The Hedge School; The Midnight Mass; The Donagh by William Carleton

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THE WORKS

OF

WILLIAM CARLETON.

VOLUME III.

TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY

PART III.

[Illustration: Frontispiece]

[Illustration: Titlepage]

CONTENTS

The Hedge School.

The Midnight Mass.

The Donagh; Or, The Horse Stealers.

THE HEDGE SCHOOL.

There never was a more unfounded calumny, than that which would impute
to the Irish peasantry an indifference to education. I may, on the
contrary, fearlessly assert that the lower orders of no country ever
manifested such a positive inclination for literary acquirements,
and that, too, under circumstances strongly calculated to produce
carelessness and apathy on this particular subject. Nay, I do maintain,
that he who is intimately acquainted with the character of our
countrymen, must acknowledge that their zeal for book learning, not only
is strong and ardent, when opportunities of scholastic education occur,
but that it increases in proportion as these opportunities are rare and
unattainable. The very name and nature of Hedge Schools are proof of
this; for what stronger point could be made out, in illustration of my
position, than the fact, that, despite of obstacles, the very idea of
which would crush ordinary enterprise--when not even a shed could be
obtained in which to assemble the children of an Irish village, the
worthy pedagogue selected the first green spot on the sunny side of a
quickset-thorn hedge, which he conceived adapted for his purpose, and
there, under the scorching rays of a summer sun, and in defiance of
spies and statutes, carried on the work of instruction. From this
circumstance the name of Hedge School originated; and, however it may be
associated with the ludicrous, I maintain, that it is highly creditable
to the character of the people, and an encouragement to those who wish
to see them receive pure and correct educational knowledge. A
Hedge School, however, in its original sense, was but a temporary
establishment, being only adopted until such a school-house could be
erected, as it was in those days deemed sufficient to hold such a number
of children, as were expected, at all hazards, to attend it.

The opinion, I know, which has been long entertained of Hedge
Schoolmasters, was, and still is, unfavorable; but the character of
these worthy and eccentric persons has been misunderstood, for the
stigma attached to their want of knowledge should have rather been
applied to their want of morals, because, on this latter point, were
they principally indefensible. The fact is, that Hedge Schoolmasters
were a class of men from whom morality was not expected by the
peasantry; for, strange to say, one of their strongest recommendations
to the good opinion of the People, as far as their literary talents and
qualifications were concerned, was an inordinate love of whiskey, and if
to this could be added a slight touch of derangement, the character was
complete.

On once asking an Irish peasant, why he sent his children to a
schoolmaster who was notoriously addicted to spirituous liquors, rather
than to a man of sober habits who taught in the same neighborhood,

"Why do I send them to Mat Meegan, is it?" he replied--"and do you
think, sir," said he, "that I'd send them to that dry-headed dunce, Mr.
Frazher, with his black coat upon him, and his Caroline hat, and him
wouldn't take a glass of poteen wanst in seven years? Mat, sir, likes
it, and teaches the boys ten times betther whin he's dhrunk nor when
he's sober; and you'll never find a good tacher, sir, but's fond of
it. As for Mat, when he's half gone, I'd turn him agin the country for
deepness in learning; for it's then he rhymes it out of him, that it
would do one good to hear him."

"So," said I, "you think that a love of drinking poteen is a sign of
talent in a school-master?"

"Ay, or in any man else, sir," he replied. "Look at tradesmen, and 'tis
always the cleverest that you'll find fond of the drink! If you had hard
Mat and Frazher, the other evening, at it--what a hare Mat made of him!
but he was just in proper tune for it, being, at the time, purty well
I thank you, and did not lave him a leg to stand upon. He took him in
Euclid's Ailments and Logicals, and proved in Frazher's teeth that the
candlestick before them was the church-steeple, and Frazher himself the
parson; and so sign was on it, the other couldn't disprove it, but had
to give in."

"Mat, then," I observed, "is the most learned man on this walk."

"Why, thin, I doubt that same, sir," replied he, "for all he's so great
in the books; for, you see, while they were ding dust at it, who comes
in but mad Delaney, and he attacked Mat, and, in less than no time,
rubbed the consate out of him, as clane as he did out of Frazher."

"Who is Delaney?" I inquired.

"He was the makings of a priest, sir, and was in Maynooth a couple of
years, but he took in the knowledge so fast, that, bedad, he got cracked
wid larnin'--for a dunce you see, never cracks wid it, in regard of the
thickness of the skull: no doubt but he's too many for Mat, and can go
far beyant him in the books; but then, like Mat, he's still brightest
whin he has a sup in his head."

