“James,” said the schoolmaster, “you are goin' to Munsther, an' I can say that I have travelled it from end to end, not to a bad purpose, I hope--hem! Well, a bouchal, there are hard days and nights before you, so keep a firm heart. If you have money, as 'tis likely you have, don't let a single rap of it into the hands of the schoolmaster, although the first thing he'll do will be to bring you home to his own house, an' palaver you night an' day, till he succeeds in persuading you to leave it in his hands for security. You might, if not duly pre-admonished, surrender it to his solicitations, for-- 'Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit.' Michael, what case is mortalium?” added he, suddenly addressing one of the farmer's sons; “come, now, Michael, where's your brightness? What case is mortalium?” The boy was taken by surprise, and for a few minutes could not reply. “Come man,” said the father, “be sharp, spake out bravely, an' don't be afraid; nor don't be in a hurry aither, we'll wait for you.” “Let him alone--let him alone,” said Corcoran; “I'll face the same boy agin the county for cuteness. If he doesn't expound that, I'll never consthru a line of Latin, or Greek, or Masoretic, while I'm livin'.” His cunning master knew right well that the boy, who was only confused at the suddenness of the question, would feel no difficulty in answering it to his satisfaction. Indeed, it was impossible for him to miss it, as he was then reading the seventh book of Virgil, and the fourth of Homer. It is, however, a trick with such masters to put simple questions of that nature to their pupils, when at the houses of their parents, as knotty and difficult, and when they are answered, to assume an air of astonishment at the profound reach of thought displayed by the pupil. When Michael recovered himself, he instantly replied, “_Mortalium_ is the genitive case of nemo, by '_Nomina Partiva_.'” Corcoran laid down the tumbler, which he was in the act of raising to his lips, and looked at the lad with an air of surprise and delight, then at the farmer and his wife, alternately, and shook his head with much mystery. “Michael,” said he to the lad; “will you go out and tell us what the night's doin'.” The boy accordingly went out--“Why,” said Corcoran, in his absence, “if ever there was a phanix, and that boy will be the bird--an Irish phanix he will be, a _Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno!_ There's no batin' him at anything he undher-takes. Why, there's thim that are makin' good bread by their larnin', that couldn't resolve that; and you all saw how he did it widout the book! Why, if he goes on at this rate, I'm afraid he'll soon be too many for myself--hem!”