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ous look of maidenly modesty at her solitary and unprotected position.

As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith, save one or two of Sir George's most intimate friends, the greater part of the company were disposed to regard Miss Macan as some one who had mistaken the character of the invitation, and had come in a fancy dress. But this delusion was but momentary, as Sir George, armed with the courage of despair, forced his way through the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid her welcome to Dublin. The fair Judy, at this, threw her arms about his neck, and saluted him with a hearty smack that was heard all over the room.

"Where's Lucy, brother? let me embrace my little darling," said the lady, in an accent that told more of Miss Macan than a three-volume biography could have done; "there she is, I'm sure; kiss me, my honey.'

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This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy really admirable; while, taking her aunt's arm, she led her to a sofa.

It needed all the poor General's tact to get over the sensation of this most malapropos addition to his party; but, by degrees, the various groups renewed their occupations, although many a smile, and more than one sarcastic glance at the sofa, betrayed that the maiden aunt had not escaped criticism.

Power, whose propensity for fun very considerably outstripped his sense of decorum to his commanding officer, had already made his way toward Miss Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to Miss Macan.

"I hope you will do me the favor to dance next set with me, Miss Macan ?"

"Really, Captain, it's very polite of you; but you must excuse me; I was never anything great in quadrilles; but if a reel, or a jig"

"Oh, dear, aunt, don't think of it, I beg of you.”

"Then I'm certain you waltz?" said Power.

"What do you take me for, young man? I hope I know better; I wish Father Magrath heard you ask me that question, and for all your lace jacket

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"Dearest aunt, Captain Power didn't mean to offend you; I'm certain he "

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"Well, why did he dare to-sob, sob did he see anything light about me? that he-sob, sob, sob—oh, dear, oh, dear! is

it for this I came up from my little peaceful place in the west? - sob, 80b, sob — General, George, dear Lucy, my love, I'm taken bad. Oh, dear, oh, dear is there any whisky negus?"

Whatever sympathy Miss Macan's sufferings might have excited in the crowd about her before, this last question totally routed them, and a most hearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than one of the bystanders.

At length, however, she was comforted, and her pacification completely effected by Sir George setting her down to a whisttable. From this moment I lost sight of her for above two hours. Meanwhile, I had little opportunity of following up my intimacy with Miss Dashwood, and, as I rather suspected that, on more than one occasion, she seemed to avoid our meeting, I took especial care, on my part, to spare her the annoyance.

For one instant only had I any opportunity of addressing her, and then there was such an evident embarrassment in her manner that I readily perceived how she felt circumstanced, and that the sense of gratitude to one whose further advances she might have feared, rendered her constrained and awkward. Too true, said I, she avoids me; my being here is only a source of discomfort and pain to her; therefore, I'll take my leave, and, whatever it may cost me, never to return. With this intention, resolving to wish Sir George a very good-night, I sought him out for some minutes. At length I saw him in a corner conversing with the old nobleman to whom he had presented me early in the evening.

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True, upon my honor, Sir George," said he; "I saw it myself, and she did it just as dexterously as the oldest blackleg in Paris."

"Why, you don't mean to say that she cheated?"

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"Yes, but I do, though- turned the ace every time. Lady Herbert said to me: Very extraordinary it is-four by honors again.' So I looked, and then I perceived it—a very old trick it is; but she did it beautifully. What's her name?"

"Some western name, I forget it," said the poor General, ready to die with shame.

"Clever old woman, very," said the old Lord, taking a pinch of snuff, "but revokes too often."

Supper was announced at this critical moment, and before I had further thought of my determination to escape, I felt myself hurried along in the crowd toward the staircase. The party immediately in front of me were Power and Miss Macan,

who now appeared reconciled, and certainly testified most openly their mutual feelings of good-will.

"I say, Charlie," whispered Power, as I came along, "it is capital fun-never met anything equal to her; but the poor General never will live through it, and I'm certain of ten days' arrest for this night's proceeding."

"Any news of Webber?" I inquired.

"Oh, yes, I fancy I can tell something of him; for I heard of some one presenting himself, and being refused the entrée, so that Master Frank has lost his money. Sit near us, I pray you, at supper; we must take care of the dear aunt for the niece's sake, eh?"

Not seeing the force of this reasoning, I soon separated myself from them, and secured a corner at a side-table. Every supper on such an occasion as this, is the same scene of soiled white muslin, faded flowers, flushed faces, torn gloves, blushes, blanc-mange, cold chicken, jelly, sponge-cakes, spooney young gentlemen doing the attentive, and watchful mammas calculating what precise degree of propinquity in the crush is safe or seasonable for their daughters, to the mustached and unmarrying lovers beside them. There are always the same set of gratified elders, like the benchers in King's Inn, marched up to the head of the table, to eat, drink, and be happy-removed from the more profane looks and soft speeches of the younger part of the creation.

Then there are the oi polloi of outcasts, younger sons of younger brothers, tutors, governesses, portionless cousins, and curates, all formed in a phalanx round the side-table, whose primitive habits and simple tastes are evinced by their all eating off the same plate and drinking from nearly the same wine-glass. Too happy if some better-off acquaintance at the long table invites them to "wine," though the ceremony on their part is limited to the pantomime of drinking. To this miserable tiers état I belonged, and bore my fate with unconcern; for, alas! my spirits were depressed and my heart heavy. Lucy's treatment of me was every moment before me, contrasted with her gay and courteous demeanor to all save myself; and I longed for the moment to get away.

Never had I seen her looking so beautiful; her brilliant eyes were lit with pleasure, and her smile was enchantment itself. What would I not have given for one moment's explanation, as I took my leave forever?—one brief avowal of my love, my

unalterable, devoted love; for which I sought not or expected return, but merely that I might not be forgotten.

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite near me aroused me from my reverie. I was not long in detecting the speakers, who, with their backs turned to us, were seated at the great table, discussing a very liberal allowance of pigeon pie, a flask of champagne standing between them.

"Don't now! don't, I tell ye, it's little ye know Galway, or you wouldn't think to make up to me squeezing my foot." "Upon my soul, you're an angel, a regular angel; I never saw a woman suit my fancy before."

"Oh, behave now, Father Magrath says"
"Who's he?"

"The priest, no less."

"Oh! confound him."

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"Confound Father Magrath, young man."

"Well, then, Judy, don't be angry; I only meant that a dragoon knows rather more of these matters than a priest."

"Well, then, I'm not so sure of that. But anyhow I'd have you to remember it ain't a Widow Malone you have beside you."

"Never heard of the lady," said Power.

"Sure it's a song poor creature it's a song they made about her in the North Cork, when they were quartered down in our country."

"I wish to Heaven you'd sing it."

"What will you give me, then, if I do?"

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Anything everything — my heart, my life."

"I wouldn't give a trauneen for all of them; give me that old green ring on your finger, then."

"It's yours," said Power, placing it gracefully upon Miss Macan's finger, "and now for your promise."

"Maybe my brother might not like it."

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"He'd be delighted," said Power, "he dotes on music." "Does he, now?"

"On my honor he does."

"Well, mind you get up a good chorus, for the song has one, and here it is."

"Miss Macan's song," said Power, tapping the table with his knife. "Miss Macan's song," was reëchoed on all sides, and before the luckless General could interfere, she had begun. How to explain the air, I know not, for I never heard its name,

but at the end of each verse, a species of echo followed the last word, that rendered it irresistibly ridiculous:

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Put his arm round her waist,

Gave ten kisses, at laste,

'Oh,' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone,

My own';

'Oh,' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone.'

And the widow they all thought so shy,

My eye!

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