In our gallery of types we must not forget the character whom English writers contemptuously called the “hedge-schoolmaster.”  The hedge-school in its most elemental state was an open-air daily assemblage of youths in pursuit of knowledge.  Inasmuch as the law had refused learning a fitting temple in which to abide and be honored, she was led by her votaries into the open, and there, beside the fragrant hedge, if you will, with the green sward for benches, and the canopy of heaven for dome, she was honored in Ireland, even as she had been honored ages before in Greece, in Palestine, and by our primordial Celtic ancestors themselves.  The hedge-schoolmaster conducted the rites, and the air resounded with the sonorous hexameters of Virgil and the musical odes of Horace.

In the Irish-speaking portions of the country the hedge-schoolmaster was often also a poet who wrote mellifluous songs in Irish, which were sung throughout the entire district and sometimes earned him enduring fame.  Eoghan Ruadh O’Sullivan and Andrew MacGrath, called An Mangaire Sugach or “the Jolly Pedlar,” are well-known instances of this type.

The poor scholar is another type that under varying forms and under various circumstances has ever trod the stage of Irish history.  From an ancient Irish manuscript (See O’Curry, Manners and Customs, II, 79, 80) we learn that Adamnan, the biographer of St. Columcille, and some other youths studied at Clonard and were supported by the neighborhood.  The poor scholar more than any other type embodies the love of learning of the Irish race.  In the schools which preceded the National, he appeared in a most interesting stage of development.  He came from a distance, attracted by the reputation of a good teacher and the regularity of a well-conducted school.  He came, avowedly poor.  His only claim on the generosity of his teacher and of the public was a marked aptitude for learning and an ardent desire for study and cultivation of mind.  He did not look for luxuries.  He was satisfied, if his bodily wants were reasonably supplied, even with the inconveniences of frequent change of abode.  A welcome was extended to him on all sides.  His hosts and patrons honored his thirst for knowledge and tenacity of purpose.  He was expected to help the students in the house where he found entertainment, and it may not have been unpleasing to him on occasion to display his talents before his host.  When school was over, it was not unusual to find him surrounded by a group of school-companions, each pressing his claim to entertain him for the night.

Despite the hospitality of his patrons, the poor scholar often felt the bitterness of his dependent state, but he bore it with equanimity, his hand ever eagerly stretched out for the prize of learning.  What did learning bring him?  Why was he so eager to bear for its sake

                         “all the thousand aches
      That patient merit of the unworthy takes”?