_ THE RETURN.
"Well, boys, you've been at it--here's swelled faces and bloody noses. What blackened your eye, Callaghan? You're a purty prime ministher, ye boxing blackguard, you: I left you to keep pace among these factions, and you've kicked up a purty dust. What blackened your eye--eh?--"
"I'll tell you, sir, whin I come in, if you plase."
"Ho, you vagabones, this is the ould work of the faction between the Bradys and the Callaghans--bastin' one another; but, by my sowl, I'll baste you all through other. You don't want to go out, Callaghan. You had fine work here since; there's a dead silence now; but I'll pay you presently. Here, Duggan, go out wid Callaghan, and see that you bring him back in less than no time. It's not enough for your fathers and brothers to be at it, who have a right to fight, but you must battle betune you--have your field days itself!"
(Duggan returns)--"Hoo--hoo--sir, my nose. Oh, murdher sheery, my nose is broked!"
"Blow your nose, you spalpeen you--Where's Callaghan?"
"Oh, sir, bad luck to him every day he rises out of his bed; he got a stone in his fist, too, that he hot me a pelt on the nose wid, and then made off home."
"Home is id? Start, boys, off--chase him, lie into him--azy, curse yez, take time gettin out; that's it--keep to him--don't wait for me; take care you little salpeens or you'll brake your bones, so you will: blow the dust of this road, I can't see my way in it."
"Oh! murdher, Jem, agra, my knee's out' o' joint."
"My elbow's smashed, Paddy. Bad luck to him--the devil fly away wid him--oh! ha I ha!--oh! ha! ha! murdher--hard fortune to me, but little Mickey Geery fell, an' thripped the masther, an' himself's, disabled now--his black breeches split too--look at him feelin' them--oh! oh! ha! ha!--by tare-an'-onty, Callaghan will be murdhered, if they cotch him."
This was a specimen of scholastic civilization which Ireland only could furnish; nothing, indeed, could be more perfectly ludicrous than such a chase; and such scenes were by no means uncommon in hedge-schools, for, wherever severe punishment was dreaded--and, in truth, most of the hedge masters were unfeeling tyrants--the boy, if sufficiently grown to make a good race, usually broke away, and fled home at the top of his speed. The pack then were usually led on by the master, who mostly headed them himself, all in full cry, exhibiting such a scene as should be witnessed in order to be enjoyed. The neighbors, men, women, and children, ran out to be spectators; the laborers suspended their work to enjoy it, assembling on such eminences as commanded a full view of the pursuit.
"Bravo, boys--success, masther; lie into him--where's your huntin' horn, Mr. Kavanagh?--he'll bate yez if ye don't take the wind of him. Well done, Callaghan, keep up yer heart, yer sowl, and you'll do it asy--you're gaining' on them,
ma bouchal--the masther's down, you gallows clip, an' there's none but the scholars afther ye--he's safe."
"Not he; I'll hould a naggin, the poor scholar has him; don't you see, he's close at his heels?"
"
Done, by my song--they'll never come up wid him; listen to their leather crackers and cord-a-roys, as their knees bang agin one another. Hark forrit, boy's; hark forrit! huz-zaw, you thieves, huzzaw!"
"Your beagles is well winded, Mr. Kava-nagh, and gives good tongue."
"Well, masther, you had your chase for nothin', I see."
"Mr. Kavanagh," another would observe, "I didn't think you war so stiff in the hams, as to let the gorsoon bate you that way--your wind's failin', sir."
The schoolmaster was abroad then, and never was the "march of intellect" at once so rapid and unsuccessful.
During the summer season, it was the usual practice for the scholars to transfer their paper, slates, and books to the green which lay immediately behind the school-house, where they stretched themselves on the grass, and resumed their business. Mat would bring out his chair, and, placing it on the shady side of the hedge, sit with his pipe in his mouth, the contented lord of his little realm, whilst nearly a hundred and fifty scholars, of all sorts and sizes, lay scattered over the grass, basking under the scorching sun in all the luxury of novelty, nakedness, and freedom. The sight was original and characteristic, and such as Lord Brougham would have been delighted with. "The schoolmaster was abroad again."
As soon as one o'clock drew near, Mat would pull out his Ring-dial* holding it against the sun, and declare the hour.
