“What’s the Greek for tobaccy?” they continued—­“or for Larry O’Toole? or for bletherum skite?  How many beans makes five?  What’s the Latin for poteen, and flummery?  You a mathemathitician! could you measure a snail’s horn?  How does your hat stay up and nothing undher it?  Will you fight Barny Parrel wid one hand tied!  I’d lick you myself!  What’s Greek for gosther?”—­with many other expressions of a similar stamp.

“Sir,” said Mat, “lave the justice of this in my hands.  By the sowl of Newton, your own counthryman, ould Isaac, I’ll flog the marrow out of them.”

“You have heard, Mr. Kavanagh,” continued Mr. Johnston, as they went along, “of the burning of Moore’s stable and horses, the night before last.  The fact is, that the magistrates of the county are endeavoring to get the incendiaries, and would render a service to any person capable, either directly or indirectly, of facilitating the object, or stumbling on a clew to the transaction.”

“And how could I do you a sarvice in it, sir?” inquired Mat.

“Why,” replied Mr. Johnston, “from the children.  If you could sift them in an indirect way, so as, without suspicion, to ascertain the absence of a brother, or so, on that particular night, I might have it in my power to serve you, Mr. Kavanagh.  There will be a large reward offered to-morrow, besides.”

“Oh, damn the penny of the reward ever I’d finger, even if I knew the whole conflagration,” said Mat; “but lave the siftin’ of the children wid myself, and if I can get anything out of them you’ll hear from me; but your honor must keep a close mouth, or you might have occasion to lend me the money for my own funeral some o’ these days.  Good-morning, gintlemen.”  The gentlemen departed.

“May the most ornamental kind of hard fortune pursue you every day you rise, you desavin’ villain, that would have me turn informer, bekase your brother-in-law, rack-rintin’ Moore’s stables and horses were burnt; and to crown all, make the innocent childre the means of hanging their own fathers or brothers, you rap of the divil! but I’d see you and all your breed in the flames o’ hell first.”  Such was Mat’s soliloquy as he entered the school on his return.

“Now, boys, I’m afther givin’ yez to-day and to-morrow for a holyday:  to-morrow we will have our Gregory;* a fine faste, plinty of poteen, and a fiddle; and you will tell your brothers and sisters to come in the evening to the dance.  You must bring plinty of bacon, hung beef, and fowls, bread and cabbage—­not forgetting the phaties, and sixpence a-head for the crathur, boys, won’t yez?”