Should my reader feel any interest concerning that portion of my history which immediately followed the events of my last chapter, I believe I must refer him to Mrs. Doolan, the amiable hostess of the Bonaveen Arms. She could probably satisfy any curious inquiry as to the confusion produced in her establishment by the lively sallies of Tipperary Joe in one quarter, and the more riotous madness of myself in another. The fact is, good reader, my head was an English one; and although its contents were gradually acclimating themselves to the habits of the country, the external shell had not assumed that proper thickness and due power of resistance which Irish heads would appear to be gifted with. In plain words, the injury had brought on delirium.

It was somewhere in the third week after this unlucky morning that I found myself lying in my bed with a wet cloth upon my temples, while over my whole frame was spread that depressing sense of great debility more difficult to bear than acute bodily suffering. Although unable to speak, I could distinctly hear the conversation about me, and recognise the voices of both Father Tom and the Major as they conversed with a third party, whom I afterwards learned was the Galen of Loughrea.

Dr. Mopin, surgeon of the Roscommon militia, had been for forty years the terror of the sick of the surrounding country; for, independent of a naturally harsh and disagreeable manner, he had a certain slangy and sneering way of addressing his patients that was perfectly shocking. Amusing himself the while at their expense, by suggesting the various unhappy and miserable consequences that might follow on their illness, he appeared to take a diabolical pleasure in the terror he was capable of eliciting. There was something almost amusing in the infernal ingenuity he had acquired in this species of torture. There was no stage of your illness, no phase of your constitution, no character or condition of your malady, that was not the immediate forerunner of one or more afflicting calamities. Were you getting weaker, it was the way they always died out; did you gain strength, it was a rally before death; were you despondent, it was the best for you to know your state; were you sanguine, he would rebuke your good spirits and suggest the propriety of a priest. However, with all these qualifications people put up with him; and as he had a certain kind of rude skill, and never stuck at a bold method, he obtained the best practice of the country and a widespread reputation.

'Well,' said Father Tom, in a low voice—'well, Doctor, what do you think of him this evening?'

'What do I think of him? Just what I thought before—congestion of the membranes. This is the low stage he is in now; I wouldn't be surprised if he'd get a little better in a few days, and then go off like the rest of them.'

'Go off! eh? Now you don't mean——'

'Don't I? Maybe not. The ould story—coma, convulsions, and death.'

'Damn the fellow!' said the Major, in a muttered voice, 'I feel as if I was in a well. But I say, Doctor, what are we to do?'

'Anything you plase. They say his family is mighty respectable, and have plenty of money. I hope so; for here am I coming three times a day, and maybe when he dies it will be a mourning ring they'll be sending me instead of my fee. He was a dissipated chap I am sure: look at the circles under his eyes!'

'Ay, ay,' said the priest, 'but they only came since his illness.'

'So much the worse,' added the invincible Doctor; 'that's always a symptom that the base of the brain is attacked.'

'And what happens then?' said the Major.

'Oh, he might recover. I knew a man once get over it, and he is alive now, and in Swift's Hospital.'

'Mad?' said the priest.

'Mad as a March hare,' grinned the Doctor; 'he thinks himself the post-office clock, and chimes all the hours and half-hours day and night.'

'The heavens be about us!' said Father Tom, crossing himself piously. 'I had rather be dead than that.'

'When did you see Burke?' inquired the Major, wishing to change the conversation.

'About an hour ago; he is going fast.'

'Why, I thought he was better,' said Father Tom; 'they told me he ate a bit of chicken, and took a little wine and water.'

'Ay, so he did; I bid them give him whatever he liked, as his time was so short. So, after all, maybe it is as well for this young chap here not to get over it.'

'How so?' said the Major. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Just that it is as good to die of a brain fever as be hanged; and it won't shock the family.'

'I 'd break his neck,' muttered Bob Mahon, 'if there was another doctor within forty miles.'

Of all his patients, Tipperary Joe was the only one of whom the Doctor spoke without disparagement. Whether that the poor fellow's indifference to his powers of terrorising had awed or conciliated him, I know not; but he expressed himself favourably regarding his case, and his prospects of recovery.

'Them chaps always recover,' drawled out the Doctor in a dolorous cadence.

'Is it true,' said the Major, with a malicious grin—'is it true that he changed all the splints and bandages to the sound leg, and that you didn't discover the mistake for a week afterwards? Mary Doolan told me.'

