ed sort--Irish, of course!--you'd not understand--such
things----" Her tongue and colour were running random riot; her words
outstripped her thoughts and tripped up her tongue, scaring her a
little. She drummed on the keys a rollicking trill or two, hesitated,
stole a swift, uncertain glance at him.

A delicate intoxication enveloped her, stimulating, frightening her a
little, yet hurrying her into speech again:

"I'll sing it for you, Garry asthore! And if I were a lad I'd be
singing my own gay credo!--if I were the lad--and you but a lass,
asthore!"

Then, though her gray eyes winced and her flying colour betrayed her
trepidation, she looked straight at him, laughingly, and her clear,
childish voice continued the little prelude to "Asthore":

I

"I long for her, who e'er she be--
The lass that Fate decrees for me;
Or dark or white and fair to see,
My heart is hers _'be n-Eirinn i_!

I care not, I,
Who ever she be,
I could not love her more!
_'Be n-Eirin i--
'Be n-Eirinn i--
'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_[1]

II

"I know her tresses unconfined,
In wanton ringlets woo the wind--
Or rags or silk her bosom bind
It's one to me; my eyes are blind!

I care not, I,
Who ever she be,
Or poor, or rich galore!
_'Be n-Eirinn i--
'Be n-Eirinn i--
'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_

III

"At noon, some day, I'll climb a hill,
And find her there and kiss my fill;
And if she won't, I think she will,
For every Jack must have his Jill!

I care not, I,
Who ever she be,
The lass that I adore!
_'Be n-Eirinn i--
'Be n-Eirinn i--
'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_"

[1] The refrain, pronounced _Bay-nayring-ee_, is common to a number of
Irish love-songs written during the last century. It should be
translated: "Whoever she be."

In writing this song, it is evident that Eileen Fane was
inspired by Blind William of Tipperary; and that she was
beholden to Carroll O'Daly for her "Eileen, my Treasure,"
although not to Robin Adair of County Wicklow.

AUTHOR.

Dulcie's voice and her flushed smile, too, faded, died out. She looked
down at the keyboard, where her white hands rested idly; she bent
lower--a little lower; laid her arms on the music-rest, her face on
her crossed arms. And, slowly, the tears fell without a tremor,
without a sound.

He had leaned over her shoulders; his bowed head was close to hers--so
clos