* The Ring-dial was the hedge-schoolmaster's next best substitute for a watch. As it is possible that a great number of our readers may never have heard of, much less seen one, we shall in a word or two describe it--nothing could indeed be more simple. It was a bright brass ring, about three-quarters of an inch broad, and two and a half in diameter. There was a small hole in it, which when held opposite the sun admitted the light against the inside of the ring behind. On this was marked the hours and the quarters, and the time was known by observing the number or the quarter on which the slender ray that came in from the hole in front fell.
"Now, boys, to yer dinners, and the rest to play."
"Hurroo, darlins, to play--the masther says it's dinner-time!--whip-spur-an'-away-grey--hurroo--whack--hurroo!"
"Masther, sir, my father bid me ax you home to yer dinner."
"No, he'll come to huz--come wid me if you plase, sir."
"Sir, never heed them; my mother, sir, has some of what you know--of the flitch I brought to Shoneen on last Aisther, sir."
This was a subject on which the boys gave themselves great liberty; an invitation, even when not accepted, being an indemnity for the day; it was usually followed by a battle between the claimants, and bloody noses sometimes were the issue. The master himself, after deciding to go where he was certain of getting the best dinner, generally put an end to the quarrels by a reprimand, and then gave notice to the disappointed claimants of the successive days on which he would attend at their respective houses.
"Boys, you all know my maxim; to go, for fear of any jealousies, boys, wherever I get the worst dinner; so tell me now, boys, what yer dacent mothers have all got at home for me?"
"My mother killed a fat hen yesterday, sir, and you'll have a lump of bacon and flat dutch along wid it."
"We'll have hung beef and greens, sir."
"We tried the praties this mornin', sir, and we'll have new praties, and bread and butther, sir."
"Well, it's all good, boys; but rather than show favor or affection, do you see, I'll go wid Andy, here, and take share of the hen an' bacon: but, boys, for all that, I'm fonder of the other things, you persave; and as I can't go wid you, Mat, tell your respectable mother that I'll be with her to-morrow; and with you, Larry,
ma bouchal, the day afther."
If a master were a single man he usually went round with the scholars each night--but there were generally a few comfortable farmers, leading men in the parish, at whose house he chiefly resided; and the children of these men were treated, with the grossest and most barefaced partiality. They were altogether privileged persons, and had liberty to beat and abuse the other children of the school, who were certain of being most unmercifully flogged, if they even dared to prefer a complaint against the favorites. Indeed the instances of atrocious cruelty in hedge schools were almost incredible, and such as in the present enlightened time, would not be permitted. As to the state of the "poor, scholar," it exceeded belief; for he was friendless and unprotected. But though legal prosecutions in those days were never resorted to, yet, according to the characteristic notions of Irish retributive justice, certain cases occurred, in which a signal, and at times, a fatal vengeance was executed on the person of the brutal master. Sometimes the brothers and other relatives of the mutilated child would come in a body to the school, and flog the pedagogue with his own taws, until his back was lapped in blood. Sometimes they would beat him until few symptoms of life remained.
Occasionally he would get a nocturnal notice to quit the parish in a given time, under a penalty which seldom proved a dead letter in case of non-compliance. Not unfrequently did those whom he had, when boys, treated with such barbarity, go back to him, when young men, not so much for education's sake, as for the especial purpose of retaliating upon him for his former cruelty. When cases of this nature occurred, he found himself a mere cipher in his school, never daring to practise excessive severity in their presence. Instances have come to our own knowledge, of masters, who, for their mere amusement, would go out to the next hedge, cut a large branch of furze or thorn, and having first carefully arranged the children on a row round the walls of the school, their naked legs stretched out before them, would sweep round the branch, bristling with spikes and prickles, with all his force against their limbs, until, in a few minutes, a circle of blood was visible on the ground where they sat, their legs appearing as if they had been scarified. This the master did, whenever he happened to be drunk, or in a remarkably good humor. The poor children, however, were obliged to laugh loud, and enjoy it, though the tears were falling down their cheeks, in consequence of the pain he inflicted. To knock down a child with the fist, was considered nothing harsh; nor, if a boy were, cut, or prostrated by a blow of a cudgel on the head, did he ever think of representing the master's cruelty to his parents. Kicking on the shins with a point of a brogue or shoe, bound round the edge of the sole with iron nails, until the bone was laid open, was a common punishment; and as for the usual slapping, horsing, and flogging, they were inflicted with a brutality that in every case richly deserved for the tyrant, not only a peculiar whipping by the hand of the common executioner, but a separation from civilized society by transportation for life. It is a fact, however, that in consequence of the general severity practised in hedge schools, excesses of punishment did not often produce retaliation against the master; these were only exceptions, isolated cases that did not affect the general character of the discipline in such schools.
