LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2495, 5 April 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THH SCHOOIjMASTER’S DREAM,

(Concluded ) ‘Mary,’ replied the schoolmaster, in a slow and decided tone, ‘that’s all bo them tlon 1’ Mary gave a start j she could hardly he Heva she heard correctly; but there eat, James O’Leary, looking as hard aa if he had been turned from a rnau of flesh into a man of stone. Under tho imprest ion that he was bewitched, Mary crossed herself ; bnt still he sat there, looking, as she afterwards declared, 1 like nothing.’ * Spake again,’ she exolaimed, ‘ man alive, and tell us, is it yerself that s In it ?’ James laughed—not joyously or humorous'y, but a little dry, half-starved laugh, lean and hungry, a niggardly laugh—-but befor he had time to reply the door opened slowly and timidly, and a shock of maty red hair, surmounting a pale acute face, oonsisiderably in advance of the body to which It belonged, peeped In. ‘ That’s the boy I tonld you of,’ said Mary; ‘come in. my bonohal; the master himself’a in it, now, and will talk to yon, dear.’ The hoy advanced his slight delicate form, bowed both by study and privation, and his keen penetrating eyeo looking from beneath tho projecting brows whioh overshadowed them. Mary told him to sit down, but he continued standing, his fingers twitching oonvu'sively amid the leaves of a Latin book in which he hoped to be examined. * What’s your name ?—and a’.and up I* said tho master, giuffly. The boy told him his name was Edward Moore, ‘ What do yon know ?’ He said ‘he knew English and Voster, a trills of algebra and Latio, and the Greek letters. He hoped to be a priest in time, and should be,’ he added confidentially, ‘ if his honor would give him the run of the school, an odd lesson now and agin, and let him pick up as much as he could.’ •And what,' inquired O’Leary, ‘will yon give mo in return ?’ ‘ I have but little, sir,’ replied the boy, ‘for ray mother has six of us, paying to one whose face we never see a heavy rent for the shed we starve under. My father’s in heaven, my eldest sister a cripple, and but for tho kindness of the neighbors and the goodness of one or two families at Christmas and Whitsuntide, and, above oil, the blessings of God, which never laves us, we might turn out upon the road and beg.’ ‘ Bnt all that is nothing to me,’ said O’Leary, very coldly. ‘I know that, sir,’ answered the boy; yet he looked as if ho did not know it; ‘ though your name’s up in the country for kindness aa well as learning; but I was coming to it. I have a trifle of about eighteen shillings, besides five which the priest warned me to keep when I went for his blessing, as he said I might want it in case of sickness ; and 1 was thinking, if yer honor would take ten out of the eighteen for a quarter or so—l know I can’t pay yer honor as I ou«ht, only jist for the love of mercy —and if ye’d please to examine me in the Latin, hit reverence said I be no disgrace to yon,’ * Just let me sea what yr u’ve got,’ said the schoolmaster. The boy drew forth from inside his waistoiat the remnant of a cotton nightcap, and held it towards the schoolmaster’s extended hand ; bnt Mary stood between her husband and his temptation. * Put it up, child,’ she said, ‘the mastber doesn’t want it; he only bad a mind to see it it was safe.’ Then, aside to her husband, * Lot fall yer hand, James ; it’s the devil that's under yer e’bow keeping it out, nibbling as the fishes do at the book. Is It the thin shillings of s widow’s son you’d be afther taking ? It’s not yerself that’s in it at all.’ Then, to tho bey, ‘Put it up, dear, and come in the morning ’ But the silver had shone in the master’s eyes through the worn out knitting—the “ thin shillings,” as Mary called them—and their chink aroused his avarice the more. So, standing up. he put aside bis wife, as men often do good counsel, with a strong arm, and declared that he wonld have all or none; and that without pay he would receive no pupil. The boy, thirsting for learning, almost without hesitation, agreed to give him all he possessed, on'y saying that the “Lord above wonld rise him up some friend who would give him a bit, a sup, and a look of straw to sleep on.’ Thus the bargain was struck, the penniless child turned from the door, knowing that at least for that night he would receive shelter from some kind hearted cotter, and, perhaps, give in exchange tuition to those who conld not afford to go to the “great master;” while the dispenser of knowledge, clinking the “ thin shillings,” strode towards a well-heaped hoard to add thereto the mite of a fatherless boy. Mary crouched over the fire, rocking herself backwards and forwards in real sorrow, and deteim ned to consult the priest as to the change that had come over her husband, turning him out of himself into something “ not right. ” This was O'Leary’s first public attempt to work out his determination, and he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He did not care to encounter Mary’s reproach’ul looks, so he brought over his blotted desk, and sat with his back to her, apparently intent on his books; but, despite all he could do, his mind was wandering back to the time he was a poor scholar him s'lf, and no matter whether he looked over problems or turned the leaves of Homer, there was the pale, gentle facs of the poor scholar whom he had fleeced to the utmost, ‘Mary,’ he said, anxious to bo reconciled to himself, ‘ there never was one of them poor scholars that had not twice as much as they purtended. ’ ‘ Was that the way with yerself, avick ?’ she answered. James pushed back the desk, flung the rnler at the oat, bounced the door after him, and went to bed. He did not fall very soon to eleeo, nor, when he did, did he sleep very soundly, but tossed and tumbled about In a most undignified manner—so much so that his poor wife left off locking, and, taking out her beads, began praying for him as bard and fast as she could, t he prayed to tho Almighty and Allmerciful, though in a way that better taught people might not approve—that is to say, with her in her hand, She believed her prayers took effect, for he soon became tranquil and slept soundly; bnt Mary went on praying. She was accounted what was called, the steadiest hand at prayers In the country, bnt on this particular night she prayed on without stopping until the grey cock, who always crowed at four, told her what the time was, and she thought she might as well sleep for a couple of hours, for Mary conld not only pray when she liked, but slept when she pleased, which is frequently the case with the innocent hearted. As soon, however, as she bnng the beads on the same nail that supported the holy water, cross, and cup, James gave a groan and a start and called her. ‘Give me your hand.’ he said, ‘that I may know that it’s yonrs that’s in ft.’ Mary did so, and aflectionately bade God bless him. ‘ Mary, my own onld darling,’ he whispered, ‘l’m a grate sinner, and all my learning isn't worth a brass farthing.’ Mary was really astonished to hear him say this, ‘lt’s quite in earnest I am, dear, and here's the key of my little box, and go and bring out that poor scholar’s nightcap, and take care of his money, and aa soon as day breaks intiiely go find ont where he’s stopping, and tell him I’ll never toach cross nor coin belonging to him nor one of hli class, and give him back hie coins of silver and his coins of brass; and Mary agra, if you’ve the power, turn every boy in the parish Into a poor scholar, that I may have the satisfaction of teaching them ; for I’ve had a drame, Mary, and I'll tell it to you, who knows better than myself how to be grateful for such a warning. There, praise the holy saints, is a streak of daylight! Now listen, Mary, and don’t Interrupt me.’ * I suppose it s dead I was first, but anyhow I thought I w&s floating about in a dark space, and every minute I wanted to fly up, but something kept me down —I could not rise; as I got used to the dsrkness, yon see, I saw a great many things floating about like myself—mighty curious shapes. One of them, with winps like a bat, came close up to me; and, after all, what was it but a Homer, and I thought may bo It would help me up, bat when 1 made a grab at it, it turned into smoEe ; then came a white-faced owl with red bothered eyes, and out of o- e of them glared a Voster, and out of the other a Gough i and globes and Inkhorns changed, Mary, in the sight of my two looking eyes, \ into vlvaolous tadpoles, swimming here and

