your head, an' can spake
the tall, high-flown English; a wurrah, but your tongue hangs well, any
how--the Lord increase it!"

"Lanty Cassidy, are you gettin' on wid your Stereometry? _festina, mi
discipuli; vocabo Homerum, mox atque mox_. You see, ma'am, I must tache
thim to spake an' effectuate a translation of the larned languages
sometimes."

"Arrah, masther dear, how did you get it all into your head, at all at
all?"

"Silence, boys--_tace--' conticuere omnes intentique ora tenebant_.'
Silence, I say agin."

"You could slip over, maybe, to Doran's, masther, do you see? You'd do
it betther there, I'll engage: sure and you'd want a dhrop to steady
your hand, any how."

"Now, boys, I am goin' to indite a small taste of literal correspondency
over at the public-house here; you _literati_ will hear the lessons for
me, boys, till afther I'm back agin; but mind, boys, _absente domino
strepuunt servi_--meditate on the philosophy of that; and, Mick
Mahon, take your slate and put down all the names; and, upon my
soul--hem--credit, I'll castigate any boy guilty of _misty mannes_ on
my retrogadation thither;--_ergo momentote, cave ne titubes mandataque
frangas_."

"Blood alive, masther, but that's great spakin'--begar, a judge couldn't
come up to you; but in throth, sir, I'd be long sarry to throuble you;
only he's away fifteen year, and I wouldn't thrust it to another; and
the corplar that commands the ridgment would regard your handwrite and
your inditin'."

"Don't, ma'am, plade the smallest taste of apology."

"Eagh?"

"I'm happy that I can sarve you, ma'am."

"Musha, long life to you, masther, for that same, any how--but it's
yourself that's deep in the larnin' and the langridges; the Lord incrase
yer knowledge--sure, an' we all want his blessin', you know."

"Home, is id? Start, boys, off--chase him, lie into him--asy, curse
yez, take time gettin' out: that's it--keep to him--don't wait for me;
take care, you little spalpeens, or you'll brake your bones, so you
will: blow the dust of this road, I can't see my way in."

THE RETURN.

"Well, boys, you've been at it--here's swelled faces and bloody noses.
What blackened your eye, Callaghan? You're a purty prime ministher, ye
boxing blackguard, you: I left you to keep pace among these factions,
and you've kicked up a purty dust. What blackened your eye--eh?--"

"I'll tell you, sir, whin I come in, if you plase."

"Ho, you vagabones, this is the ould work