r family by a nephew of the
parish priest, then a young man of six or eight and twenty, that, under
the circumstances, it would be a prudent step on their part to prepare
an outfit, and send me up to Munster as a poor scholar, to complete my
education. Pat Frayne, who by the way had been a poor scholar himself,
had advised the same thing before, and as the name does not involve
disgrace I felt no reluctance in going, especially as the priest's
nephew, who proposed it, had made up his mind on accompanying me for
a similar purpose. Indeed, the poor scholars who go to Munster are
indebted for nothing but their bed and board, which they receive
kindly and hospitably from the parents of the scholars. The masters are
generally paid their full terms by these pitiable beings, but this rule,
like all others, of course, has its exceptions. At all events, my
outfit was got ready, and on a beautiful morning in the month of May
I separated from my family to go in quest of education. There was no
collection, however, in my case, as mentioned in the tale; as my own
family supplied the funds supposed to be necessary. I have been present,
however, at more than one collection made for similar purposes, and
heard a good-natured sermon not very much differing from that given in
the story.

The priest's nephew, on the day we were to start, suddenly changed his
mind, and I consequently had to undertake the journey alone, which I
did with a heavy heart. The farther I got from home, the more my spirits
sank, or in the beautiful image of Goldsmith,

"I dragged at each remove a lengthening chain."

I travelled as far as the town of Granard, and during the journey, it
is scarcely necessary to say, that the almost parental tenderness
and hospitality which I received on my way could not be adequately
described. The reader will find an attempt at it in the story. The
parting from home and my adventures on the road are real.

Having reached Granard my courage began to fail, and my family at home,
now that I had departed from them, began also to feel something like
remorse for having permitted one so young and inexperienced as I then
was, to go abroad alone upon the world. My mother's sorrow, especially,
was deep, and her cry was, "Oh, why did I let my boy go? maybe I will
never see him again!"

At this time, as the reader may be aware from my parental education,
there was not a being alive more thoroughly imbued with superstition;
and, whe