When I enquired into the nature of those choral strains I had heard, he replied--“O! as to that, it is according to the old woman’s fancy and in fact I learnt that Ireland, like Italy, has its _improvisatores_, and that those who are gifted with the impromptu talent are highly estimated by their rustic compatriots;” and by what he added, I discovered that their inspirations are either drawn from the circumstances of the moment, from one striking excellence or palpable defect in some of the company present, or from some humourous incident, or local event generally known. As soon as we arrived at the little _auberge_ of the little village, I ordered my courteous guide his breakfast, and having done all due honour to my own, we parted. My route from the village to Bally-------- lay partly through a desolate bog, whose burning surface, heated by a vertical sun, gave me no inadequate idea of _Arabia Deserta_; and the pangs of an acute headache, brought on by exercise more violent than my still delicate constitution was equal to support, determined me to defer my journey until the meridian ardours were abated; and taking your Horace from my pocket, I wandered into a shady path, “impervious to the noontide ray.” Throwing my “listless length” at the foot of a spreading beech, I had already got to that sweet ode to Lydia, which Scaliger in his enthusiasm declares he would rather have written than to have possessed the monarchy of Naples, when somebody accosted me in Irish, and then with a “God save you, Sir!” I raised my eyes, and beheld a poor peasant, driving, or rather soliciting, a sorry lame cow to proceed. “May be,” said he, taking off his hat, “your Honour would be after telling me what’s the hour?” “Later than I supposed, my good friend,” replied I, rising, “it is past two.” He bowed low, and stroking the face of his companion, added, “well, the day is yet young, but you and I have a long journey before us, my poor Driminduath.” “And how far are you going, my friend?” “Please your Honour, two miles beyond Bally-------.” “It is my road exactly, and you, Driminduath, and I, may perform the journey together.” The poor fellow seemed touched and surprised by my condescension, and profoundly bowed his sense of it, while the curious _triumviri_ set off on their pedestrian tour together. I now cast an eye over the person of my _compagnon de voyage_. It was a tall, thin, athletic figure, “bony and gaunt,” with an expressive countenance, marked features, a livid complexion, and a quantity of coarse black hair hanging about the face; the drapery was perfectly appropriate to the wearer--an under garment composed of “_shreds_ and _patches_,” was partially covered with an old great coat of coarse frieze, fastened on the breast with a large wooden skewer, the sleeves hanging down on either side unoccupied, * and a pair of yarn hose which scarcely reached _midleg_, left the ankle and foot naked.