Mat now sat down, and was vigorously plied with strong poteen—­songs were sung, stories told, and every device resorted to that was calculated to draw out and heighten his sense of enjoyment; nor were their efforts without success; for, in the course of a short time, Mat was free from all earthly care, being incapable of either speaking or standing.

“Now, boys,” said Dolan, “let us do the thing clane an’ dacent.  Let you, Jem Coogan, Brian Murphy, Paddy Delany, and Andy O’Donnell, go back, and tell the wife and two childher a cock-and-a-bull story about Mat—­say that he is coming to Findramore for good and all, and that’ll be thruth, you know; and that he ordhered yez to bring her and them afther him; and we can come back for the furniture to-morrow.”

A word was enough—­they immediately set off; and the others, not wishing that Mat’s wife should witness the mode of his conveyance, proceeded home, for it was now dusk.  The plan succeeded admirably; and in a short time the wife and children, mounted behind the “boys” on the horses, were on the way after them to Findramore.

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.’