These are the prejudices which the Irish peasantry have long entertained
concerning the character of hedge schoolmasters; but, granting them to
be unfounded, as they generally are, yet it is an indisputable fact,
that hedge schoolmasters were as superior in literary knowledge and
acquirements to the class of men who are now engaged in the general
education of the people, as they were beneath them in moral and
religious character. The former part of this assertion will, I am aware,
appear rather startling to many. But it is true; and one great cause why
the character of Society Teachers is undervalued, in many instances, by
the people, proceeds from a conviction on their parts, that they are,
and must be, incapable, from the slender portion of learning they have
received, of giving their children a sound and practical education.

But that we may put this subject in a clearer light, we will give a
sketch of the course of instruction which was deemed necessary for a
hedge schoolmaster, and let it be contrasted with that which falls to
the lot of those engaged in the conducting of schools patronized by the
Education Societies of the present day.

When a poor man, about twenty or thirty years ago, understood from the
schoolmaster who educated his sons, that any of them was particularly
"cute at his larnin'," the ambition of the parent usually directed
itself to one of three objects--he would either make him a priest, a
clerk, or a schoolmaster. The determination once fixed, the boy was set
apart from every kind of labor, that he might be at liberty to bestow
his undivided time and talents to the object set before him. His parents
strained every nerve to furnish him with the necessary books, and always
took care that his appearance and dress should be more decent than those
of any other member of the family. If the church were in prospect, he
was distinguished, after he had been two or three years at his Latin, by
the appellation of "the young priest," an epithet to him of the
greatest pride and honor; but if destined only to wield the ferula, his
importance in the family, and the narrow circle of his friends, was by
no means so great. If, however, the goal of his future ambition as a
schoolmaster was humbler, that of his literary career was considerably
extended. He usually remained at the next school in the vicinity
until he supposed that he had completely drained the master of all his
knowledge. This circumstance was generally discovered in the following
manner:--As soon as he judged himself a match for his teacher, and
possessed sufficient confidence in his own powers, he penned him a
formal challenge to meet him in literary contest either in his own
school, before competent witnesses, or at the chapel-green, on the
Sabbath day, before the arrival of the priest or probably after it--for
the priest himself was sometimes the moderator and judge upon these
occasions. This challenge was generally couched in rhyme, and either
sent by the hands of a common friend or posted upon the chapel-door.

These contests, as the reader perceives, were always public, and
were witnessed by the peasantry with intense interest. If the master
sustained a defeat, it was not so much attributed to his want of
learning, as to the overwhelming talent of his opponent; nor was
the success of the pupil generally followed by the expulsion of the
master--for this was but the first of a series of challenges which the
former proposed to undertake, ere he eventually settled himself in the
exercise of his profession.

I remember being present at one of them, and a ludicrous exhibition it
was. The parish priest, a red-faced, jocular little man, was president;
and his curate, a scholar of six feet two inches in height, and a
schoolmaster from the next parish, were judges. I will only touch upon
two circumstances in their conduct, which evinced a close, instinctive
knowledge of human nature in the combatants. The master would not
condescend to argue off his throne--a piece of policy to which, in my
opinion, he owed his victory (for he won); whereas the pupil insisted
that he should meet him on equal ground, face to face, in the lower end
of the room. It was evident that the latter could not divest himself
of his boyish terror so long as the other sat, as it were, in the
plentitude of his former authority, contracting his brows with habitual
sternness, thundering out his arguments, with a most menacing and
stentorian voice, while he thumped his desk with his shut fist, or
struck it with his great ruler at the end of each argument, in a manner
that made the youngster put his hands behind him several times, to be
certain that that portion of his dress which is unmentionable was tight
upon him. If in these encounters the young candidate for the honors of
the literary sceptre was not victorious, he again resumed his studies,
under his old preceptor, with renewed vigor and becoming humility; but
if he put the schoolmaster down, his next object was to seek out some
other teacher, whose celebrity was unclouded within his own range. With
him he had a fresh encounter, and its result was similar to what I have
already related.

If victorious, he sought out another and more learned opponent; and
if defeated, he became the pupil of his conqueror--going night about,
during his sojourn at the school, with the neighboring farmers' sons,
whom he assisted in their studies, as a compensation for his support.
He was called during these peregrinations, the Poor Scholar, a character
which secured him the esteem and hospitable attention of the peasantry,
who never fail in respect to any one characterized by a zeal for
learning and knowledge.

