MEMOIR OF A GENTLEMAN. 253 



a huge pike of some thirty pounds weight, which was coiled 

 around the bottom. 



" ' The stormy weather/ continued the host, ' having in- 

 terrupted our supply of sea-fish, the peasants who alarmed 

 you had heen setting night-lines for your especial benefit. 

 The pctka more* which you heard devoted to your services in 

 the shebeine-house, was not an instrument of destruction, but, 

 as you shall admit at six o'clock, as good a white fish as ever 

 true catholics, like you and I, were doomed wherewithal to 

 mortify the flesh upon a blessed Friday.' ' 



The stranger smiled. 



" I may have wronged my late companions," he said, " but 

 I have of late been under such constant and painful excite- 

 ment, that I often wonder that reason held her seat. I have 

 this evening not only been delivered from considerable danger, 

 but I have fallen most unexpectedly upon persons and a 

 place which, on this remote coast, and among these wild 

 hills, appear miraculous. Your accents are different from 

 those I have lately listened to : and could I but find courage 

 to tell my story, you would own that I have lately undergone 

 sufficient trials to unnerve a stouter frame than this feeble one 

 of mine." 



After some time, the stranger felt the cheering effect of my 

 kinsman's claret, and in a strain which might be termed serio- 

 comic, he thus narrated his story. 



MEMOIR OF A GENTLEMAN WHO WOULD NOT DO FOR 

 GALWAY. 



" I AM descended from a line of traders, and by birth as 

 genuine a cockney as ever listened to Bow-bells. My mother's 

 nonage was passed in St. Mary Axe, and my father was a 

 dry-salter in Tooley-street. He was third of the same name 

 that there had dwelt and prospered. They were a thrifty and 

 punctilious race ; and it was a family boast, that, for seventy 

 years, a bill bearing the acceptance of Daniel Dawkins had 

 never been in the hands of the notary. There is virtue in 

 a good name, 'tis said, and theirs was current for ten thou- 

 sand. 



* The large pike. 



