might have done the same.

I suppose I ought to give the date of my birth, but despite all the
efforts of those in Ireland, who loved me so much that they became
active agents to convey me to heaven, I cannot yet give you the date of
my death.

My friend, Mr. Townshend Trench, is, I believe, writing a book to prove
the world will come to an end in about thirty years' time, but that will
see me out, and those then alive may discover that the Great Landlord
has given the tenants an extension of the lease of the earth.

I was born on December 17, 1824, and I have none of those infantile
recollections which are such an insult on the general attention when put
in print.

Still my earliest memory is so characteristic of much that was to follow
that I set it down.

The very first thing I remember is being placed on the seat of a trap
beside the local R.M. (Resident Magistrate), and thus going out,
escorted by a party of soldiers, to collect tithes.

I clapped my hands with glee, but an old woman by the road-side said
that it was a shame to take out that innocent babe on such bloodthirsty
work.

I could ride before I could walk, and was always fond of the exercise.
What Irishman is not?