The reader is already aware of the plan they had adopted for translating Mat; but, as it was extremely original, I will explain it somewhat more fully. The moment the schoolmaster was intoxicated to the necessary point--that is to say, totally helpless and insensible--they opened the sack and put him in, heels foremost, tying it in such a way about his neck as might prevent his head from getting into it: thus avoiding the danger of suffocation. The sack, with Mat at full length in it, was then fixed to the pin of the straddle, so that he was in an erect posture during the whole journey. A creel was then hung at the other side, in which was placed a large stone, of sufficient weight to preserve an equilibrium; and, to prevent any accident, a droll fellow sat astride behind the straddle, amusing himself and the rest by breaking jokes upon the novelty of Mat's situation. “Well, Mat, _ma bouchal_, how duv ye like your sitivation? I believe, for all your larnin', the Findramore boys have sacked you at last!” [Illustration: PAGE 831-- The Findramore boys have sacked you at last] “Ay!” exclaimed another, “he is sacked at last, in spite of his Matthew-maticks.” “An', be my sowks,” observed Traynor, “he'd be a long time goin' up a Maypowl in the state he's in--his own snail would bate him.” * * This alludes to a question in Gough's Arithmetic, which is considered difficult by hedge schoolmasters. “Yes,” said another; “but he desarves credit for travelin' from Clansallagh to Findramore, widout layin' a foot to the ground-- “'Wan day wid Captain Whiskey I wrastled a fall, But faith I was no match for the captain at all-- But faith I was no match for the captain at all, Though the landlady's measures they were damnable small. Tooral, looral, looral lorral lido.' Whoo--hurroo! my darlings--success to the Findramore boys! Hurroo--hurroo--the Findramore boys for ever!” “Boys, did ever ye hear the song Mat made on Ned Mullen's fight wid Jemmy Connor's gander? Well here is part of it, to the tune of 'Brian O'Lynn'-- 'As Ned and the gander wor basting each other, I hard a loud cry from the gray goose, his mother; I ran to assist him, wid very great speed. But before I arrived the poor gander did bleed. 'Alas!' says the gander, 'I'm very ill-trated, For traicherous Mullen has me fairly defated; Bud had you been here for to show me fair play, I could leather his _puckan_ around the lee bray.' “Bravo! Matt,” addressing the insensible schoolmaster--“success, poet. Hurroo for the Findramore boys! the Bridge boys for ever!”