of
that he had a great regard for him!"

Grace Davoren was flushed and excited with delight. She was about
eighteen, rather tall for her age, but roundly and exquisitely moulded;
her glossy ringlets, as they danced about her cheeks and shoulders, were
black as ebony; but she was no brunette; for her skin was milk white,
and that portion of her bosom, which was uncovered by the simple nature
of her dress, threw back a polished light like ivory; her figure was
perfection, and her white legs were a finer specimen of symmetry
than ever supported the body of the _Venus de Medicis_. This was all
excellent; but it was the sparkling lustre of her eyes, and the radiance
of her whole countenance, that attracted the beholder. If there was
anything to be found fault with, it was in the spirit, not in the
physical perfection, of her beauty. There was, for instance, too much
warmth of coloring and of constitution visible in her whole exquisite
person; and sometimes her glances, would puzzle you to determine whether
they were those of innocence or of challenge. Be this as it may, she was
a rare specimen of rustic beauty and buoyancy of spirit.

"O, Barney," said she, "that's the pleasantest news I heard this month
o' Sundays--sich dancin' as we'll have! and maybe I won't foot it, and
me got my new shoes and drugget gown last week;" and here she lilted a
gay Irish air, to which she set a-dancing with a lightness of foot
and vivacity of manner that threw her whole countenance into a most
exquisite glow of mirthful beauty.

"Granua," said her mother, reprovingly, "think of yourself and what
you are about; if you worn't a light-hearted, and, I'm afeard, a
light-headed, girl, too, you wouldn't go on as you do, especially when
you know what you know, and what Barney here, too, knows."

"Ah," said Barney, his whole manner immediately changing, "have you
heard from him, poor fellow?"

"Torley's gone to the mountains," she replied, "and--but here he is.
Well, Torley, what news, asthore?"

Her husband having passed a friendly greeting to Barney, sat down, and
having taken off his hat, lifted the skirt of his cothamore (big coat)
and wiped the perspiration off his large and manly forehead, on which,
however, were the traces of deep care. He did not speak for some time,
but at length said:

"Bridget, give me a drink."

His wife took a wooden noggin, which she dipped into a churn and handed
him. Having finished it at a draught, he wiped