In this manner he proceeded, a literary knight errant, filled with a
chivalrous love of letters, which would have done honor to the most
learned peripatetic of them all; enlarging his own powers, and making
fresh acquisitions of knowledge as he went along. His contests, his
defeats, and his triumphs, of course, were frequent; and his habits
of thinking and reasoning must have been considerably improved, his
acquaintance with classical and mathematical authors rendered more
intimate, and his powers of illustration and comparison more clear
and happy. After three or four years spent in this manner, he
usually returned to his native place, sent another challenger to the
schoolmaster, in the capacity of a candidate for his situation, and if
successful, drove him out of the district, and established himself in
his situation. The vanquished master sought a new district, sent a new
challenge, in his turn, to some other teacher, and usually put him to
flight in the same manner. The terms of defeat or victory, according to
their application, were called sacking and bogging. "There was a great
argument entirely, sir," said a peasant once, when speaking of these
contests, "'twas at the chapel on Sunday week, betiane young Tom Brady,
that was a poor scholar in Munsther, and Mr. Hartigan the schoolmaster."

"And who was victorious?" I inquired. "Why, sir, and maybe 'twas young
Brady that didn't sack him clane before the priest and all, and went
nigh to bog the priest himself in Greek. His Reverence was only two
words beyant him; but he sacked the masther any how, and showed him in
the Grammatical and Dixonary where he was Wrong."

"And what is Brady's object in life?" I asked. "What does he intend to
do."

"Intend to do, is it? I am tould nothing less nor going into Trinity
College in Dublin and expects to bate them all there, out and out:
he's first to make something they call a seizure; (* Sizar) and, afther
making that good he's to be a counsellor. So, sir, you see what it is to
resave good schoolin', and to have the larnin'; but, indeed, it's Brady
that's the great head-piece entirely."

Unquestionably, many who received instruction in this manner have
distinguished themselves in the Dublin University; and I have no
hesitation in saying, that young men educated in Irish hedge schools, as
they were called, have proved themselves to be better classical scholars
and mathematicians, generally speaking, than any proportionate number
of those educated in our first-rate academies. The Munstor masters have
long been, and still are, particularly celebrated for making excellent
classical and mathematical scholars.

That a great deal of ludicrous pedantry generally accompanied this
knowledge is not at all surprising, when we consider the rank these
worthy teachers held in life, and the stretch of inflation at which
their pride was kept by the profound reverence excited by their learning
among the people. It is equally true, that each of them had a stock
of _crambos_ ready for accidental encounter, which would have puzzled
Euclid or Sir Isaac Newton himself; but even these trained their minds
to habits of acuteness and investigation. When a schoolmaster of this
class had established himself as a good mathematician, the predominant
enjoyment of his heart and life was to write the epithet Philomath after
his name; and this, whatever document he subscribed, was never omitted.
If he witnessed a will, it was Timothy Fagan, Philomath; if he put his
name to a promissory note, it was Tim. Pagan, Philomath; if he addressed
a love-letter to his sweetheart, it was still Timothy Fagan--or whatever
the name might be--Philomath; and this was always written in legible and
distinct copy-hand, sufficiently large to attract the observation of the
reader.

It was also usual for a man who had been a preeminent and extraordinary
scholar, to have the epithet Great prefixed to his name. I remember one
of this description, who was called the Great O'Brien par excellence. In
the latter years of his life he gave up teaching, and led a circulating
life, going round from school to school, and remaining a week or a month
alternately among his brethren. His visits were considered an honor,
and raised considerably the literary character of those with whom he
resided; for he spoke of dunces with the most dignified contempt, and
the general impression was, that he would scorn even to avail himself of
their hospitality. Like most of his brethren, he could not live without
the poteen; and his custom was, to drink a pint of it in its native
purity before he entered into any literary contest, or made any display
of his learning at wakes or other Irish festivities; and most certainly,
however blamable the practice, and injurious to health and morals, it
threw out his talents and his powers in a most surprising manner.

It was highly amusing to observe the peculiarity which the consciousness
of superior knowledge impressed upon the conversation and personal
appearance of this decaying race. Whatever might have been the original
conformation of their physical structure, it was sure, by the force of
acquired habit, to transform itself into a stiff, erect, consequential,
and unbending manner, ludicrously characteristic of an inflated sense of
their extraordinary knowledge, and a proud and commiserating contempt
of the dark ignorance by which, in despite of their own light, they were
surrounded. Their conversation, like their own _crambos_, was dark and
difficult to be understood; their words, truly sesquipedalian; their
voice, loud and commanding in its tones; their deportment, grave and
dictatorial, but completely indescribable, and certainly original to the
last degree, in those instances where the ready, genuine humor of their
country maintained an unyielding rivalry in their disposition, against
the natural solemnity which was considered necessary to keep up the due
dignity of their character.

