“Home, is id? Start, boys, off--chase him, lie into him--asy, curse yez, take time gettin' out: that's it--keep to him--don't wait for me; take care, you little spalpeens, or you'll brake your bones, so you will: blow the dust of this road, I can't see my way in.” 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.