My father, indeed, was a very humble man, but, in consequence of his
unaffected piety and stainless integrity of principle, he was held in
high esteem by all who knew him, no matter what their rank in life might
be. When the state of education in Ireland during his youth and that of
my mother is considered, it will not be a matter of surprise that what
they did receive was very limited. It would be difficult, however, if
not impossible, to find two persons in their lowly station so highly
and singularly gifted. My father possessed a memory not merely great or
surprising, but absolutely astonishing. He could repeat nearly the whole
of the Old and New Testament by heart, and was, besides, a living index
to almost every chapter and verse you might wish to find in it. In all
other respects, too, his memory was equally amazing. My native place
is a spot rife with old legends, tales, traditions, customs, and
superstitions; so that in my early youth, even beyond the walls of
my own humble roof, they met me in every direction. It was at home,
however, and from my father's lips in particular, that they were
perpetually sounding in my ears. In fact, his memory was a perfect
storehouse, and a rich one, of all that the social antiquary, the man of
letters, the poet, or the musician, would consider valuable. As a teller
of old tales, legends, and historical anecdotes he was unrivalled, and
his stock of them was inexhaustible. He spoke the Irish and English
languages with nearly equal fluency. With all kinds of charms, old
ranns, or poems, old prophecies, religious superstitions, tales of
pilgrims, miracles, and pilgrimages, anecdotes of blessed priests
and friars, revelations from ghosts and fairies, was he thoroughly
acquainted. And so strongly were all these impressed upon my mind, by
frequent repetition on his part, and the indescribable delight they
gave me on mine, that I have hardly ever since heard, during a tolerably
enlarged intercourse with Irish society, both educated and uneducated,