“Out of the question. Then go farther away, dear; I shall have more courage.” He obeyed, and she turned over two or three music-books, and finally sung from memory. She cultivated musical memory, having observed the contempt with which men of sense visit the sorry pretenders to music, who are tuneless and songless among the nightingales, and anywhere else away from their books. How will they manage to sing in heaven? Answer me that. The song Julia Dodd sang on this happy occasion, to meet the humble but heterogeneous views of Messrs. Sampson and Hardie, was a simple eloquent Irish song called Aileen Aroon. Whose history, by-the-bye, was a curious one. Early in this century it occurred to somebody to hymn a son of George the Third for his double merit in having been born, and going to a ball. People who thus apply the fine arts in modern days are seldom artists; accordingly, this parasite could not invent a melody; so he coolly stole Aileen Aroon, soiled it by inserting sordid and incongruous jerks into the refrain, and called the stolen and adulterated article Robin Adair. An artisan of the same kidney was soon found to write words down to the degraded ditty: and, so strong is Flunkeyism, and so weak is Criticism, in these islands, that the polluted tune actually superseded the clean melody; and this sort of thing-- Who was in uniform at the ball? Silly Billy, smothered the immortal lines. But Mrs. Dodd's severe taste in music rejected those ignoble jerks, and her enthusiastic daughter having the option to hymn immortal Constancy or mortal Fat, decided thus:-- When like the early rose, Aileen aroon, Beauty in childhood glows, Aileen aroon, When like a diadem, Buds blush around the stem, Which is the fairest gem? Aileen aroon. Is it the laughing eye? Aileen aroon. Is it the timid sigh? Aileen aroon. Is it the tender tone? Soft as the string'd harp's mean? No; it is Truth alone, Aileen aroon. I know a valley fair, Aileen aroon. I know a cottage there, Aileen aroon. Far in that valley's shade, I know a gentle maid, Flower of the hazel glade, Aileen aroon. Who in the song so sweet? Aileen aroon, Who in the dance so fleet? Aileen aroon. Dear are her charms to me, Dearer her laughter free, Dearest her constancy. Aileen aroon. Youth must with time decay, Aileen aroon, Beauty must fade away, Aileen aroon. Castles are sacked in war, Chieftains are scattered far, Truth is a fixed star, Aileen areon.