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,
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, man