ating in age, with whom I could exchange a word. Of late years,
from being almost constantly at school, I had cast aside, in a great
degree, my unsocial habits and natural reserve, but in the desolate
region in which we now were there was no school; and I felt doubly the
loss of my brother, whom, moreover, I tenderly loved for his own sake.
Books I had none, at least such 'as I cared about'; and with respect to
the old volume, the wonders of which had first beguiled me into common
reading, I had so frequently pored over its pages, that I had almost got
its contents by heart. I was therefore in danger of falling into the
same predicament as Murtagh, becoming 'frighted' from having nothing to
do! Nay, I had not even his resources; I cared not for cards, even if I
possessed them and could find people disposed to play with them. However,
I made the most of circumstances, and roamed about the desolate fields
and bogs in the neighbourhood, sometimes entering the cabins of the
peasantry, with a 'God's blessing upon you, good people!' where I would
take my seat on the 'stranger's stone' at the corner of the hearth, and,
looking them full in the face, would listen to the carles and carlines
talking Irish.

Ah, that Irish! How frequently do circumstances, at first sight the most
trivial and unimportant, exercise a mighty and permanent influence on our
habits and pursuits!--how frequently is a stream turned aside from its
natural course by some little rock or knoll, causing it to make an abrupt
turn! On a wild road in Ireland I had heard Irish spoken for the first
time; and I was seized with a desire to learn Irish, the acquisition of
which, in my case, became the stepping-stone to other languages. I had
previously learnt Latin, or rather Lilly; but neither Latin nor Lilly
made me a philologist. I had frequently heard French and other
languages, but had felt little desire to become acquainted with them; and
what, it may be asked, was there connected with the Irish calculated to
recommend it to my attention?

First of all, and principally, I believe, the strangeness and singularity
of its tones; then there was something mysterious and uncommon associated
with its use. It was not a school language, to acquire which was
considered an imperative duty; no, no; nor was it a drawing-room
language, drawled out occasionally, in shreds and patches, by the ladies
of generals and other great dignitaries, to the ineffable dismay of po