* In the hedge schools it was usual for the unfortunate culprit about to be punished to avail himself of all possible stratagems that were calculated to diminish his punishment.  Accordingly, when put upon another boy’s back to be horsed, as it was termed, he slipped a large pin, called a corker, in his mouth, and on receiving the first blow stuck it into the neck of the boy who carried him.  This caused the latter to jump and bounce about in such a manner that many of the blows directed at his burthen missed their aim.  It was an understood thing, however, that the boy carrying the felon should aid him in every way in his power, by yielding, moving’, and shifting about, so that it was only when he seemed to abet the master that the pin was applied to him.

“Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo—­I’ll never stay away agin, sir; indeed I won’t, sir.  Oh, sir, clear, pardon me this wan time; and if ever you cotch me doing the like agin, I’ll give you lave to welt the sowl out of me.”—­(Buz buz, buz.).  “Behave yourself, Barny Byrne.”

“I’m not touching you.”

“Yes, you are; didn’t you make me blot my Copy?”

“Ho, by the livin’, I’ll pay you goin’ home for this.”

“Hand me the taws.”

“Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo—­what’ll I do, at all at all!  Oh, sir dear, sir dear, sir dear—­hoo-hoo-hoo.”

“Did she send no message, good or bad, before I lay on?”

“Oh, not a word, sir, only that my father killed a pig yestherday, and he wants you to go up to-day at dinner-time.”—­(Buz, buz, buz.)

“It’s time to get lave—­it isn’t, it is—­it isn’t, it is,” etc.

“You lie, I say, your faction never was able to fight ours; didn’t we lick all your dirty breed in Builagh-battha fair?”

“Silence there.”—­(Buz, buz, buz.)

“Will you meet us on Sathurday, and we’ll fight it out clane!”

“Ha-ha-ha!  Tim, but you got a big fright, any how:  whist, ma bouchal, sure I was only jokin’ you; and sorry I’d be to bate your father’s son, Tim.  Come over, and sit beside myself at the fire here.  Get up, Micky Donoghue, you big, burnt-shinn’d spalpeen you, and let the dacent boy sit at the fire.”

“Hulabaloo hoo-hoo-hoo—­to go to give me such a welt, only for sitting at the fire, and me brought turf wid me.”

“To-day, Tim?”

“Yes, sir.”

“At dinner time, is id?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Faith, the dacent strain was always in the same family.”—­(Buz, buz, buz.)—­

“Horns, horns, cock horns:  oh, you up’d vrid them, you lifted your fingers—­that’s a mark, now—­hould your face, till I blacken you!”

“Do you call thim two sods, Jack Laniran? why, ’tis only one long one broke in the middle; but you must make it up tomorrow.  Jack, how is your mother’s tooth?—­did she get it pulled out yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, tell her to come to me, and I’ll write a charm for it, that’ll cure her.—­What kept you’ till now, Paddy Magouran?”