This impediment, however, shall not stand in the way of _one_ stranger, who is willing to offer up his national prejudices at the Altar of Truth, and expiate the crime of an unfounded but habitual antipathy, by an impartial examination, and an unbiassed inquiry. In short, I have actually began to study the language; and though I recollect to have read the opinion of Temple, “that the Celtic dialect used by the native Irish is the purest and most original language that now remains yet I never suspected that a language spoken _par routine_, and chiefly by the lower classes of society, could be acquired upon _principle_, until the other day, when I observed in the Prince’s truly national library some philological works, which were shown me by Father John, who has offered to be my preceptor in this wreck of ancient dialect, and who assures me he will render me master of it in a short time--provided I study _con amore_. “And I will assist you,” said Glorvina. “We will _all_ assist him,” said the Prince. “Then I shall study _con amore_ indeed!” returned I. Behold me then, buried amidst the monuments of past ages!--deep in the study of the language, history, and antiquities of this ancient nation--talking of the invasion of Henry II, as a recent circumstance--of the Phoenician migration hither from Spain, as though my grandfather had been delegated by Firbalgs to receive the Milesians on their landing--and of those transactions passed through “The dark posterns of time long elapsed,” as though their existence was but freshly registered in the annate of recollection. In short, infected by my antiquarian conversation with the Prince, and having fallen in with some of those monkish histories which, on the strength of Druidical tradition, trace a series of wise and learned Irish monarchs before the flood, I am beginning to have as much faith in antediluvian records as Dr. Parsons himself, who accuses _Adam of_ authorship, or Thomas Bangius, who almost gives _fac similies_ of the hand-writing of Noah’s progenitors. Seriously, however, I enter on my new studies with avidity, and read from the morning’s first dawn till the usual hour of breakfast, which is become to me as much the banquet of the heart, as the Roman supper was to the Agustan wits “the feast of reason and the flow of soul,”--for it is the only meal at which Glorvina presides. Two hours each day does the kind priest devote to my philological pursuits, while Glorvina, who is frequently present on these occasions makes me repeat some short poem or song after her, that I may catch the pronunciation, (which is almost unattainable,) then translates them into English, which I word for word write down. Here then is a specimen of Irish poetry, which is almost always the effusion of some blind itinerent bard, or some rustic minstrel, into whose breast the genius of his country has breathed inspiration, as he patiently drove the plough, or laboriously worked in the bog. *