By Cormac Kelly, under ground; Who raised me up to that degree; Queen of music they call me.” “The above lines were sculptured on the old harp, which is made, the sides and front of white sally, the back of fir, patched with copper and iron plates, his daughter now attending him is only thirty-three years old. “I have now given you an account of my visit, and even thank you (though my fingers are tired) for the pleasure you procured to me by this interesting commission. Once more ever yours, C. Y. S. In February, 1806, the author, being then but eighteen miles distant from the residence of the bard, received a message from him, intimating that as he heard she wished to purchase his harp, he would dispose of it on very moderate terms. He was then in good health and spirits though in his hundred and ninth year. Whenever there was a revel of the feelings, a joy of the imagination, or a delicate fruition of a refined and touching sentiment, how my soul misses her! I find it impossible to make even the amiable and intelligent priest enter into the nature of my feelings; but how naturally, in the overflowing of my heart, do I turn towards her, yet turn in vain, or find her image only in my enamoured soul, which is full of her. Oh! how much do I owe her. What a vigorous spring has she opened in the wintry waste of a desolated mind. It seems as though a seal had been fixed upon every bliss of the senses and the heart, which her breath alone could dissolve; that all was gloom and chaos until she said “let there be light.”