In many of these persons, where the original gayety of the disposition
was known, all efforts at the grave and dignified were complete
failures, and these were enjoyed by the peasantry and their own pupils,
nearly with the sensations which the enactment of Hamlet by Liston would
necessarily produce. At all events, their education, allowing for
the usual exceptions, was by no means superficial; and the reader has
already received a sketch of the trials which they had to undergo,
before they considered themselves qualified to enter upon the duties of
their calling. Their life was, in fact, a state of literary warfare; and
they felt that a mere elementary knowledge of their business would
have been insufficient to carry them, with suitable credit, through the
attacks to which they were exposed from travelling teachers, whose mode
of establishing themselves in schools, was, as I said, by driving away
the less qualified, and usurping their places. This, according to the
law of opinion and the custom which prevailed, was very easily effected,
for the peasantry uniformly encouraged those whom they supposed to be
the most competent; as to moral or religious instruction, neither was
expected from them, so that the indifference of the moral character was
no bar to their success.

The village of Findramore was situated at the foot of a long green hill,
the outline of which formed a low arch, as it rose to the eye against
the horizon. This hill was studded with clumps of beeches, and sometimes
enclosed as a meadow. In the month of July, when the grass on it was
long, many an hour have I spent in solitary enjoyment, watching the
wavy motion produced upon its pliant surface by the sunny winds, or
the flight of the cloud-shadows, like gigantic phantoms, as they
swept rapidly over it, whilst the murmur of the rocking-trees, and
the glancing of their bright leaves in the sun produced a heartfelt
pleasure, the very memory of which rises in my imagination like some
fading recollection of a brighter world. At the foot of this hill ran a
clear, deep-banked river, bounded on one side by a slip of rich, level
meadow, and on the other by a kind of common for the village geese,
whose white feathers, during the summer season, lay scattered over its
green surface. It was also the play-ground for the boys of the village
school; for there ran that part of the river which, with very correct
judgment, the urchins had selected as their bathing-place. A little
slope, or watering-ground in the bank, brought them to the edge of
the stream, where the bottom fell away into the fearful depths of the
whirlpool, under the hanging oak on the other bank. Well do I remember
the first time I ventured to swim across it, and even yet do I see,
in imagination, the two bunches of water flaggons on which the
inexperienced swimmers trusted themselves in the water.

About two hundred yards from this, the boreen (* A little road) which
led from the village to the main road, crossed the river, by one of
those old narrow bridges whose arches rise like round ditches across
the road--an almost impassable barrier to horse and car. On passing the
bridge in a northern direction, you found a range of low thatched houses
on each side of the road: and if one o'clock, the hour of dinner, drew
near, you might observe columns of blue smoke curling up from a row of
chimneys, some made of wicker creels plastered over with a rich coat of
mud; some, of old, narrow, bottomless tubs; and others, with a greater
appearance of taste, ornamented with thick, circular ropes of straw,
sewed together like bees' skeps, with a peel of a briar; and many having
nothing but the open vent above. But the smoke by no means escaped
by its legitimate aperture, for you might observe little clouds of it
bursting out of the doors and windows; the panes of the latter being
mostly stopped at other times with old hats and rags, were now left
entirely open for the purpose of giving it a free escape.

Before the doors, on right and left, was a series of dunghills, each
with its concomitant sink of green, rotten water; and if it happened
that a stout-looking woman, with watery eyes, and a yellow cap hung
loosely upon her matted locks, came, with a chubby urchin on one arm,
and a pot of dirty water in her hand, its unceremonious ejection in the
aforesaid sink would be apt to send you up the village with your finger
and thumb (for what purpose you would yourself perfectly understand)
closely, but not knowingly, applied to your nostrils. But, independently
of this, you would be apt to have other reasons for giving your horse,
whose heels are by this time surrounded by a dozen of barking curs, and
the same number of shouting urchins, a pretty sharp touch of the spurs,
as well as for complaining bitterly of the odor of the atmosphere. It
is no landscape without figures; and you might notice, if you are, as
I suppose you to be, a man of observation, in every sink as you pass
along, a "slip of a pig," stretched in the middle of the mud, the very
beau ideal of luxury, giving occasionally a long, luxuriant grunt,
highly-expressive of his enjoyment; or, perhaps, an old farrower, lying
in indolent repose, with half a dozen young ones jostling each other for
their draught, and punching her belly with their little snouts, reckless
of the fumes they are creating; whilst the loud crow of the cock, as he
confidently flaps his wings on his own dunghill, gives the warning note
for the hour of dinner.

