Sweet bard of Erin! embodier of our tenderest thoughts—translator of our dumb emotions—fixer of those painted bubbles of the soul which before thee burst at the touch of words—how many exiles have thy glorious songs made glad! how many solitudes have they cheered! how many pensive spirits have they soothed and delighted! how oft have thy soul-breathed words, sung to the strains of old, and falling on the finest chords of the heart, awakened all its noblest responses, to liberty, patriotism, love and glory! Immortal is thy fame, for it is deeply rooted in human hearts and human sympathies, and long after thou hast joined the choir above, may thy melodious strains float down the stream of time to delight the latest posterity!
Julia sung this sweet air, and several others, with a feeling and pathos which convinced me she was not the soulless belle I had at first imagined; indeed, as she sung, every noble and generous emotion beamed from her lovely face.
No wonder poor Tom was far gone à la Chatelar though things with him had a somewhat happier termination; as it was, he hung enamoured over her, delighted evidently with the sensation her singing had produced, and, “music being the food of love,” as we have it on the best authority, banqueting evidently on this very exciting pabulum.
Miss Heartwell having resigned her seat, overwhelmed with praises and acknowledgments, another young lady was prevailed upon to occupy it.
Several other songs followed, when there was a pause.
The silence was at length broken by the old collector, Mr. Dilkhoob, marching up to our hostess, and addressing her, arms, a-kimbo, with well-simulated sternness and severity, in the following manner:—
“Mrs. Major Brownstout,” said he, “I’ve a very serious cause of complaint against you, madam, in which your daughters are in some degree implicated, and in which I will venture to affirm I am joined by all the rest of the young people in this party.”
A general smile and interchange of looks between those present was the result of this speech, deemed evidently the precursor of something merry.
“Well, Mr. Dilkhoob,” responded the old lady, who seemed perfectly to understand him, “what is my transgression?”
“Why, madam,” said he, “I consider that you have acted in a most unusual, a most inconsiderate, and a most extraordinary manner, in inviting so many young folks to your house, myself among the number, without giving them a dance;” the young men here rubbed their hands; “but, madam, as it is never too late to amend our faults, and correct our backslidings, I propose that we do now have a dance, and that my friend here, Lieutenant and Adjutant Wigwell, be solicited to send immediately for a part of his banditti—I beg pardon—band, I meant, in order that we may ‘trip it as we go, on the light fantastic toe’ this way,” said he, seizing the hands of the laughing dame, and cutting one or two most ponderous capers.