CHAPTER XLV.
MURTAGH'S TALE.
"Well, Shorsha, about a year and a half after you left us--and a sorrowful hour for us it was when ye left us, losing, as we did, your funny stories of your snake--and the battles of your military--they sent me to Paris and Salamanca, in order to make a saggart of me." "Pray excuse me," said I, "for interrupting you, but what kind of place is Salamanca ?" "Divil a bit did I ever see of it, Shorsha!" "Then why did you say you were sent there?
Well, what kind of place is Paris?
Not that I care much about Paris." "Sorrow a bit did I ever see of either of them, Shorsha, for no one sent me to either.

When we says at home a person is going to Paris and Salamanca, it manes that he is going abroad to study to be a saggart, whether he goes to them places or not.

No, I never saw either--bad luck to them--I was shipped away from Cork up the straits to a place called Leghorn, from which I was sent to.

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