cleverest and the knowingest man I’ve met in five thousand years. That joult you gave me about Jonah was a terror!”
“I never saw your ayquil! If we could only send you to Parliament, you’d free Ireland!” says Father Cassidy. “To think,” says he, “that once I used to believe there was no such thing as fairies!”
“That was bekase you were shuperstitious,” says the King. “Everyone is so, more or less. I am meself—a little,” says he.
Darby was stirrin’ spoons in the three steaming noggins and Father Cassidy was looking throubled.
What would his flock say to see him dhrinking punch with a little ould pagin, who was the friend of Quid Nick?
“Your health!” says the King, houlding up the cup.
His Riverence took a bowl of the punch, for daycency’s sake, and stood quiet a minute. At last he says, “Happiness to you and forgiveness to you, and my heart’s pity folly you!” says he, raising the noggin to his lips.
He dhrained the cup thoughtful and solemn, for he didn’t know rightly whether ’twas a vaynial sin or
