of her fingers, the
coyness of her curtsies, the allurements of her
movements--all the graces and charms inwoven that make up
the poem of the minuet--became visible by the art of that
exquisite girl, until all other dancers became
common-place by comparison."

Such was the fascination of their beauty that, it is said, the sisters
were one day drugged by a party of licentious admirers, whose guests
they had innocently consented to be, and were actually being carried
away by their ravishers when Sheridan, who had got wind of the plot,
appeared on the scene with a number of stout-armed friends, and effected
their rescue.

But even Dublin was no suitable market for such peerless beauties, Mrs
Gunning decided. Through her they had the blood of the Plantagenets in
their veins; and no man less than a Duke or an Earl--certainly not an
Irish squire or impoverished lord--was a fitting match for her
daughters. And so to England and London they were carried, flushed with
their conquests, leaving broken hearts behind them, and heralded across
the Channel by many a sonnet singing their beauty.

But, although each was equally fair, the sisters were by no means alike
in their charms. Maria, all gladness and mirth, was a sprightly
brunette, in whose laughing glances shone the fires of a
pleasure-seeking soul; while Elizabeth, the younger, with soft blue eyes
and dark golden hair, although infinitely more placid, was no less
radiant than her dashing sister.

"Each was," to quote another description, "divinely tall,
with a figure of perfect symmetry, and a grace of dignity
enhanced by the proud poise of the small Grecian head.
Faultless also were the rounded arms and the hands, with
their long, slender tapering fingers."

All the portraits of Elizabeth reveal the same dainty disdainful lips in
the shape of a Cupid's bow, the long, slender nose, the half-drooping
lids and lashes. In colouring there was the same delicacy. A soft, ivory
pallor shone in her face, a flush of pink warmed her cheeks, there was a
gleam of gold as the sunbeams touched her light brown hair.

Such, in the cold medium of type, were the two Irish sisters who took
London by storm, and who "made more noise than any of their predecessors
since the days of Helen," in the summer of 1751. Their conquest was
immediate, electrifying. London raved about the new beauties; they were
the theme of every tongue, from the Cou