memory of the oldest man living, and as such only do we intend to present him to our readers. The most accomplished Shanahus of this kind that ever came within our observation, was a man called Tom Grassiey, or Tom the Shoemaker. He was a very stout well-built man, about fifty years of age, with a round head somewhat bald, and an expansive forehead that argued a considerable reach of natural intellect. His knowing organs were large, and projected over a pair of deep-set lively eyes, that scintillated with strong twinklings of humour. His voice was loud, his enunciation rapid, but distinct; and such was the force and buoyancy of his spirits, added to the vehemence of his manner, that altogether it was impossible to resist him. His laughter was infectious, and so loud that it might be heard of a calm summer evening at an incredible distance. Indeed, Tom possessed many qualities that rendered him a most agreeable companion: he could sing a good song for instance, dance a hornpipe as well as any dancing-master, and we need not say that he could tell a good story. He could also imitate a Jew’s harp or trump upon his lips with his mere fingers in such a manner that the deception was complete; and it was well known that flocks of the country people used to crowd about him for the purpose of hearing his performance upon the ivy leaf, which he played upon by putting it in his mouth, and uttering a most melodious whistle. Altogether, he was a man of great natural powers, and possessed such a memory as the writer of this never knew any human being to be gifted with. He not only remembered everything he saw or was concerned in, but everything he heard also. His language, when he spoke Irish, was fluent, clear, and sometimes eloquent; but when he had recourse to the English, although his fluency remained, yet it was the fluency of a man who made an indiscriminate use of a vocabulary which he did not understand. His pedantry on this account was highly ludicrous and amusing, and his wit and humour surprisingly original and pointed. He had never received any education, and was consequently completely illiterate, yet he could repeat every word of Gallagher’s Irish Sermons, Donlevy’s Catechism, Think Well On’t, the Seven Champions of Christendom, and the substance of Pastorini’s and Kolumb Kill’s Prophecies, all by heart. Many a time I have seen him read, as he used to call it, one of Dr Gallagher’s Sermons out of the skirt of his big-coat; a feat which was looked upon with twice the wonder it would have produced had he merely said that he repeated it. But to read it out of the skirt of his coat! Heavens, how we used to look on with awe and veneration, as Tom, in a loud rapid voice, “rhymed it out of him,” for such was the term we gave to his recital of it! His learning, however, was not confined to mere English and Irish, for Tom was also classical in his way, and for want of a better substitute it was said could serve mass, which must always be done in Latin.