Chapter X

An’ sure maybe ould Molly was right; I dunno, for they tuk her away,
To disthract of her mind, so they said, to some counthries far over the say;
Some most curious onnathural place, where I’m tould the sun’s scorchin’ an’ hot
All the year, an’ the people is mostly ould naygurs as black as the pot,
An’ a sthrame thro’ it full o’ thim bastes o’ great reptiles that swally ye whole,
Wid the desolit deserts around, where ye’ll see ne’er the sight of a soul;
Worser land than the blackest o’ bogs, just as bare as the palm o’ your hand,
Savin’ whiles barbarocious big imiges stuck in the midst o’ the sand,
An’ gazabos o’ stones stuffed wid bones of the hayjus ould haythins inside--
Ay, in Aygypt--belike that’s the name. But, at all evints, there she died.