end ov the shcrew, while the accidents keep the mouth ov the bottle
stopped--still," says he, "I can't undherstand, though willing to acquit
you, how the dhrawing ov the real cork, that's onpalpable and widout
accidents, could produce the accident of that sinsible explosion I heard
jist now."

"All I can say," says his Riv'rence, "is that it was a rale accident,
anyhow."

"Ay," says the Pope, "the kiss you gev Eliza, you mane."

"No," says his Riv'rence, "but the report I made."

"I don't doubt you," says the Pope.

"No cork could be dhrew with less noise," says his Riv'rence.

"It would be hard for anything to be less nor nothing, barring algebra,"
says the Pope.

"I can prove to the conthrary," says his Riv'rence. "This glass ov
whiskey is less nor that tumbler ov punch, and that tumbler ov punch is
nothing to this jug ov _scaltheen_."

"Do you judge by superficial misure or by the liquid contents?" says the
Pope.

"Don't stop me, betwixt my premises and my conclusion," says his
Riv'rence: "_Ergo_, this glass ov whiskey is less nor nothing; and for
that raison I see no harm in life in adding it to the contents ov the
same jug, just by way ov a frost-nail."

"Adding what's less nor nothing," says the Pope, "is subtraction
according to algebra, so here goes to make the rule good," says he,
filling his tumbler wid the blessed stuff, and sitting down again at the
table, for the anger didn't stay two minits on him, the good-hearted
ould sowl.

"Two minuses make one plus," says his Riv'rence, as ready as you plase,
"and that'll account for the increased daycrement I mane to take the
liberty of producing in the same mixed quantity," says he, follying his
Holiness's epistolical example.

"By all that's good," says the Pope, "that's the best stuff I ever
tasted; you call it a mix'd quantity, but I say it's prime."

"Since it's ov the first ordher, then," says his Riv'rence, "we'll have
the less deffeequilty in reducing it to a simple equation."

"You'll have no fractions at my side anyhow," says the Pope. "Faix, I'm
afeared," says he, "it's only too aisy ov solution our sum is like to
be."

"Never fear for that," says his Riv'rence, "I've a good stick ov surds
here in the bottle; for I tell you it will take us a long time to
exthract the root ov it, at the rate we're going on."

"What makes you call the blessed quart an irrational quantity?" says the
Pope.

"Because it's too much for one and too little