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 poor
officers' wives. Nothing of the kind; but a speech spoken in out-of-the-
way desolate places, and in cut-throat kens, where thirty ruffians, at
the sight of the king's minions, would spring up with brandished sticks
and an 'ubbubboo, like the blowing up of a powder-magazine.' Such were
the points connected with the Irish, which first awakened in my mind the
desire of acquiring it; and by acquiring it I became, as I have already
said, enamoured of languages. Having learnt one by choice, I speedily,
as the reader will perceive, learnt others, some of which were widely
different from Irish.

* * * * *

I said: 'Now, Murtagh, tit for tat; ye will be telling me one of the old
stories of Finn-ma-Coul.' 'Och, Shorsha! I haven't heart enough,' said
Murtagh. 'Thank you for your tale, but it makes me weep; it brings to my
mind Dungarvon times of old--I mean the times we were at school
together.' 'Cheer up, man,' said I, 'and let's have the story, and let
it be about Ma-Coul and the salmon and his thumb.' 'Well, you know Ma-
Coul was an exposed child, and came floating over the salt sea in a chest
which was cast ashore at Veintry Bay. In the corner of that bay was a
castle, where dwelt a giant and his wife, very respectable and dacent