Part 4 (1/2)
”He will, avick,” said the farmer himself--”he will. Cheer up, my good boy! I know thim that's larned an' creditable clargy this day, that went as you're goin'--ay, an' that ris an' helped their parents, an' put them above poverty an' distress; an' never fear, wid a blessin', but you'll do the same.”
”That's what brings me at all,” replied the boy, drying his tears; ”if I was once able to take them out o' their distresses, I'd be happy: only I'm afeard the cares o' the world will break my father's heart before I have it in my power to a.s.sist him.”
”No such thing, darlin',” said the good woman. ”Sure his hopes out o'
you, an' his love for you will keep him up; an' you dunna but G.o.d may give him a blessin' too, avick.”
”Mix another sup o'that for him,” said the fanner: ”he's low spirited, an' it's too strong to give him any more of it as it is. Childhre, where's the masther from us--eh? Why, thin, G.o.d help them, the crathurs--wasn't it thoughtful o' them to lave the place while he was at his dinner, for fraid he'd be dashed--manin' them young crathurs, Alley, But can you tell us where the 'masther' is? Isn't this his night wid us?
I know he tuck his dinner here.”
”Ay did he; but it's up to Larry Murphy's he's gone, to thry his son in his book-keepin'. Mavrone, but he had time enough to put him well through it afore this, any way.”
As she spoke, a short thickset man, with black twinkling eyes and ruddy cheeks entered. This personage was no other than the schoolmaster of that district, who circulated, like a newspaper, from one farmer's house to another, in order to expound for his kind entertainers the news of the day, his own learning, and the very evident extent of their ignorance.
The moment he came in, the farmer and his wife rose with an air of much deference, and placed a chair for him exactly opposite the fire, leaving a respectful distance on each side, within which no illiterate mortal durst presume to sit.
”Misther Corcoran,” said the farmer, presenting Jemmy's satchel, through which the shapes of the books were quite plain, ”_thig in thu s.h.i.+nn?_”
(* Do you understand this) and as he spoke he looked significantly at its owner.
”Ah,” replied the man of letters, ”thigum, thigum. (* I understand) G.o.d be wid the day when I carried the likes of it. 'Tis a badge of polite genius, that no boy need be ashamed of. So my young suckling of litherature, you're bound for Munster?--for that counthry where the swallows fly in conic sections--where the magpies and the turkey's confab in Latin, and the cows and bullocks will roar you Doric Greek--bo-a-o--clamo. What's your pathronymic? _quo nomine gowdes, Domine doctissime?_”
The lad was silent; but the farmer's wife turned up the whites of her eyes with an expression of wonder and surprise at the erudition of the ”masther.”
”I persave you are as yet uninitiated into the elementary principia of the languages; well--the honor is still before you. What's your name?”
”James M'Evoy, sir.”
Just now the farmer's family began to a.s.semble round the s.p.a.cious hearth; the young lads, whose instruction the worthy teacher claimed as his own peculiar task, came timidly forward, together with two or three pretty bashful girls with sweet flas.h.i.+ng eyes, and countenances full of feeling and intelligence. Behind on the settles, half-a-dozen servants of both s.e.xes sat in pairs--each boy placing himself beside his favorite girl. These appeared to be as strongly interested in the learned conversation which the master held, as if they were masters and mistresses of Munster Latin and Doric Greek themselves; but an occasional thump cautiously bestowed by no slender female hand upon the st.u.r.dy shoulder of her companion, or a dry cough from one of the young men, fabricated to drown the coming blow, gave slight indications that they contrived to have a little amus.e.m.e.nt among themselves, altogether independent of Mr. Corcoran's erudition.
When the latter came in, Jemmy was taking the tumbler of punch which the farmer's wife had mixed for him; on this he fixed an expressive glance, which instantly reverted to the _vanithee_, and from her to the large bottle which stood in a window to the right of the fire. It is a quick eye, however, that can antic.i.p.ate Irish hospitality.
”Alley,” said the farmer, ere the wife had time to comply with the hint conveyed by the black, twinkling eye of the schoolmaster; ”why, Alley”--
”Sure, I am,” she replied, ”an' will have it for you in less than no time.”
She accordingly addressed herself to the bottle, and in a few minutes handed a reeking jug of punch to the _Farithee_, or good man.
”Come, Masther, by the hand o' my body, I don't like dhry talk so long as I can get anything to moisten the discoorse. Here's your health, Masther,” continued the farmer, winking at the rest, ”and a speedy conclusion to what you know! In throth, she's the pick of a good girl--not to mintion what she has for her portion. I'm a friend to the same family, an' will put a spoke in your wheel, Masther, that'll sarve you.”
”Oh, Mr. Lanigan, very well, sir--very well--you're becoming quite facetious upon me,” said the little man, rather confused; ”but upon my credit and reputation, except the amorous inclination and regard to me is on her side,” and he looked sheepishly at his hands, ”I can't say that the arrows of Cupid have as yet pinethrated the sintimintal side of my heart. It is not with me as it was wid Dido--hem--
Non 'haeret lateri lethalis arundo,'
as Virgil says. Yet I can't say, but if a friend were to become spokesman for me, and insinuate in my behalf a small taste of amorous sintimintality, why--hem, hem, hem! The company's health! Lad, James M'Evoy, your health, and success to you, my good boy!--hem, hem!”
”Here's wis.h.i.+n' him the same!” said the farmer.
”James,” said the schoolmaster, ”you are goin' to Munsther, an' I can say that I have travelled it from end to end, not to a bad purpose, I hope--hem! Well, a bouchal, there are hard days and nights before you, so keep a firm heart. If you have money, as 'tis likely you have, don't let a single rap of it into the hands of the schoolmaster, although the first thing he'll do will be to bring you home to his own house, an'
palaver you night an' day, till he succeeds in persuading you to leave it in his hands for security. You might, if not duly pre-admonished, surrender it to his solicitations, for--