From this moment Donald became a universal favourite in the room, and the established lion of the night. Where-ever he went he was surrounded with an admiring group, and was overloaded with civilities of all kinds, including frequent offers of refreshment; so that he speedily found himself in most excellent quarters. There was, however, one drawback in his happiness. He could get no share in the dancing excepting what he chose to perform solus, as there was nothing in that way to be seen in the room in the shape of a reel, nor was there a single tune played of which he could make either head or tail--nothing but "your foreign trash, with neither spunk nor music in them." Determined, however, since his highland fling had been so much approved of, to give a specimen of the highland reel, if he could possibly make it out, Donald, as a first step, looked around him for a partner; and seeing a very handsome girl seated in one of the corners of the apartment, and apparently disengaged, he made up to her, and, making one of his best bows, solicited the honour of her joining him in a reel. Without understanding the language in which she was addressed, but guessing that it conveyed an invitation to the floor, the young lady at once arose and curtsied an acquiescence, when Donald, taking her gallantly by the hand, led her up to the front of the orchestra, in order that he might bespeak the appropriate music for the particular species of dance he contemplated. On approaching sufficiently near to the musicians-- "Fittlers," he shouted, at the top of his voice, "I say, can you'll kive us 'Rothiemurchus' Rant,' or the 'Trucken Wives of Fochabers?'" Then turning to his partner, and flinging his arms about her neck in an ecstasy of Highland excitation, capering at the same time hilariously in anticipation of the coming strain-- "Them's the tunes, my lass, for putting mettle in your heels." A scream from the lady with whom Donald was using these unwarrantable personal liberties, and a violent attempt on her part to escape from them, suddenly arrested Donald's hilarity, and excited his utmost surprise. In the next instant he was surrounded by at least half-a-dozen angry cavaliers, amongst whom there was a brandishing of swords and much violent denunciation, all directed against Donald, and excited by his unmannerly rudeness to a lady. It was some seconds before Donald could comprehend the meaning of all this wrath, or believe that he was at once the cause and the object of it. But on this becoming plain-- "Well, shentlemen," he said, "I did not mean anything wrong. No offence at all to the girl. It was just the fashion of my country; and I'm sorry for it." To this apology of Donald's, of which, of course, not a word was understood, the only reply was a more fierce flourishing of brands, and a greater volubility and vehemence of abuse; the effect of which was at once to arouse Donald's choler, and to urge him headlong on extremities.