with the antiquary, the scholar, or the humble senachie--any single
tradition, usage, or legend, that, as far as I can at present recollect,
was perfectly new to me or unheard before, in some similar or cognate
dress. This is certainly saying much; but I believe I may assert with
confidence that I could produce, in attestation of its truth, the
dairies of Petrie, Sir W. Betham, Ferguson, and O'Donovan, the most
distinguished antiquaries, both of social usages and otherwise, that
ever Ireland produced. What rendered this, besides, of such peculiar
advantage to me in after life, as a literary man, was, that I heard them
as often in the Irish language as in the English, if not oftener, in
circumstance which enabled me in my writings to transfer the genius, the
idiomatic peculiarity and conversational spirit of the one language
into the other, precisely as the people themselves do in their dialogue,
whenever the heart or imagination happens to be moved by the darker or
better passions.

Having thus stated faithfully, without adding or diminishing, a portion,
and a portion only, of what I owe to one parent, I cannot overlook the
debt of gratitude which is due to the memory of the other.

My mother, whose name was Kelly--Mary Kelly--possessed the sweetest and
most exquisite of human voices. In her early life, I have often been
told by those who had heard her sing, that any previous intimation of
her presence at a wake, dance, or other festive occasion, was sure to
attract crowds of persons, many from a distance of several miles, in
order to hear from her lips the touching old airs of their country. No
sooner was it known that she would attend any such meeting, than the
fact spread throughout the neighborhood like wild-fire, and the people
flocked from all parts to hear her, just as the fashionable world
do now, when the name of some eminent songstress is announced in the