of ineffable contempt at the simplicity of his pupil.
"Know, young gentleman," said he solemnly, "that the Romance in question must be tickled; it is not given to raw beginners to conquer that great mystery of our science."
"Before we proceed farther, explain the words of the art," said Paul, impatiently.
"Listen, then!" rejoined Mac Grawler, and as he spoke the candle cast an awful glimmering on his countenance. "To slash, is, speaking grammatically, to employ the accusative, or accusing case; you must cut up your book right and left, top and bottom, root and branch. To plaster a book, is to employ the dative, or giving case, and you must bestow on the work all the superlatives in the language, you must lay on your praise thick and thin, and not leave a crevice untroweled. But to tickle, Sir, is a comprehensive word, and it comprises all the infinite varieties that fill the interval between slashing and plastering. This is the nicety of the art, and you can only acquire it by practice; a few examples will suffice to give you an idea of its delicacy.
