ruined churches and a round tower, alone breaking the dreary waste of water.
Here it was that I had passed my infancy and my youth, and here I now stood at the age of seventeen, quite unconscious that the world contained aught fairer and brighter than that gloomy valley, with its rugged frame of mountains.
When a mere child I was left an orphan to the care of my worthy uncle. My father, whose extravagance had well sustained the family reputation, had squandered a large and handsome property in contesting elections for his native county, and in keeping up that system of unlimited hospitality for which Ireland in general, and Galway more especially, was renowned, The result was, as might be expected, ruin and beggary: he died, leaving every one of his estates encumbered with heavy debts, and the only legacy he left to his brother was a boy of four years of age, entreating him, with his last breath—“Be anything you like to him, Godfrey, but a father, or at least such a one as I have proved.”
Godfrey O’Malley, some short time previous, had lost his wife, and when this new trust was committed to him he resolved never to remarry, hut to rear me up as his own child, and the inheritor of his estates, How weighty and onerous an obligation this letter might prove, the reader can form some idea; tho intention was, however, a kind one; and, to do my uncle justice, he loved me with all the affection of a warm and open heart.
From my earliest years his whole anxiety was to fit me for the part of a country gentleman, as he regarded that character—viz., 1 rode boldly with foxhounds; I was about the best shot within twenty miles of us; I could swim the Shannon at Holy Island; I drove four-in-hand better than the coachman himself; and from finding a hare to hooking a salmon, my equal could not be found from Killaloe to Banagher. These were the staple of my endowments; besides which, the parish priest had taught me a little Latin, a little French, and a little geometry, and a great deal of the life and opinions of St. Jago, who presided over a holy well in the neighbourhood, and was held in very considerable repute.
When I add to this portraiture of my accomplishments that I was nearly six feet high, with more then a common share of activity and strength for my years, and no inconsiderable portion of good looks, I have finished my sketch, and stand before my reader.
It is now time that I should return to Sir Harry’s letter, which so completely bewildered me that, but for tho assistance of Father Reach, I should have been totally unable to make out the writer’s intentions. By his advice, I immediately set out for Athlone, where, when I arrived, I found my uncle addressing the mob from the top of the hearse, and recounting his miraculous escapes as a new claim upon their gratitude.
“There was nothing else for it, boys; the Dublin people insisted on my being their Member, and besieged the club-house. I refused—they threatened—I grew obstinate—they furious. ‘I’ll die first,’ said I. ‘Galway or nothing !’”—“Hurrah!” from the mob. “O’Malley for ever!” And ye see I kept my word, boys—I did die; I died