there, and making game of me aa th y pawed; oh 1 I though; the time was a thousand years, and everything about roe talking bad Latin and Greek that wou’d bother a saint, and I without power to answer or get away ; I’m thinking it was the schoolmaster's purgatory I was in/ •Maybe so,’ r plied Mary, ‘particularly as they wouldn’t lot you correct the ba I Latin, dear.’ * But it changed, Mary, and I found myself, after a thousand or two years, in the midst of a mist —there was a mistiness all amund me, and my head—but it was a e'ear, soft-downy-like vapour, and I had my full liberty in It, so I kept on, going up—up for ever so ma y years, and by degrees cleared it away, drawing itself into a ‘ boh oan’ at either bile, loading towards a great high hill of light, and 1 mado straight for the hill, and having got over it I looked np, and of all the bright nesses I ever saw was the brightness above me the brightest; and the more I looked at it the brighter It grow, and yet there was no dazz’o In my eyes ; and something whispered me that that was heaven, and with that I fell down on my knees and asked how I was to get there —for, mind ye, Mary, there was a gulf between me and the bill, or, to spake more to yonr understanding, a gap. The hill of light above me was in no ways joined to the hill on which I stood, so I cried how was I to get there? Well bffore you could say twice ten there stood before me seven poor scholars—those seven, dear, that I taught, and that have taken the vestments since, 1 knew them all and 1 knew them well. Many a hard day’s work I had gone through with them, just for the holy, blessed pay the love of «vtd. There they stood, and Abel at their head, ‘The only way for you to get to that happy place masther dear, they said, ‘is for you to make a ladder of us ; we are the stairs that will lead you to that happy mansion ; a'l your learning, of which you were so proud —all yonr examinations —all your disquisitions and knowledge—your algebra and mathematics —your Greek—ay, or even your Hebrew, if you had that same—all are not worth a traneen ; all the mighty fine doings, the greatness of man, or of man’s learning, are not the valuo of a single blessing here. Bat we, masther, jewel, we are yonr charities. Seven of na poor boys, through your manes, learned thsir duty— seven of us, and upon us, by the grace of God, yon can walk np to the shining light, and he happy for ever ’ 1 1 was not a hit bothered at the idea of making a step ladder of the seven holy creatures, who, though they had been poor scholars, were far before myself where we were now, but as they bsnt, I scept, first on Abel, then on Paddy Blake, then on Billy Murphy ; but anyhow, when I got to the end of the seven, I found there five or six more wanting, I tried to make a spring, and only for Abel I’d have gone—l don’t know where —he held me fast. ‘ Oh, the 1 ord be merciful! Is this the way with me afther all ?’I said; ‘ boys—darlines I Can ye get me no more than half way afther all !’ ‘ Sure there must be more of us to help you. ’ makes answer Paddy t lake. * Sure ye lived many years in the world after we left yon, ’ says Abel, ‘ and nnlesi you hardened your heart, it isn’t possible but you must havo a dale more of us to help you. Sura you were never contint, having tasted the ever increasing sweetness of seven good deeds, to atop short and lave yonr task unfinished ? Oh, then. If you did, masther, ’ said the poor fellow, *lf you did, it’s myself that’s sorry for you.’ Well, Mary, agra! I thought my heart would burst open when I remembered what came over me last night, and much more —arithmetical calculations—when I had full and p'icty of what the little you gave and I taught came to. and every niggar r thought was like a sticking up dagger in my heart, and I looked up at a ghry I c;>nld never reach,' lecauso of my cramped heart; and just then I woke. I’m sure I must have had the prayers of soma holy creature about me to cause such a warning.’ Mary made no reply, but sank on her knees at the bedside weeping—tears of joy tears of jey they weie She felt that her prayers had been heard and answered. ‘ And now, Mary, let ns be np and ttlrring, for life is but short f;r the doing of our duties. We’ll have the poor scholar to breakfast; and, darling, yen'll look ont for more of them. And. oh I bat my heart’s as light as the down of a thistle, and all through my blessed drame.’