'Mrs. Doolan,' said the Doctor, 'ought to be thinking of her own misfortunes; and with an acute inflammation of the pericardium, she might be making her sowl.'

'She ill?—that fine, fat, comfortable-looking woman!'

'Ay, just so; they're always fat, and have a sleepy look about the eyes, just like yourself. Do you ever bleed at the nose?'

'Never without a blow on it. Come, come, I know you well, Doctor; you shall not terrify me.'

'You're right not to fret; for it will take you off suddenly, with a giddiness in your head, and a rolling in your eyes, and a choking feeling about your throat——'

'Stop, and be d——d to you!' said the Major, as he cleared his voice a couple of times, and loosed the tie of his cravat. 'This room is oppressively hot.'

'I protest to God,' said Father Tom, 'my heart is in my mouth, and there isn't a bone in my body that's not aching.'

'I don't wonder,' chimed in the Doctor; 'you are another of them, and you are a surprising man to go on so long. Sure, it is two years ago I warned your niece that when she saw you fall down she must open a vein in your neck, if it was only with a carving-knife.'

'The saints in heaven forbid!' said the priest, cutting the sign of the cross in the air; 'it's maybe the jugular she'd cut!'

'No,' drawled out the Doctor, 'she needn't go so deep; and if her hand doesn't shake, there won't be much danger. Good-evening to you both.'

So saying, with his knees bent, and his hands crossed under the skirts of his coat, he sneaked out of the room; while the others, overcome, with fear, shame, and dismay, sat silently, looking misery itself, at each side of the table.

'That fellow would kill a regiment,' said the Major at length. 'Come, Tom, let's have a little punch; I 've a kind of a trembling over me.'

'Not a drop of anything stronger than water will cross my lips this blessed night. Do you know, Bob, I think this place doesn't agree with me? I wish I was back in Murranakilty: the mountain air, and regular habits of life, that's the thing for me.'

'We are none of us abstemious enough,' said the Major; 'and then we bachelors—to be sure you have your niece.'

'Whisht!' said the priest, 'how do you know who is listening? I vow to God I am quite alarmed at his telling that to Mary; some night or other, if I take a little too much, she'll maybe try her anatomy upon me!'

This unhappy reflection seemed to weigh upon the good priest's mind, and set him a-mumbling certain Latin offices between his teeth for a quarter of an hour.

'I wish,' said the Major, 'Hinton was able to read his letters, for here is a whole bundle of them—some from England, some from the Castle, and some marked “On His Majesty's service.”'

'I'll wait another week anyhow for him,' said the priest. 'To go back to Dublin in the state he is now would be the ruin of him, after the shake he has got. The dissipation, the dining-out, and all the devilment would destroy him entirely; but a few weeks' peace and quietness up at Murranakilty will make him as sound as a bell.'

'You are right, Tom, you are right,' said the Major; 'the poor fellow mustn't be lost for the want of a little care; and now that Dillon has gone, there is no one here to look after him. Let us go down and see if the post is in; I think a walk would do us good.'

Assenting to this proposition, the priest bent over me mournfully for a moment, shook his head, and having muttered a blessing, walked out of the room with the Major, leaving me in silence to think over all I had overheard.

Whether it was that youth suggested the hope, or that I more quickly imbibed an appreciation of the Doctor's character from being the looker-on at the game, I am not exactly sure; but certainly I felt little depressed by his gloomy forebodings respecting me, and greatly lightened at my heart by the good news of poor Tipperary Joe.

Of all the circumstances which attended my illness, the one that most impressed me was the warm, affectionate solicitude of my two friends, the priest and his cousin. There was something of kindness and good feeling in their care of me that spoke rather of a long friendship than of the weaker ties of chance and passing acquaintance. Again I thought of home; and while I asked myself if the events which beset my path in Ireland could possibly have happened to me there, I could not but acknowledge that if they had so, I could scarcely have hoped to suddenly conjure up such faithful and benevolent friends, with no other claim, nor other recommendation, save that of being a stranger.

The casual observation concerning my letters had, by stimulating my curiosity, awakened my dormant energy; and by a great effort I stretched out my hand to the little bell beside my bed, and rang it. The summons was answered by the barelegged girl who acted as waiter in the inn. When she had sufficiently recovered from her astonishment to comprehend my request, I persuaded her to place a candle beside me; and having given me the packet of letters that lay on the chimney-piece, I desired her on no account to admit any one, but say that I had fallen into a sound sleep, and should not be disturbed.