“Why,” says the Pope, “I seen you afther kissing Eliza as plain as I see the nose on your face; I heard the smack you gave her as plain as ever I heard thundher.”
“And how do you know whether you see the nose on my face or not?” says his Riv’rence; “and how do you know whether what you thought was thundher, was thundher at all? Them operations of the sinses,” says he, “comprises only particular corporayal emotions, connected wid sartain confused perciptions called sinsations, and isn’t to be depended upon at all. If we were to follow them blind guides, we might jist as well turn heretics at ons’t. ’Pon my secret word, your Holiness, it’s naither charitable nor orthodox ov you to set up the testimony ov your eyes and ears agin the characther of a clergyman. And now, see how aisy it is to explain all them phwenomena that perplexed you. I ris and went over beside the young woman because the skillet was boiling over, to help her to save the dhrop ov liquor that was in it; and as for the noise you heard, my dear man, it was neither more nor less nor myself dhrawing the cork out ov this blissid bottle.”
“Don’t offer to thrape that upon me!” says the Pope; “here’s the cork in the bottle still, as tight as a wedge.”
“I beg your pardon,” says his Riv’rence, “that’s not the cork at all,” says he; “I dhrew the cork a good two minits ago, and it’s very purtily spitted on the end ov this blessed cork-shcrew at this prisint moment; howandiver you 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.