The Hedge School; The Midnight Mass; The Donagh: Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of; William Carleton, Volume Three — John Shaqi
The Hedge School; The Midnight Mass; The Donagh: Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of; William Carleton, Volume ThreeCarleton, William
History
The Hedge School; The Midnight Mass; The Donagh: Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of; William Carleton, Volume Three
Carleton, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“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.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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