“I’ll be advised by you, Dick; but look out!” So saying, the stalwart young officer bustled his way to the uproarious Tim.

It was well he did so, or bloodshed must have ensued, as at that moment a tall and powerful man, brother-in-law to the bride, lifted his stick, and after giving it the customary twirl aimed a point-blank blow at the head of the ill-omened parson.  The bound of an antelope brought the girl to the spot; her small hand averted the direction of the deadly weapon, and before the action had been perceived by any present, or the attempt could be resumed, she dropped a curtesy to the assailant, and in a loud voice, with an affected laugh, exclaimed—­

“You, if you plaise, sir;” and, turning quickly to the fiddler, continued:  “Any tune you like, Mr. Murphy, sir; but, good luck to you, be quick, or we won’t have a dance to-night!”

“Clear the floor!—­a dance! a dance!” shouted every one.

In a few seconds the angry scowl had passed from the flushed cheeks of Dan Sheeny, and there he was, toe and heeling, double shuffling, and cutting it over the buckle, to the admiration of all beholders.  The bride was seated near the stranger—­he perceived this, and suddenly quitting his place, danced up to her, and nodding, as he stopped for a moment, invited her to join him.  She was ever light of foot, and, as she said afterwards, “would have danced her life out but she’d give the poor young gentleman a chance.”  Long and vigorously did Dan Sheeny advance, retire, curvette, and caper.  The whiskey and exertion at length overcame him, and he left the lady sole mistress of the floor.  By this time murmurs had again arisen, and all eyes were turned upon the intruder, who had been intently engaged observing the dancers.  It was an accomplishment for which he had been celebrated previous to his taking orders, and the old feeling so strongly interested him, that he was absorbed in the pleasure of witnessing the activity and joyousness of the performers.  He turned his head for an instant—­a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder.  On his starting up, he saw nothing but the smiling Norah pressing the arm of a tall peasant, and curtseying him a challenge to join her “on the floor.”  He paused for a moment, then gaily taking her hand, advanced with her to the centre.  All eyes were bent upon them, but there was no restraint in the young parson’s manner.  The most popular jig-tune was called for—­to it they went; his early-taught and well-practised feet beat living echoes to the most rapid bars.  A foot of ground seemed ample space for all the intricate compilation of the raal Conamera “capers.”  The tune was changed again and again; again and again was his infinity of steps adapted to its varying sounds:  to use a popular phrase, you might have heard a pin drop.  Every mouth was closed, every eye fixed upon his rapid feet; and, when at length wearied with exertion, the almost fainting girl was falling to the