Now when we consider the total absence of all moral and religious principles in these establishments, and the positive presence of all that was wicked, cruel, and immoral, need we be surprised that occasional crimes of a dark and cruel character should be perpetrated? The truth is, that it is difficult to determine, whether unlettered ignorance itself were not preferable to the kind of education which the people then received.
I am sorry to perceive the writings of many respectable persons on Irish topics imbued with a tinge of spurious liberality, that frequently occasions them to depart from truth. To draw the Irish character as it is, as the model of all that is generous, hospitable, and magnanimous, is in some degree fashionable; but although I am as warm an admirer of all that is really excellent and amiable in my countrymen as any man, yet I cannot, nor will I, extenuate their weak and indefensible points. That they possess the elements of a noble and exalted national character, I grant; nay, that they actually do possess such a character, under limitations, I am ready to maintain. Irishmen, setting aside their religious and political prejudices, are grateful, affectionate, honorable, faithful, generous, and even magnanimous; but under the stimulus of religious and political feeling, they are treacherous, cruel, and inhuman--will murder, burn, and exterminate, not only without compunction, but with a satanic delight worthy of a savage. Their education, indeed, was truly barbarous; they were trained and habituated to cruelty, revenge, and personal hatred, in their schools. Their knowledge was directed to evil purposes--disloyal principles were industriously insinuated into their minds by their teachers, most of whom were leaders of illegal associations. The matter placed in their hands was of a most inflammatory and pernicious nature, as regarded politics: and as far as religion and morality were concerned, nothing could be more gross or superstitious than the books which circulated among them. Eulogiums on murder, robbery, and theft were read with delight in the histories of Freney the Robber, and the Irish Rogues and Rapparees; ridicule of the Word of God, and hatred to the Protestant religion, in a book called Ward's Cantos, written in Hudi-brastic verse; the downfall of the Protestant Establishment, and the exaltation of the Romish Church, in Columbkill's Prophecy, and latterly in that of Pastorini. Gross superstitions, political and religious ballads of the vilest doggerel, miraculous legends of holy friars persecuted by Protestants, and of signal vengeance inflicted by their divine power on those who persecuted them, were in the mouths of the young and old, and of course firmly fixed in their credulity.
Their weapons of controversy were drawn from the Fifty Reasons, the Doleful Fall of Andrew Sail, the Catholic Christian, the Grounds of Catholic Doctrine, a Net for the Fishers of Men, and several other publications of the same class. The books of amusement read in these schools, including the first-mentioned in this list, were, the Seven Champions of Christendom, the Seven Wise Masters and Mistresses of Rome, Don Belianis of Greece, the Royal Fairy Tales, the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, Valentine and Orson, Gesta Romanorum, Dorastus and Faunia, the History of Reynard the Fox, the Chevalier Faublax; to these I may add, the Battle of Auhrim, Siege of Londonderry, History of the Young Ascanius, a name by which the Pretender was designated, and the Renowned History of the Siege of Troy; the Forty Thieves, Robin Hood's Garland, the Garden of Love and Royal Flower of Fidelity, Parismus and Parismenos; along with others, the names of which shall not appear on these pages. With this specimen of education before our eyes, is it not extraordinary that the people of Ireland should be in general, so moral and civilized a people as they are?
"Thady Bradly, will you come up wid your slate, till I examine you in your figures? Go out, sir, and blow your nose first, and don't be after making a looking-glass out of the sleeve of your jacket. Now that Thady's out, I'll hould you, boys, that none of yez knows how to expound his name--eh? do ye? But I needn't ax--well, 'tis Thaddeus; and, maybe, that's as much as the priest that christened him knew. Boys, you see what it is to have the larnin'--to lade the life of a gintleman, and to be able to talk deeply wid the clargy! Now I could run down any man in arguin', except a priest; and if the Bishop was after consecratin' me, I'd have as much larnin' as some of them; but you see I'm not consecrated--and--well, 'tis no matther--I only say that the more's the pity."
