for in Ireland, he who is known
to be fond of quarrelling, as the people say, usually "gets enough
an' lavins of it." Larry and Sheelah, thinking it now high time that
something should be done with Phelim, thought it necessary to give
him some share of education. Phelim opposed this bitterly as an
unjustifiable encroachment upon his personal liberty; but, by bribing
him with the first and only suit of clothes he had yet got, they at
length succeeded in prevailing on him to go.

The school to which he was sent happened to be kept in what is called
an inside Kiln. This kind of kiln is usually--but less so now than
formerly--annexed to respectable farmers' outhouses, to which, in
agricultural districts, it forms a very necessary appendage. It also
serves at the same time as a barn, the kiln-pot being sunk in the shape
of an inverted cone at one end, but divided from the barn floor by
a wall about three feet high. From this wall beams run across the
kiln-pot, over which, in a transverse direction, are laid a number of
rafters like the joists of a loft, but not fastened. These ribs are
covered with straw, over which again is spread a winnow-cloth to keep
the grain from being lost. The fire is sunk on a level with the bottom
of the kiln-pot, that is, about eight or ten feet below the floor of the
barn. The descent to it is by stairs formed at the side wall. We have
been thus minute in describing it, because, as the reader will presently
perceive, the feats of Phelim render it necessary.

On the first day of his entering the school he presented himself with
a black eye; and as his character was well known to both master and
scholars, the former felt no hesitation in giving him a wholesome
lecture upon the subject of his future conduct. For at least a year
before this time, he had gained the nick-name of "Blessed Phelim," and
"Bouncing," epithets bestowed on him by an ironical allusion to his
patron saint, and his own habits.

"So, Blessed Phelim," said the master, "you are comin' to school!!!
Well, well! I only say that miracles will never cease. Arrah, Phelim,
will you tell us candidly--ah--I beg your pardon; I mean, will you tell
us the best lie you can coin upon the cause of your coming to imbibe
moral and literary knowledge? Silence, boys, till we hear Blessed
Phelim's lie."

"You must hear it, masther," said Phelim. "I'm comin' to larn to read
an' write."

"Bravo! By the bones of Prosodius, I expected a lie, but not