NOT THE MAN FOR GALWAY. 327 



disgust. 1 was the master of the feast, but the savages 

 barely recognised me. Generally they spoke in their 

 native language ; and though 1 did not exactly 

 comprehend all that they said, I heard enough to assure 

 me of my utter insignificance in their rude estimate of 

 character. Under a gate-pier two old women were 

 sitting ; they did not notice me, and continued their 

 discourse. 



** ' Ally, asthore, did ye see the child ? They say it's 

 the picture of Marc Bodkin/ 



" ' Whisht, ye divil ! ' was the rejoinder, as the crone 

 proceeded, with a chuckle ; * it has red hair, any 

 how : but Neil an skil a gau maun* and ye know 

 best.' 



*' But the further humiliation of assisting at the 

 ceremony was saved me. In the hurry consequent 

 upon the general confusion, the post-bag was handed 

 to me instead of my lady-wife, who lately had managed 

 all correspondence. Mechanically I opened the bag, 

 and a letter, bearing the well-known direction of my 

 aunt, met my eye. That, under circumstances, it 

 should have reached me, appeared miraculous, and, 

 seizing an opportunity, J examined its contents in 

 private. My kind relation had received my detail of misery, 

 and, in reply, she implored me to abandon the scene of 

 my degradation, and share her fortune, which was more, 

 she said, than sufficient for us both. My heart beat with 

 conflicting emotions — all unworthy as she was, I could 

 not bring myself to abandon Drusilla thus. 1 actually 

 hesitated, when curiosity prompted me to peruse a 



• Anglice, " I have no skill in it." 



