"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, c.o.c.k 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?"

"Couldn't come any sooner, sir."

"You couldn't, sir--and why, sir, couldn't you come any sooner', sir?"

"See, sir, what Andy Nowlan done to my copy."--(Buz, buz, buz.)--

"Silence, I'll ma.s.sacree yez if yez don't make less noise."--(Buz, buz, buz.)

"I was down with Mrs. Kavanagh, sir."

"You were, Paddy--an' Paddy, ma bouchal, what war you doing there, Paddy?"

"Masther, sir, spake to Jem Kenny here; he made my nose bleed."--

"Eh, Paddy?"

"I was br ingin' her a layin' hen, sir, that my mother promised her at ma.s.s on Sunday last."

"Ah, Paddy, you're a game bird, yourself, wid your layin' hens; you're as full o' mischief as an egg's full o' mate--(omnes--ha, ha, ha, ha!)--Silence, boys--what are you laughin' at?--ha, ha, ha!--Paddy, can you spell Nebachodnazure for me?"

"No, sir."

"No, nor a better scholar, Paddy, could not do that, ma bouchal; but I'll spell it for you. Silence, boys--whist, all of yez, till I spell Nebachodnazure for Paddy Magouran. Listen; and you yourself, Paddy, are one of the letthers:

A turf and a clod spells Nebachod-- A knife and a razure, spells Nebachodnazure-- Three pair of boots and five pair of shoes-- Spells Nebachodnazure, the king of the Jews.'

Now, Paddy, that's spelling Nebachodnazure by the science of Ventilation; but you'll never go that deep, Paddy."--

"I want to go out, if you plase, sir."

"Is that the way you ax me, you vagabone?"

"I want to go out, sir,"--(pulling down the fore lock.)

"Yes, that's something dacenter; by the sowl of Newton, that invinted fluxions, if ever you forgot to make a bow again, I'll nog the enthrils out of you--wait till the Pa.s.s comes in."

Then comes the spelling lesson. "Come, boys, stand up to the spelling lesson."

"Mickey," says one urchin, "show me your book, till I look at my word.

I'm fifteenth."

"Wait till I see my own."

"Why do you crush for?"

"That's my place."

"No, it's not."

"Sir, spake to---------I'll tell the masther."

"What's the matther there?"

"Sir, he won't let me into my place."

"I'm before you."

"No you're not."

"I say, I am."

"You lie, pug-face: ha! I called you pug-face, tell now if you dare."

"Well boys, down with your pins in the book: who's king?"