"Well, Thady, when did you go into subtraction?"
"The day beyond yesterday, sir; yarra musha, sure 'twas yourself, sir, that shet me the first sum."
"Masther, sir, Thady Bradly stole my cutter--that's my cutter, Thady Bradly."
"No it's not" (in a low voice).
"Sir, that's my cutter--an' there's three nicks in id."
"Thady, is that his cutter?"
"There's your cutter for you. Sir, I found it on the flure and didn't know who own'd it."
"You know'd very well who own'd it; didn't Dick Martin see you liftin' it off o' my slate, when I was out?"
"Well, if Dick Martin saw him, it's enough: an' 'tis Dick that's the tindher-hearted boy, an' would knock, you down wid a lump of a stone, if he saw you murdherin' but a fly!"
"We'll, Thady--throth Thady, I fear you'll undherstand subtraction better nor your teacher: I doubt you'll apply it to 'Practice' all your life,
ma bouchal, and that you'll be apt to find it 'the Rule of False'* at last. Well, Thady, from one thousand pounds, no shillings, and no pince, how will you subtract one pound? Put it down on your slate--this way,
The name of a 'Rule' in Gough's Arithmetic.
1000 00 00
1 00 00"
"I don't know how to shet about it, masther."
"You don't, an' how dare you tell me so you
shingaun you--you Cornelius Agrippa you--go to your sate and study it, or I'll--ha! be off, you."--
"Pierce Butler, come up wid your multiplication. Pierce, multiply four hundred by two--put it down--that's it,
400
By 2"
"Twice nought is one." (Whack, whack.)
"Take that as an illustration--is that one?"
"Faith, masther, that's two, any how: but, sir, is not wanst nought nothin'; now masher, sure there can't be less than nothin'."
"Very good, sir."
"If wanst nought be nothin', then twice nought must be somethin', for it's double what wanst nought is--see how I'm sthruck for nothin', an' me knows it--hoo! hoo! hoo!
"Get out, you Esculapian; but I'll give you
somethin', by-and-by, just to make you remimber that you know
nothin'--off wid you to your sate, you spalpeen you--to tell me that there can't be less than nothin' when it's well known that sporting Squaire O'Canter's worth a thousand pounds less than nothin'."
"Paddy Doran, come up to your 'Intherest.' Well Paddy, what's the intherest of a hundred pound, at five per cent? Boys, have manners you thieves you."
"Do you mane, masther, per cent, per annum?"
"To be sure I do--how do you state it?"
"I'll say, as a hundher pound is to one year, so is five per cent, per annum."
"Hum--why what's the number of the sum Paddy?"
"'Tis No. 84, sir. (The master steals a glance at the Key to Gough.)
"I only want to look at it in the Gough, you see, Paddy,--an' how dare you give me such an answer, you big-headed dunce, you--go off an' study it, you rascally Lilliputian--off wid you, and don't let me see your ugly mug till you know it."
"Now, gintlemen, for the Classics; and first for the Latinaarians--Larry Cassidy, come up wid your Aisop. Larry you're a year at Latin, an' I don't think you know Latin for frize, what your own coat is made of, Larry. But, in the first place, Larry, do you know what a man that taiches Classics is called?"
"A schoolmasther, sir." (Whack, whack, whack.).
"Take that for your ignorance--and that to the back of it--ha; that'll taiche you--to call a man that taiches Classics a schoolmaster, indeed! 'Tis a Profissor of Humanity itself, he is--(whack, whack, whack,)--ha! you ringleader, you; you're as bad as Dick M'Growler, that no masther in the county could get any good of, in regard that he put the whole school together by the ears, wherever he'd be, though the spalpeen wouldn't stand fight himself. Hard fortune to you! to go to put such an affront upon me, an' me a Profissor of Humanity. What's Latin for pantaloons?"
"Fern--fern--femi--"
"No, it's not, sir."
"Femora--"
"Can you do it?"
"Don't strike me, sir, don't strike me, sir, an' I will."
