“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.).