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minuet terminates as it commenced, with a deep

bow and a curtsy.

The jig then follows; the junior couple having

taken their seats. Shelah chooses her favourite tune: the fiddler plays as fast as he is able to bow, and Paddy and his partner jump as high as ever they can, and introduce as many changes of their feet and postures as Irish invention and humour suggest; sometimes labouring opposite one another, then sideways, diagonally, angularly, and circuitously, changing places, and striving to excite admiration by dancing each other down, in which Shelah generally succeeds, and when Paddy knocks under, the jig is done.

Meanwhile, Lady Constantia, and the lovely Emily, had collected all the fashionables of Conamore around them, and some of the young bucks of the place had proposed quadrilles, and been accepted as partners.

"Who is that young man," inquired I of my friend, "with whom Lady Emily is dancing?" He was a tall, elegantly formed youth, with a countenance in which you could read his heart; and I saw at a glance that his whole soul was the willing cap

care of his daughter; but he is periodically subject to fits of melancholy and excitement, during which strange actions mark the temper of his brain. All his acts, however, display the goodness of his heart and the benevolence of his character. For instance, he will sometimes break the windows of a tenant's cottage, seemingly in rage, and afterwards repair the damage much to the comfort and favourable appearance of the house. He will often tear the old coat off the shoulders of a beggarman, and abuse him as a vagabond, at the same time ordering Peter to put on a new one, who understands his master so well that each pocket has money in it. In short, all the odd things Lord Conamore and his man Peter do in this place would surprise you. Besides this estate, he has Aughnamullag Castle, and Bellagarawly Hall, in Ireland, with considerable property in England, which is very seldom visited, of late years, by him."

Just as my friend had ceased speaking, we heard a sweet, plaintive, melancholy, wild voice singing before us on the strand. "That is crazy Ellen," said my friend: " she is not a native of Conamore, but whenever Sir Bagnall Moncey comes hither, we

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are sure to hear her songs. Her story is a sad one-let us avoid her, and I will tell it

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is very troublesome at certain times; particularly so at full moon; and she has the reputation of second sight. But hear how sweetly and wildly she sings.” We were not near enough to see poor Ellen's figure distinctly, but we heard her silver voice melodiously warble forth the following words to a wild national

air:

SONG.

Like Young Love.

Like young love are placid waves,
Sparkling, smiling, as they move;
Who can dream of rocks and graves,
Beneath the stream of young love?

Peace my heart, like ocean blue,

In a calm, I once could sleep;
Now my bosom knows, like you,
All the dangers of the deep.

Bagnall swore my eyes were bright—

Brighter than yon stars that shine;

Vowed I was his life and light,

Called me heart-ease-names divine ;

Kissed the book to marry me→→→

But men were always rovers !
When sailors can believe the sea,

Let maids confide in lovers!

By the time Ellen finished these words descriptive of her feelings, we had approached near enough to behold her graceful figure. She stood looking towards the sea, her white hands crossed on her bosom, dressed in a garb of mourning. It is true she was arrayed in plain stuff, but with female attention to neatness. There was a pleasing set-off in a white frill about her neck. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders, and lent some wildness to her general appearance. I was anxiously advancing to address her, although my friend pulled me to the left to avoid her, and she seemed so absorbed in thought as entirely to disregard us. On the point of requesting him to move towards her, we heard a quick step approaching behind us. A sigh broke from Ellen, and she cried, in an under tone, without looking round—“ It is he”— and passed towards the stranger with great quickness of pace. I instantly recognized in the person she was accosting young Lionel Seymour, and I stood attentively observing them. We were now almost close to each other. Ellen placed her white hands on the crown of her head, and running her

slender fingers through her hair that covered her face, parted it over her shoulders, and silently gazed upon us. Her eyes were wild, and she seemed to have been weeping; but her features displayed great beauty, though a death-like paleness overspread them.

"Hear me, Lionel," said she, “and mark me well; I know thee better than thou knowest thyself. Great danger awaits thee. Be stout in heart -bold in purpose-and fear not.-The brave deserve and win the fair. Guard her, Lionel. She stands on a precipice; but shed not my life in thy struggle. Blood thou must spill-but O spare the guilty and the fallen-Farewell!" and she darted away. Stopping short, however, and looking over her shoulder, she continued-" And you, young stranger," addressing me," assist Lionel, be his friend-no more-adieu !" In a few moments Ellen was out of our sight-and we were standing in silent wonder.

My friend attached no importance to Ellen's rhapsody, though I saw it had made a strong impression on Lionel's mind; and indeed it harrowed up my ́own latent superstition. Lionel left us without

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