"I say, can you do it?"
"Femorali,"--(whack, whack, whack,)--
"Ah, sir! ah, sir! 'tis fermorali--ah, sir! 'tis fermorali--ah, sir!"--
"This thratement to a Profissor of Humanity--(drives him head over heels to his seat).--Now, sir, maybe you'll have Latin for throwsers agin, or by my sowl, if you don't, you must peel, and I'll tache you what a Profissor of Humanity is!
"Dan Roe, you little starved-looking spalpeen, will you come up to your Elocution?--and a purty figure you cut at it, wid a voice like a penny thrumpet, Dan! Well, what speech have you got now, Dan,
ma bouchal. Is it, 'Romans, counthrymin, and lovers?'"
"No, shir; yarrah, didn't I spake that speech before?"
"No, you didn't, you fairy. Ah, Dan, little as you are, you take credit for more than ever you spoke, Dan, agrah; but, faith, the same thrick will come agin you some time or other, avick! Go and get that speech betther; I see by your face, you haven't it; off wid you, and get a patch upon your breeches, your little knees are through them, though 'tisn't by prayin' you've wore them, any how, you little hop-o'-my-thumb you, wid a voice like a rat in a thrap; off wid you, man alive!"
Sometimes the neighboring gentry used to call into Mat's establishment, moved probably by a curiosity excited by his character, and the general conduct of the school. On one occasion Squire Johnston and an English gentleman paid him rather an unexpected visit. Mat had that morning got a new scholar, the son of a dancing tailor in the neighborhood; and as it was reported that the son was nearly equal to the father in that accomplishment, Mat insisted on having a specimen of his skill. He was the more anxious on this point as it would contribute to the amusement of a travelling schoolmaster, who had paid him rather a hostile visit, which Mat, who dreaded a literary challenge, feared might occasion him some trouble.
"Come up here, you little sartor, till we get a dacent view of you. You're a son of Ned Malone's--aren't you?"
"Yes, and of Mary Malone, my mother, too, sir."
"Why, thin, that's not so bad, any how--what's your name?"
"Dick, sir."
"Now, Dick, ma bouchal, isn't it true that you can dance a horn-pipe?"
"Yes, sir."
"Here, Larry Brady, take the door off the hinges, an' lay it down on the flure, till Dick Malone dances the
Humors of Glynn: silence, boys, not a word; but just keep lookin' an."
"Who'll sing, sir? for I can't be afther dancin' a step widout the music."
"Boys, which of yez'll sing for Dick? I say, boys, will none of yez give Dick the Harmony? Well, come, Dick, I'll sing for you myself:
"Tooral lol, lorral lol, lorral lol, lorral, lol--
Toldherol, lorral lol, lorral lol, lol," etc., etc.
"I say, Misther Kavanagh," said the strange master, "what angle does Dick's heel form in the second step of the treble, from the kibe on the left foot to the corner of the door forninst him?"
To this mathematical poser Mat made no reply, only sang the tune with redoubled loudness and strength, whilst little Dicky pounded the old crazy door with all his skill and alacrity. The "boys" were delighted.
"Bravo, Dick, that's a man,--welt the flure--cut the buckle--murder the clocks--rise upon suggaun, and sink upon gad---down the flure flat, foot about--keep one foot on the ground and t'other never off it," saluted him from all parts of the house.
Sometimes he would receive a sly hint, in a feigned voice, to call for "Devil stick the Fiddler," alluding to the master. Now a squeaking voice would chime in; by and by another, and so on until the master's bass had a hundred and forty trebles, all in chorus to the same tune.
Just at this moment the two gentlemen altered; and, reader, you may conceive, but I cannot describe, the face which Mat (who sat with his back to the door, and did not; see them until they were some time in the house), exhibited on the occasion. There he sung ore rotundo, throwing forth an astonishing tide of voice; whilst little Dick, a thin, pale-faced urchin, with his head, from which the hair stood erect, sunk between his hollow shoulders, was performing prodigious feats of agility.
"What's the matter? what's the matter?" said the gentlemen. "Good morning, Mr. Kavanagh!"
----Tooral lol, lol----
Oh, good---Oh, good morning---gintlemen, with extrame kindness," replied Mat, rising suddenly up, but not removing his hat, although the gentlemen instantly uncovered.
