Considine, happily for me, however, assumed all the dignity of an historian, and recounted the events of the morning so much to my honor and glory, that I, who only a little before felt crushed and bowed down by the misery of my late duel, began, amidst the warm congratulations and eulogiums about me, to think I was no small hero, and in fact, something very much resembling "the man for Galway." To this feeling a circumstance that followed assisted in contributing.

While we were eagerly discussing the various results likely to arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly to the door and a loud voice called out, "I can't get off, but tell him to come here." We rushed out and beheld Captain Malowney, Mr.Bodkin's second, covered with mud from head to foot, and his horse reeking with foam and sweat.

"I am hurrying on to Athlone for another doctor; but I've called to tell you that the wound is not supposed to be mortal,--he may recover yet." Without waiting for another word, he dashed spurs into his nag and rattled down the avenue at full gallop.

Mr.Bodkin's dearest friend on earth could not have received the intelligence with more delight; and I now began to listen to the congratulations of my friends with a more tranquil spirit.

My uncle, too, seemed much relieved by the information, and heard with great good temper my narrative of the few days at Gurt-na-Morra.