almost silly, in consequence of an over-weening
anxiety to procure "great matches" for their children. Indeed it may be
observed, that natural affection frequently assumes this shape in the
paternal heart, nor is the vain ambition confined to the Irish peasant
alone. On the contrary, it may be seen as frequently, if not more so, in
the middle and higher classes, where it has ampler scope to work, than
in humbler and more virtuous life. It is this proud and ridiculous
principle which consigns youth, and beauty, and innocence, to the arms
of some dissipated profligate of rank, merely because he happens to
inherit a title which he disgraces. There is, we would wager, scarcely
an individual who knows the world, but is acquainted with some family
laboring under this insane anxiety for connection. Sometimes it is to
be found on the paternal side, but, like most of those senseless
inconsistencies which entail little else than ridicule or ruin, and
sometimes both, upon those who are the object of them, it is, for the
most part, a female attribute.

Such as it is, however, our friend, Gerald Cavanagh, and his wife--who,
by the way, bore the domestic sceptre in all matters of importance--both
possessed it in all its amplitude and vigor. When the kemp had been
broken up that night, and the family assembled, Mrs. Cavanagh opened the
debate in an oration of great heat and bitterness, but sadly deficient
in moderation and logic.

"What on earth could you mane, Kathleen," she proceeded, "to refuse
dancin' wid such a young man--a gintleman I ought to say--as Hycy Burke,
the son of the wealthiest man in the whole parish, barring the gentry?
Where is the girl that wouldn't bounce at him?--that wouldn't lave
a single card unturned to secure him? Won't he have all his father's
wealth?--won't he have all his land when the ould man dies? and indeed
it's he that will live in jinteel style when he gets everything into
his own hands, as he ought to do, an' not go dhramin' an' dhromin' about
like his ould father, without bein' sartin whether he's alive or not.
He would be something for you, girl, something to turn out wid, an'
that one could feel proud out of; but indeed, Kathleen, as for pride
and decency, you never had as much o' them as you ought, nor do you hold
your head as high as many another girl in your place would do. Deed
and throth I'm vexed at you, and ashamed of you, to go for to hurt his
feelins as you did, widout either rhyme or