"Why, thin, gintlemen," he continued, "you have caught us in our little relaxations to-day; but--hem!--I mane to give the boys a holiday for the sake of this honest and respectable gintleman in the frize jock, who is not entirely ignorant, you persave, of litherature; and we had a small taste, gintlemen, among ourselves, of Sathurnalian licentiousness,
ut ita dicam, in regard of--hem!--in regard of this lad here, who was dancing a hornpipe upon the door, and we, in absence of betther music, had to supply him with the harmony; but, as your honors know, gintlemen, the greatest men have bent themselves on espacial occasions."
"Make no apology, Mr. Kavanagh; it's very commendable in you to bend yourself by condescending to amuse your pupils."
"I beg your pardon, Squire, I can take freedoms with you; but perhaps the concomitant gentleman, your friend here, would be pleased to take my stool. Indeed, I always use a chair, but the back of it, if I may, be permitted the use of a small portion of jocularity, was as frail as the fair sect: it went home yisterday to be mended. Do, sir, condescind to be sated. Upon my reputation, Squire, I'm sorry that I have not accommodation for you, too, sir; except one of these hassocks, which, in joint considheration with the length of your honor's legs, would be, I anticipate, rather low; but you, sir, will honor me by taking the stool."
By considerable importunity he forced the gentleman to comply with his courtesy; but no sooner had he fixed himself upon the seat than it overturned, and stretched him, black coat and all, across a wide concavity in the floor nearly filled up with white ashes produced from mountain turf. In a moment he was completely white on one side, and exhibited a most laughable appearance; his hat, too, was scorched and nearly burned on the turf coals. Squire Johnston laughed heartily, so did the other schoolmaster, whilst the Englishman completely lost his temper--swearing that such another uncivilized establishment was not between the poles.
"I solemnly supplicate upwards of fifty pardons," said Mat; "bad manners to it for a stool! but, your honor, it was my own detect of speculation, bekase, you see, it's minus a leg--a circumstance of which you waren't wi a proper capacity to take cognation, its not being personally acquainted with it. I humbly supplicate upwards of fifty pardons."
The Englishman was now nettled, and determined to wreak his ill-temper on Mat, by turning him and his establishment into ridicule.
"Isn't this, Mister ------ I forget your name, sir."
"Mat Kavanagh, at your sarvice."
"Very well, my learned friend, Mr. Mat Kevanagh, isn't this precisely what is called a hedge-school?"
"A hedge-school!" replied Mat, highly offended; "my seminary a hedge-school! No, sir; I scorn the cognomen in toto. This, sir, is a Classical and Mathematical Seminary, under the personal superintendence of your humble servant."
"Sir," replied the other master, who till then was silent, wishing, perhaps, to sack Mat in presence of the gentlemen, "it is a hedge-school; and he is no scholar, but an ignoramus, whom I'd sack in three minutes, that would be ashamed of a hedge-school."
"Ay," says Mat, changing his tone, and taking the cue from his friend, whose learning he dreaded, "it's just for argument's sake, a hedge-school; and, what is more, I scorn to be ashamed of it."
"And do you not teach occasionally under the hedge behind the house here?"
"Granted," replied Mat; "and now where's your
vis consequentiae? "
"Yes," subjoined the other, "produce your
vis consequentiae; but any one may know by a glance that the divil a much of it's about you."
The Englishman himself was rather at a loss for the
vis consequentiae, and replied, "Why don't you live, and learn, and teach like civilized beings, and not assemble like wild asses--pardon me, my friend, for the simile--at least like wild colts, in such clusters behind the ditches?"
"A clusther of wild coults!" said Mat; "that shows what you are; no man of classical larnin' would use such a word. If you had stuck at the asses, we know it's a subject you're at home in--ha! ha! ha!--but you brought the joke on yourself, your honor--that is, if it is a joke--ha! ha! ha!"
"Permit me, sir," replied the strange master, "to ax your honor one question--did you receive a classical education? Are you college-bred?"
"Yes," replied the Englishman; "I can reply to both in the affirmative. I'm a Cantabrigian."
"You are a what?" asked Mat.
"I am a Cantabrigian."
