well, this knowledge bates the
world!"

When the horse was saddled, and Dionysius on his way with all due pomp
to the Station, old Denis broke the matter to his wife.

"Mave, achora," said,he, "I have sthrange news to tell you: sure
Dionnisis is goin' to make himself a gintleman."

"Sure what?"

"Dionnisis, our son Dionnisis, is goin' to make himself a gintleman;
he'll ate no longer widout a knife and fork."

"Saints about us!" exclaimed Mave, rising and looking with alarm into
her husband's face--"saints about us, Denis, what is it ails you? Sure
there would be nothin' wrong wid you