‘That is certainly true,’ said Eugene, ‘it was from him I learned the rudiments of Latin, and he has taught it to half the cow-boys in the parish, to keep them, as he said himself, out o’ longin’. This may account in some measure for the acquaintance with Heathen Mythology, which some of our most ignorant poetasters possess, and which is so profusely and sometimes ridiculously made use of in our songs. I do not mean those blundering songs misnamed Irish, that are written by blockheads as utterly ignorant of the idiom of our language, as they appear to be of common sense; but in songs which, though little known out of Ireland, must be familiar to all who have been any time in the country,—such as the following:—A young man meets a pretty girl in a morning, and falling head and ears in love with her at first sight, he breaks out with this rhapsody:— Are you Aurora or the goddess Flora? Or are you Venus or the morning sun? &c. ‘Poor Phil. Sullivan is now no more, and those who once composed his school are dispersed to the four quarters of the globe—a new parish school-house is built, but few attend it, in consequence of some attempt made to interfere with the belief of the children.’ When we left the school-house, we were met by a sedate-looking old gentleman, who saluted us as he passed. ‘That,’ said Eugene, ‘is Father ——, our parish priest, a good and upright man; but eccentric in his manners, and more so in his preaching—that the latter is affected for the purpose of accommodating himself to the comprehension of his hearers, I believe, for he is a man of learning, and shines in conversation, when in company with people who understand him; but if you heard him from the pulpit, I doubt much whether you would be able to refrain from laughing.