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.”
Michael came up with a very tattered coat hanging about him; and,
catching his forelock, bobbed down his head after the usual manner,
saying--“Musha yarrah, long life to your honor every day you rise, an'
the Lord grant your sowl a short stay in purgatory, wishin' ye, at the
same time, a happy death aftherwards!”
The gentleman could not stand this, but laughed so heartily that the
argument was fairly knocked up.
It appeared, however, that Squire Johnston did not visit Mat's school
from mere curiosity.
“Mr. Kavanagh,” said he, “I would be glad to have a little private
conversation with you, and will thank you to walk down the road a little
with this gentleman and me.”
When the gentlemen and Mat had gone ten or fifteen yards from the
school door, the Englishman heard himself congratulated in the following
phrases by the scholars:--
“How do you feel afther bein' sacked, gintleman? The masther sacked
you! You're a purty scholar! It's not you, Mr. Johnston, it's the other.
You'll come to argue agin, will you? Where's your head, Bah! Come back
till we put the _suggaun_* about your neck. Bah! You now must go to
school to Cambridge agin, before you can argue an Irisher! Look at the
figure he cuts! Why duv ye put the one foot past the other, when ye
walk, for? Bah! Dunce!”
* The suggaun was a collar of straw which was put round
the necks of the dunces, who were then placed at the
door, that their disgrace might be as public as
possible.
“Well, boys, never heed yez for that,” shouted Mat; “never fear but I'll
castigate yez, ye spalpeen villains, as soon as I go back. Sir,” said
Mat, “I supplicate upwards of fifty pardons. I assure you, sir,
I'll give them a most inordinate castigation, for their want of
respectability.”
“What's the Greek for tobaccy?” they continued--“or for Larry O'Toole?
or for bletherum skite? How many beans makes five? What's the Latin
for poteen, and flummery? You a mathemathitician! could you measure a
snail's horn? How does your hat stay up and nothing undher it? Will you
fight Barny Parrel wid one hand tied! I'd lick you myself! What's Greek
for gosther?”--with many other expressions of a similar stamp.
“Sir,” said Mat, “lave the justice of this in my hands. By the sowl of
Newton, your own counthryman, ould Isaac, I'll flog the marrow out of
them.”
“You have heard, Mr. Kavanagh,” continued Mr. Johnston, as they went
along, “of the burning of Moore's stable and horses, the night before
last. The fact is, that the magistrates of the county are endeavoring to
get the incendiaries, and would render a service to any person capable,
either directly or indirectly, of facilitating the object, or stumbling
on a clew to the transaction.”
“And how could I do you a sarvice in it, sir?” inquired Mat.
“Why,” replied Mr. Johnston, “from the children. If you could sift them
in an indirect way, so as, without suspicion, to ascertain the absence
of a brother, or so, on that particular night, I might have it in my
power to serve you, Mr. Kavanagh. There will be a large reward offered
to-morrow, besides.”
“Oh, damn the penny of the reward ever I'd finger, even if I knew the
whole conflagration,” said Mat; “but lave the siftin' of the children
wid myself, and if I can get anything out of them you'll hear from me;
but your honor must keep a close mouth, or you might have occasion to
lend me the money for my own funeral some o' these days. Good-morning,
gintlemen.” The gentlemen departed.
“May the most ornamental kind of hard fortune pursue you every day you
rise, you desavin' villain, that would have me turn informer, bekase
your brother-in-law, rack-rintin' Moore's stables and horses were burnt;
and to crown all, make the innocent childre the means of hanging their
own fathers or brothers, you rap of the divil! but I'd see you and all
your breed in the flames o' hell first.” Such was Mat's soliloquy as he
entered the school on his return.
“Now, boys, I'm afther givin' yez to-day and to-morrow for a holyday:
to-morrow we will have our Gregory;* a fine faste, plinty of poteen,
and a fiddle; and you will tell your brothers and sisters to come in
the evening to the dance. You must bring plinty of bacon, hung beef,
and fowls, bread and cabbage--not forgetting the phaties, and sixpence
a-head for the crathur, boys, won't yez?”
The next day, of course, was one of festivity; every boy brought, in
fact, as much provender as would serve six; but the surplus gave Mat
some good dinners for three months to come. This feast was always held
upon St. Gregory's day, from which circumstance it had its name. The
pupils were at liberty for that day to conduct themselves as
they pleased: and the consequence was, that they became generally
intoxicated, and were brought home in that state to their parents. If
the children of two opposite parties, chanced to be at the same school,
they usually had a fight, of which the master was compelled to feign
ignorance; for if he identified himself with either faction, his
residence in the neighborhood would be short. In other districts, where
Protestant schools were in existence, a battle-royal commonly took
place between the opposite establishments, in some field lying half-way
between them. This has often occurred.
Every one must necessarily be acquainted with the ceremony of _barring
out_. This took place at Easter and Christmas. The master was brought
or sent out on some fool's errand, the door shut and barricaded, and the
pedagogue excluded, until a certain term of vacation was extorted.
With this, however, the master never complied until all his efforts
at forcing an entrance were found to be ineffectual; because if he
succeeded in getting in, they not only had no claim to a long vacation,
but were liable to be corrected. The schoolmaster had also generally the
clerkship of the parish; an office, however, which in the country parts
of Ireland is without any kind of salary, beyond what results from the
patronage of the priest; a matter of serious moment to a teacher, who,
should he incur his Reverence's displeasure, would be immediately driven
out of the parish. The master, therefore, was always tyrannical and
insolent to the people, in proportion as he stood high in the estimation
of the priest. He was also a regular attendant at all wakes and
funerals, and usually sat among a crowd of the village sages engaged
in exhibiting his own learning, and in recounting the number of his
religious and literary disputations.
One day, soon after the visit of the gentlemen above mentioned, two
strange men came into Mat's establishment--rather, as Mat thought, in an
unceremonious manner.
“Is your name Matthew Kavanagh?” said one of them.
“That is indeed the name that's upon me,” said Mat, with rather an
infirm voice, whilst his face got as pale as ashes.
“Well,” said the fellow, “we'll just trouble you to walk with us a bit.”
“How far, with submission, are yez goin' to bring me?” said Mat.