There was once a grown-up lad in the County Leitrim, and he was strong and lively, and the son of a rich farmer. His father had plenty of money, and he did not spare it on the son. Accordingly, when the boy grew up he liked sport better than work, and, as his father had no other children, he loved this one so much that he allowed him to do in everything just as it pleased himself. He was very extravagant, and he used to scatter the gold money as another person would scatter the white. He was seldom to be found at home, but if there was a fair, or a race, or a gathering within ten miles of him, you were dead certain to find him there. And he seldom spent a night in his father's house, but he used to be always out rambling, and, like Shawn Bwee long ago, there was "grádh gach cailin i mbrollach a léine," "the love of every girl in the breast of his shirt," and it's many's the kiss he got and he gave, for he was very handsome, and there wasn't a girl in the country but would fall in love with him, only for him to fasten his two eyes on her, and it was for that someone made this _rann_ on him-- "Feuch an rógaire 'g iarraidh póige, Ni h-iongantas mór é a bheith mar atá Ag leanamhaint a gcómhnuidhe d'árnán na gráineóige Anuas 's anios 's nna chodladh 'sa' lá." _i.e._--"Look at the rogue, its for kisses he's rambling, It isn't much wonder, for that was his way; He's like an old hedgehog, at night he'll be scrambling From this place to that, but he'll sleep in the day." At last he became very wild and unruly. He wasn't to be seen day nor night in his father's house, but always rambling or going on his _kailee_ (night-visit) from place to place and from house to house, so that the old people used to shake their heads and say to one another, "it's easy seen what will happen to the land when the old man dies; his son will run through it in a year, and it won't stand him that long itself."