"You were, Paddy--an' Paddy, ma bouchal, what war you doing there,
Paddy?"

"Masther, sir, spake to Jem Kenny here; he made my nose bleed."--

"Eh, Paddy?"

"I was br ingin' her a layin' hen, sir, that my mother promised her at
mass on Sunday last."

"Ah, Paddy, you're a game bird, yourself, wid your layin' hens; you're
as full o' mischief as an egg's full o' mate--(omnes--ha, ha, ha,
ha!)--Silence, boys--what are you laughin' at?--ha, ha, ha!--Paddy, can
you spell Nebachodnazure for me?"

"No, sir."

"No, nor a better scholar, Paddy, could not do that, ma bouchal; but
I'll spell it for you. Silence, boys--whist, all of yez, till I spell
Nebachodnazure for Paddy Magouran. Listen; and you yourself, Paddy, are
one of the letthers:

A turf and a clod spells Nebachod--
A knife and a razure, spells Nebachodnazure--
Three pair of boots and five pair of shoes--
Spells Nebachodnazure, the king of the Jews.'

Now, Paddy, that's spelling Nebachodnazure by the science of
Ventilation; but you'll never go that deep, Paddy."--