To hear an obscure creature, whose name was but faintly known in the remote parts even of the parish in which he lived, draw the long-bow at such a rate, was highly amusing.  The credulous character of his auditory, however, was no slight temptation to him; for he knew that next to the legends of their saints, or the Gospel itself, his fictions ranked in authenticity; and he was determined that it should not be his fault if their opinion of his learning and talents were not raised to the highest point.  The feeling experienced by the poor scholar, when he awoke the next morning, was one both of satisfaction and sorrow.  He thought once more of his home and kindred, and reflected that it might be possible he had I seen the last of his beloved relations.  His grief, however, was checked when he remembered the warm and paternal affection with which he was received on the preceding night by his hospitable countryman.  He offered up his prayers to God; humbly besought his grace and protection; nor did he forget to implore a blessing upon those who I had thus soothed his early sorrows, and afforded him, though a stranger and friendless, I shelter, comfort, and sympathy.

“I hope,” thought he, “that I will meet many such, till I overcome my difficulties, an’ find myself able to assist my poor father an’ mother!”

And he did meet many such among the humble, and despised, and neglected of his countrymen; for—­and we say it with pride—­the character of this excellent farmer is thoroughly that of our peasantry within the range of domestic life.

When he had eaten a comfortable breakfast, and seen his satchel stuffed with provision for his journey, the farmer brought him up to his own room, in which were also his wife and children.

“God,” said he, “has been good to me; blessed be his holy name!—­betther it appears in one sinse, than he has been to you, dear, though maybe I don’t desarve it as well.  But no matther, acushla; I have it, an’ you want it; so here’s a thrifle to help your forrid in your larnin’; an’ all I ax from you is to offer up a bit of a prayer for me, of an odd time, an’ if ever you live to be a priest, to say, if it wouldn’t be throublesome, one Mass for me an’ those that you see about me.  It’s not much, James agra—­only two guineas.  They may stand your friend, whin friends will be scarce wid you; though, I hope, that won’t be the case aither.”

The tears were already streaming down.  Jemmy’s cheeks.  “Oh,” said the artless boy, “God forever reward you! but sure I have a great dale of money in the—­in the—­cuff o’ my coat.  Indeed I have, an’ I won’t want it!”

The farmer, affected by the utter simplicity of the lad, looked at his wife and smiled, although a tear stood in his eye at the time.  She wiped her eyes with her apron, and backed the kind offer of her husband.