can't see it, because it's only its raal prisence that's
in it. But that appearance that you call a cork," says he, "is nothing
but the outward spacies and external qualities of the cortical nathur.
Them's nothing but the accidents of the cork that you're looking at and
handling; but, as I tould you afore, the real cork's dhrew, and is here
prisint on the end ov this nate little insthrument, and it was the noise
I made in dhrawing it, and nothing else, that you mistook for the sound
ov the _pogue_."

You know there was no conthravening what he said; and the Pope couldn't
openly deny it. Howandiver he thried to pick a hole in it this way.
"Granting," says he, "that there is the differ you say betwixt the
reality ov the cork and them cortical accidents, and that it's quite
possible, as you alledge, that the thrue cork is really prisint on the
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 I'm sinsible it was a
real 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
whisky is less nor that tumbler ov punch, and that tumbler of 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 premisses and my conclusion," says his
Riv'rence; "_Ergo_, this glass ov whisky 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 makes one plus," says his Riv'rence, as ready as you plase,
"and that'll account for the increased dayc