There are several facts connected with his school days at Edgeworthstown that are very interesting. He is said to have become acquainted, either here or at Ballyoughter, with Turlogh O'Carolan, the last of the ancient Irish bards. This popular musician and poet, whose songs have been translated into English, and published, maintained the style and life of the minstrel. He disdained to play for money, but went as an admired and honored guest from house to house among the most ancient and opulent families of Connaught. To complete his character as a harper, he was blind, and had been so from the age of eighteen. His songs, which are sung by the peasantry with enthusiasm, are numerous, and celebrate the persons and families of his patrons. If they do not, in the mind of an Englishman, appear to possess an originality equal to their fame in Ireland, it is to be remembered that they have there all the charm of association, their very titles being the names of lords and ladies of old families: O'Connor Faby; Dennis O'Connor; Planxty Stafford; Nelly Plunkett; Mrs. French; Anna M'Dermot Roe &c. The influence which the other local poet, Laurence Whyte, had on the mind and genius of Goldsmith, is very striking. Whyte wrote, as part of a larger poem, The Parting Cup, or the Humors of Deoch an Doruis, in four cantos. It is a lively picture of a Westmeath farmer's life, about the year 1710, and shows not only how its themes had sunk into the mind of Goldsmith as a boy when they reappeared in The Deserted Village, but also how old and how fixed a portion of Irish history are those miseries and outrages on the people which are at this hour the topic of public wonder in England. The exactions of the landlords; the casting forth from house and home the wretched tenantry; the stream of consequent emigration; and the curse of absenteeism. Whyte's poem is very clever, and deserves to be better known. Speaking of the better condition of the farmers in the seventeenth century, he proceeds: "Thus farmers lived like gentlemen, Ere lands were raised from five to ten; Again from ten to three times five, Then very few could hope to thrive; But tugged against the rapid stream, Which drove them back from whence they came: At length 'twas canted to a pound, What tenant then could keep his ground? Not knowing which, to stand or fly, When rent-rolls mounted zenith high, They had their choice to run away, Or labor for a groat a day. _Now beggared and of all bereft, Are doomed to starve or live by theft. Take to the mountain or the roads, When banished from their old abodes. Their native soil were forced to quit, So Irish landlords thought it fit; Who without ceremony or rout, For their improvements turned them out._ *...*...*...*