"Come, sir, you must explain yourself, if you plase. I'll take my oath that's neither a classical nor a mathematical tarm."
The gentleman smiled. "I was educated in the English College of Cambridge."
"Well," says Mat, "and may be you would be as well off if you had picked up your larnin' in our own Thrinity; there's good picking in Thrinity, for gentlemen like you, that are sober, and harmless about the brains, in regard of not being overly bright."
"You talk with contempt of a hedge-school," replied the other master. "Did you never hear, for all so long as you war in Cambridge, of a nate little spot in Greece called the groves of Academus?
"'Inter lucos Academi quarrere verum.'
"What was Plato himself but a hedge schoolmaster? and, with humble submission, it casts no slur on an Irish tacher to be compared to him, I think. You forget also, sir, that the Dhruids taught under their oaks: eh?"
"Ay," added Mat, "and the Tree of Knowledge, too. Faith, an' if that same tree was now in being, if there wouldn't be hedge schoolmasters, there would be plenty of hedge scholars, any how--particularly if the fruit was well tasted."
"I believe, Millbank, you must give in," said Squire Johnston. "I think you have got the worst of it."
"Why," said Mat, "if the gintleman's not afther bein' sacked clane, I'm not here."
"Are you a mathematician?" inquired Mat's friend, determined to follow up his victory; "do you know Mensuration?"
"Come, I do know Mensuration," said the Englishman, with confidence.
"And how would you find the solid contents of a load of thorns?"
"Ay, or how will you consther and parse me this sintince?" said Mat--
"'Ragibus et clotibus solemus stopere windous,
Non numerus sumus et fruges consumere nati,
Stercora flat stiro raro terra-tanfcaro bungo.'"
"Aisy, Mister Kavanagh," replied the other; "let the Cantabrigian resolve the one I propounded him first."
"And let the Cantabrigian then take up mine," said Mat: "and if he can expound it, I'll give him a dozen more to bring home in his pocket, for the Cambridge folk to crack after their dinner, along wid their nuts."
"Can you do the 'Snail?'" inquired the stranger..
"Or 'A and B on opposite sides of a wood,' without the Key?" said Mat.
"Maybe," said the stranger, who threw off the frize jock, and exhibited a muscular frame of great power, cased in an old black coat--"maybe the gintleman would like to get a small taste of the '
Scuffle'"
"Not at all," replied the Englishman; "I have not the least curiosity for it--I assure you I have not. What the deuce do they mean, Johnston? I hope you have influence over them."
"Hand me down that cudgel, Jack Brady, till I show the gintleman the 'Snail' and the 'Maypole,'" said Mat.
"Never mind, my lad; never mind, Mr ------a------Kevanagh. I give up the contest; I resign you the palm, gentlemen. The hedge school has beaten Cambridge hollow."
"One poser more before you go, sir," said Mat--"Can you give me Latin for a
game-egg in two words?"
"Eh, a game egg? No, by my honor, I cannot--gentlemen, I yield."
"Ay, I thought so," replied Mat; "and, faith, I believe the divil a much of the game bird about you--you bring it home to Cambridge, anyhow, and let them chew their cuds upon it, you persave; and, by the sowl of Newton, it will puzzle the whole establishment, or my name's not Kavanagh."
"It will, I am convinced," replied the gentleman, eyeing the herculean frame of the strange teacher and the substantial cudgel in Mat's hand; "it will, undoubtedly. But who is this most miserable naked lad here, Mr. Kevanagh?"
"Why, sir," replied Mat, with his broad Milesian face, expanded by a forthcoming joke, "he is, sir, in a sartin and especial particularity, a namesake of your own."
"How is that, Mr. Kevanagh?"
"My name's not Kevanagh," replied Mat, "but Kavanagh; the Irish A for ever!"
"Well, but how is the lad a namesake of mine?" said the Englishman.
"Bekase, you see, he's a, poor scholar, sir," replied Mat: "an' I hope your honor will pardon me for the facetiousness--
'Quid vetat ridentem dicere verum!'
as Horace says to Maecenas, in the first of the Sathirs."
"There, Mr. Kavanagh, is the price of a suit of clothes for him."
"Michael, will you rise up, sir, and make the gintleman a bow? he has given you the price of a shoot of clothes, ma bouchal." _