“Och, och, no, you poor young cratlrur, not from you.  No, no; if we wouldn’t help the likes o’ you, who ought we to help?  No dear; but instead o’ the airighad, (* money) jist lave us your blessin’, an’ maybe we’ll thrive as well wid that, as we would wid your little ’pences, that you’ll be wanting for yourself whin your frinds won’t be near to help you.”

Many, in fact, were the little marks of kindness and attention which the poor lad received on his way.  Sometimes a ragged peasant, if he happened to be his fellow-traveller, would carry his satchel so long as they travelled together, or a carman would give him a lift on his empty car; or some humorous postilion, or tipsy “shay-boy,” with a comical leer in his eye, would shove him into his vehicle; remarking—­

“Bedad, let nobody say you’re a poor scholar now, an’ you goin’ to school in a coach!  Be the piper that played afore Moses, if ever any rascal upraids you wid it, tell him, says you—­’You damned rap,’ says you, ‘I wint to school in a coach! an’ that,’ says you, ’was what none o’ yer beggarly gin oration was ever able to do,’ says you; ‘an’ moreover, be the same token,’ says you, ’be the holy farmer, if you bring it up to me, I’ll make a third eye in your forehead wid the butt o’ this whip,’ says you.  Whish! darlins!  That’s the go!  There’s drivin’, Barny!  Eh?”

At length, after much toil and travel, he reached the South, having experienced as he proceeded a series of affectionate attentions, which had, at least, the effect of reconciling him to the measure he had taken, and impressing upon his heart a deeper confidence in the kindness and hospitality of his countrymen.

Upon the evening of the day on which he terminated his journey, twilight was nearly falling; the town in which he intended to stop for the night was not a quarter of a mile before him, yet he was scarcely able to reach it; his short, yielding steps were evidently those of a young and fatigued traveller:  his brow was moist with perspiration:  he had just begun, too, to consider in what manner he should introduce himself to the master who taught the school at which he had been advised to stop, when he heard a step behind him, and on looking back, he discovered a tall, well-made, ruddy-faced young man, dressed in black, with a book in his hand, walking after him.

“Unde et quo viator?” said the stranger, on coming up to him.

“Oh, sir,” replied Jemmy, “I have not Latin yet.”

“You are on your way to seek it, however,” replied the other.  “Have you travelled far?”

“A long way, indeed, sir; I came from the County ------, sir--the upper
part of it.”

“Have you letters from your parish priest?”

“I have, sir, and one from my father’s landlord, Square Benson, if you ever heard of him.”

“What’s your object in learning Latin?”

“To be a priest, wid the help o’ God; an’ to rise my poor father an’ mother out of their poverty.”