bowed his non-comprehension of what was said to him.

"Cot's mercy! can you'll not spoke English, either?" shouted Donald,
despairingly, on his second rebuff, and at the same time striking the
table impatiently with his clenched fist. "Can you'll spoke Gaelic,
then?" he added; and, without waiting for a reply, he repeated his
demand in that language. The experiment was unsuccessful. Mine host of
the Golden Eagle understood neither Gaelic nor English. Finding this,
Donald had once more recourse to the dumb show of raising his hand to
his mouth, as if in the act of drinking; and once more he found the sign
perfectly intelligible. On its being made, the landlord instantly
retired, and in a minute after returned with a couple of bottles in
hand, and two very large-sized glasses, which he placed on the table.
Eyeing the bottles contemptuously:--"It's no porter; it's whisky I'll
order," exclaimed Donald, angrily, conceiving that it was the former
beverage that had been brought him. "Porter's drink for hocs, and not
for human podies." Finding it wholly impossible, however, to make this
sentiment understood, Donald was compelled to content himself with the
liquor which had been brought him. Under this conviction, he seized one
of the bottles, filled up a glass to the brim, muttering the while "that
it was tam white, strange-looking porter," started to his feet, and,
holding the glass extended in his hand, shouted the health of his ragged
company, in Gaelic, and bolted the contents. But the effect of this
proceeding was curious. The moment the liquor, which was some of the
common wine of Spain, was over Donald's throat, he stared wildly, as
if he had just done some desperate deed--swallowed an adder by mistake,
or committed some such awkward oversight. This expression of horror
was followed by the most violent sputterings and hideous grimaces,
accompanied by a prodigious assemblage of curses of all sorts, in Gaelic
and English, and sometimes of an equal proportion of both.

"Oich, oich! poisoned, by Cot!--vinekar, horrid vinekar! Lanlort, I
say, what cursed stuffs is this you kive us?" And again Donald sputtered
with an energy and perseverance that nothing but a sense of the utmost
disgust and loathing could have inspired. Both the landlord and Donald's
own guests, at once comprehending his feelings regarding the wine,
hastened, by every act and sign they could think of, to assure him that
he was wrong in entertaining so unfavo