though almost invisible thread; and, thus detached, start forward in unmeaning caricature. But so little was he conscious of his _outrÈ_ travesty "_du bel air_," that in the plenitude of his folly he had applied to himself Frederic the Great's description of the Prince de Salm: "Il est pÈtri de gr‚ces; tous ses gestes sont d'une ÈlÈgance recherchÈe; ses moindres paroles, des Ènigmes. Il discute et approfondit les bagatelles avec une dextÈritÈ infinie, et possÈde la caste de l'empire du tendre, mieux que tous les Scuderi de l'univers[10]." [Footnote 10: He is saturated with graces! His every gesture is of refined elegance; his every word an enigma. He investigates and discusses trifles with infinite dexterity, and is more completely master of the etiquette of gallantry than all the Scuderies of the universe.] Mr. Donolan owed his introduction to our travellers to having accidentally met Colonel Desmond that morning at the Commercial Buildings in Dame-street; an elegant establishment, something of the nature of the Adelphi in London; and the place in the Irish capital where the wanderer is most likely to meet his acquaintances. In answer to some of Colonel Desmond's interrogatories, Mr. Donolan mentioned having just received a pressing invitation to visit Bogberry Hall, but that he was afraid it would not be in his power to visit Connaught this summer. "Certainly a journey there is a much more serious undertaking, than crossing the Alps was before we were indebted to Buonaparte for the Simplon road," replied Colonel Desmond laughing; "but you must some time or other be doomed to remain in this limbo for a short time. You had better encounter its apathetic powers now;--I am going to escort Mr. O'Sullivan's English connections to Ballinamoyle: perhaps they may enable you to support your penance with tolerable ease." "_Ah ma foi! maintenant c'est toute autre chose_, as the French say," replied Mr. Donolan: "I think I will visit my aunt. And you know," continued he, bowing to the exact angle which the upper part of the body of the most fashionable Parisian dancing-master forms with his lower, "more than one specimen of an accomplished gentleman will be necessary to convince the strangers, who have done our country the honour of visiting it, that there are some Irish not deserving the appellation of Goths and Vandals." "Really, my good fellow, you do me too much honour," replied Colonel Desmond; "only your modesty could induce you to place me on a par with yourself." "_Point de tout, mon cher, point de tout!_ You, like me, have had the advantage of travelling; nobody could suspect either of _us_ of being Irish." Provoked by this last observation, Colonel Desmond, as they left the coffee-house, hummed the air of the song which begins thus:--