As you advance, you will also perceive several faces thrust out of the
doors, and rather than miss a sight of you, a grotesque visage peeping
by a short cut through the paneless windows--or a tattered female flying
to snatch up her urchin that has been tumbling itself, heels up, in the
dust of the road, lest "the gentleman's horse might ride over it;" and
if you happen to look behind, you may observe a shaggy-headed youth in
tattered frieze, with one hand thrust indolently in his breast, standing
at the door in conversation with the inmates, a broad grin of sarcastic
ridicule on his face, in the act of breaking a joke or two upon
yourself, or your horse; or perhaps, your jaw may be saluted with a
lump of clay, just hard enough not to fall asunder as it flies, cast by
some ragged gorsoon from behind a hedge, who squats himself in a ridge
of corn to avoid detection.

Seated upon a hob at the door, you may observe a toil-worn man, without
coat or waistcoat; his red, muscular, sunburnt shoulder peering through
the remnant of a skirt, mending his shoes with a piece of twisted
flax, called a _lingel_, or, perhaps, sewing two footless stockings (or
_martyeens_) to his coat, as a substitute for sleeves.

In the gardens, which are usually fringed with nettles, you will see
a solitary laborer, working with that carelessness and apathy that
characterizes an Irishman when he labors for himself--leaning upon his
spade to look after you, glad of any excuse to be idle. The houses,
however, are not all such as I have described--far from it. You see here
and there, between the more humble cabins, a stout, comfortable-looking
farm-house, with ornamental thatching and well-glazed windows;
adjoining to which is a hay-yard, with five or six large stacks of corn,
well-trimmed and roped, and a fine, yellow, weather-beaten old hay-rick,
half cut--not taking into account twelve or thirteen circular strata of
stones, that mark out the foundations on which others had been raised.
Neither is the rich smell of oaten or wheaten bread, which the good wife
is baking on the griddle, unpleasant to your nostrils; nor would the
bubbling of a large pot, in which you might see, should you chance to
enter, a prodigious square of fat, yellow, and almost transparent bacon
tumbling about, to be an unpleasant object; truly, as it hangs over a
large fire, with well-swept hearthstone, it is in good keeping with the
white settle and chairs, and the dresser with noggins, wooden trenchers,
and pewter dishes, perfectly clean, and as well polished as a French
courtier.

As you leave the village, you have, to the left, a view of the hill
which I have already described, and to the right a level expanse of
fertile country, bounded by a good view of respectable mountains,
peering decently into the sky; and in a line that forms an acute angle
from the point of the road where you ride, is a delightful valley, in
the bottom of which shines a pretty lake; and a little beyond, on the
slope of a green hill, rises a splendid house, surrounded by a park,
well wooded and stocked with deer. You have now topped the little hill
above the village, and a straight line of level road, a mile long, goes
forward to a country town, which lies immediately behind that white
church, with its spire cutting into the sky, before you. You descend on
the other side, and, having advanced a few perches, look to the left,
where you see a long, thatched chapel, only distinguished from a
dwelling-house by its want of chimneys and a small stone cross that
stands on the top of the eastern gable; behind it is a graveyard; and
beside it a snug public-house, well whitewashed; then, to the right,
you observe a door apparently in the side of a clay bank, which rises
considerably above the pavement of the road. What! you ask yourself,
can this be a human habitation?--but ere you have time to answer the
question, a confused buzz of voices from within reaches your ear, and
the appearance of a little "gorsoon," with a red, close-cropped head
and Milesian face, having in his hand a short, white stick, or the
thigh-bone of a horse, which you at once recognize as "the pass" of
a village school, gives you the full information. He has an ink horn,
covered with leather, dangling at the button-hole (for he has long
since played away the buttons) of his frieze jacket--his mouth is
circumscribed with a streak of ink--his pen is stuck knowingly behind
his ear--his shins are dotted over with fire-blisters, black, red, and
blue--on each heel a kibe--his "leather crackers," videlicet--breeches
shrunk up upon him, and only reaching as far down as the caps of his
knees. Having spied you, he places his hand over his brows, to throw
back the dazzling light of the sun, and peers at you from under it, till
he breaks out into a laugh, exclaiming, half to himself, half to you:--

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