Such is, we fear, an imperfect outline of Tom’s life. It was one of ease and comfort, without a care to disturb him, or a passion that was not calmed by the simple but virtuous integrity of his life. His wishes were few, and innocently and easily gratified. The great delight of his soul was not that he should experience kindness at the hands of others, but that he should communicate to them, in the simple vanity of his heart, that degree of amusement and instruction and knowledge which made them look upon him as a wonderful man, gifted with rare endowments; for in what light was not that man to be looked upon who could trace the old names up to times when they were great, who could climb a genealogical tree to the top branch, who could repeat the Seven Penitential Psalms in Latin, tell all the old Irish tales and legends of the country, and beat Paddy Crudden the methodist horse-jockey, who had the whole Bible by heart, at arguing Scripture? Harmless ambition! humble as it was, and limited in compass, to thee it was all in all; and yet thou wert happy in feeling that it was gratified. This little boon was all thou didst ask of life, and it was kindly granted thee. The last night we ever had the pleasure of being amused by Tom was at a wake in the neighbourhood, for it somehow happened that there was seldom either a wake or a dance within two or three miles of us that we did not attend; and God forgive us, when old Poll Doolin was on her death-bed, the only care that troubled us was an apprehension that she might recover, and thus defraud us of a right merry wake! Upon the occasion we allude to, it being known that Tom Grassiey would be present, of course the house was crowded. And when he did come, and his loud good-humoured voice was heard at the door, heavens! how every young heart bounded with glee and delight! The first thing he did on entering was to go where the corpse was laid out, and in a loud rapid voice repeat the Deprofundis for the repose of her soul, after which he sat down and smoked a pipe. Oh, well do I remember how the whole house was hushed, for all was expectation and interest as to what he would do or say. At length he spoke--“Is Frank Magaveen there?” “All’s that left o’ me’s here, Tom.” “An’ if the sweep-chimly-general had his due, Frank, that wouldn’t be much; and so the longer you can keep him out of that same, the betther for yourself.” “Folly on Tom! you know there’s none of us all able to spake up to _you_, say what you will.”