"die-aways," and our quick ones as complete "rattle-me-rounds" as Scotch reels. The musician in one case must palpitate along his strings in trembling fear of awaking a harsh tone; in the other he must move finger and bow as though life and fortune depended upon celerity. Honest Peter had primed the scrapers of silk and catgut, and they performed their parts with such melancholy and vivacity that all hearts were truly electrified, and feet kept as good time as drum-sticks.

Have you ever seen an Irish minuet? Perhaps not. Then it may be thus briefly described. Conceive two amorous Paddies leading out fair Shelahs, and forming a small square by standing in the four angles. The music immediately throws them into a melancholy attitude, and they gaze at each other as though in a state of complete fascination, during the first part of the tune. Then the boys doff their beavers, make a melting bow half way to the ground, which is returned by the lasses' best curtsy; they swim and sail about with as much grace as possible for some time; when the gentlemen put on their hats, the ladies change places, extending their hands, each to her partner, and after a few repetitions the

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

tive of his charming partner, who was too unlettered in the lore of love to disguise from a searching eye, that of all the world he was the object of her decided choice.

"That youth," answered my friend," is Lionel Seymour, the reputed son of Dr. Seymour, the famous physician and antiquary of Conamore; I say reputed son, because I have private reasons for believing that he is the child of another and a greater man. Be this as it may, while Lord Conamore and the doctor have been deep in argument, whether St. Patrick ever existed or not, Lionel has fairly won the affections of the richest heiress in Ireland.

Every one has eyes to see it except her father and the doctor, who I believe have never suspected how the case stands. But you see dissatisfaction on the brow of Lady Constantia, who thinks her niece disgraced by dancing with a plebeian partner, and determines in her own mind that such a connexion must be cut. You see how she swings and languishes about with that long-faced, red-haired, frowning-eyed fortune hunter.”

"Who is he?" asked I: "Lady Emily refused his hand as her partner with marked disgust. I

saw dislike, nay, hatred flash from her eye; what has he done to incur her displeasure ?"

"That is Sir Bagnall Moncey," replied my friend; "a baronet with a thumping estate, but so poor that he will be a ruined man, unless he accomplish his object in making the lovely Lady Emily his bride, which I earnestly hope he never may; for I know him to be a gamester, and a heartless seducer of innocence; in fact, a character most deservedly detested in private, but one which will always be praised in the world so long as the purse of a prodigal can extort adulation. He has worried poor Emily till she absolutely loathes him. However, as he is countenanced by Lady Constantia, he does not despair; spiro spero is his motto, and nit desperandum his maxim in all actions of his life."

A quadrille or two induced the ladies to make their escape from the danger of night air; and the tenantry of Conamore having been left under the care of Peter, who knew his lordship's wishes well, and made them as happy as he could, we took up our quarters in the Lodge, to enjoy the pleasures of a ball and supper.

The ball room presented a gay and animated

scene, when I entered it. All the fair ladies had thrown off the bonnets and shawls, in which they danced on the lawn, and now appeared in the trophies of air, earth, and water, hanging on the arms of the beaux of Conamore, enjoying the strains of a fine military band, and marking the cadence with equal harmony of movement in an elegant circular promenade. It is on such occasions as this, we admire splendour, and feel captivated by the allurements of wealth. Who can look upon the combinations of art and taste in a spacious, highly decorated apartment, brilliantly lighted, without being sensibly touched by the Protean power of gold? Is not all that is dreary in this world susceptible of being transfigured by the magic of gold? May we not create the brilliancy of day from wax in the darkest night; and in the depth of winter produce the genial atmosphere of summer? Such were my feelings and thoughts on casting my eyes around, and surveying a scene so much resembling the sweet visions of fairy land, that I almost forgot I was an inhabitant of a vile planet whose gross exhalations are every moment flying up to heaven, loaded with the atrocities of man.