“There is nothing singular in it, however,” said the priest. “Among us, over such meetings as these, inequality of rank holds no _obvious_ jurisdiction, though in fact it is not the less regarded; and the condescension of the master or mistress on these occasions, lessens nothing of the respect of the servant upon every other; but rather secures it, through the medium of gratitude and affection.” The piper had now struck up one of those lilts, whose mirth-inspiring influence it is almost impossible to resist.* The Irish jig, above every other dance, leaves most to the genius of the dancer; and Glorvina, above all the women I have ever seen, seems most formed by nature to exce in the art. Her little form, pliant as that of an Egyptian _alma_, floats before the eye in all the swimming langour of the most graceful motion, or all the gay exility of soul-inspired animation. She even displays an exquisite degree of comic humour in some of the movements of her national dance: and her eyes, countenance, and air express the wildest exhilaration of pleasure, and glow with all the spirit of health, mirth, and exercise. * Besides the Irish jig, tradition has rescued from that oblivion which time has hung over the ancient Irish dance, the _rinceadh fada_, which answers to the festal dance of the Greeks; and the _rinceadh_, or war dance, “which seems,” says Mr. Walker, “to have been of the nature of the armed dance, which is so ancient, and with which the Grecian youth amused themselves during the seige of Troy.” Previous to the adoption of the French style in dancing, Mr. O’Halloran asserts, that both our private and public balls always concluded with the “rinceadh-fada.” On the arrival of James the Second at Kinsale, his adherents received the unfortunate prince on the shore with this dance, with whose taste and execution he was infinitely delighted: and even still, in the county of Limerick and many other parts of Ireland, the “rinceadh-fada” is danced on the eve of May. I was so struck with the grace and elegance of her movements, the delicacy of her form, and the play of her drapery gently agitated by the air, that I involuntarily gave to my admiration an audible existence. “Yes,” said the priest, who overheard me, “she performs her national dance with great grace and spirit. But the Irish are all dancers; and, like the Greeks, we have no idea of any festival here which does not conclude with a dance; * old and young, rich and poor, all join here in the sprightly dance.” * “The passion of the Greeks for dancing is common to both sexes, who neglect every other consideration when they have an opportunity of indulging that passion.”