was in reflecting how very little her own dress had cost, and how much she had actually pocketed out of the sum Mr. Lindsay had wished her to spend on it. She hated to see De Villeneuve near Ellen, and would not rest till she had been assured by one whose word no one ever doubted for a moment, namely, by Ellen herself, that he was merely a friend, and had no chance of ever becoming a lover.

The roll of many wheels, and the echo of thundering knocks, compelled the party to hasten to the ball-room. Ere long, the Square was full of carriages, and the rooms of quaint figures.

Some of the dresses were very splendid, but almost all ill-chosen, and worn with some degree of mauvaise honte. The proud, shy, and timid character of the English is very unsuited to this kind of masquerading, which requires presence of mind, ready wit, and even some degree of impudence, to give it effect. It is strange that people should be so eager to adopt a character which they are quite unable to support; but, yet, none seem to feel

any doubt or discomfort, until the very moment when such a feeling renders their costume ridiculous. Here were Swiss and Italian peasants, evidently much ashamed of their short petticoats (why had they chosen them?). There were ladies of the olden time, their feet entangled in their trains, or their progress impeded by their hoops. There were cavaliers, to whom a sword seemed a sad incumbrance, and Highland chiefs, whose very knees blushed.

A few foreigners, among whom was De Villeneuve (and Julian, who had been used to these balls in Paris), alone seemed at ease. Here were brigands, with faint hearts, trying to strut and to look savage as they entered, but pale even through their rouge; there, a small, timid Charles the Twelfth, ready to shrink into his own jack-boots; a Cœur de Lion slunk behind the first door; a Charles the Second, a Buckingham, and a Rochester, who could not have concocted a repartee between them; a shuffling, awkward Louis Quatorze; a Henry the Eighth, who dared not

look a lady in the face; a very fat Ariel; an Aurora, who had numbered fifty summers; a thin, scraggy sultana, around whose waist the orthodox Cestus would have twined thrice. There were Greeks, with snub-noses and thick lips; a Virgin of the Sun, who had outlived three husbands; a Morning Star, who had set from Beauty's firmament thirty years before; a bold, rouged, agaçante La Vallière; and a young blushing girl, innocent alike of frailty and of history, decked out as "La belle Ferronière." There were, perhaps the most in character, coquettish nuns and ogling monks; there were Spanish troubadours, who could not sing a note; Spanish donnas, who could do nothing but look down and giggle; and jesters, who had not a word to say for themselves. Then there were the usual variety of beaux, strutting about in fancy uniforms; of flower-girls, ballad-singers, and gipsies.

The Fitzcribbs and Grunter had not yet made their appearance, excepting only "Swift," who, at a very short notice, had been called upon, through an unexpected defalcation, to

take the part of Wamba, in order to complete the characters in "Ivanhoe." He kept very close to Cedric the Saxon, and was very garrulous, forward, and flippant, if not very witty. When he could not think of a good joke, he came boldly forward with a bad one; but he did, at least, what none of the other jesters did he laughed and made others laugh.

Mr. Jobb, through great interest with Miss Tibby, and great good-nature in Ellen, had got himself and Mrs. Jobb admitted. Mr. Jobb was attired as an English gentleman of the old school, and the fat, vulgar, round-faced Mrs. Jobb had chosen to be "the lovely, young Lavinia," with a quantity of wheat in her hair, and very short petticoats.

"An't please you, uncle Cedric," said the young Wamba, as they passed, "that is a good disguise."

"Which do you mean?"

"That of Jobb as a gentleman, uncle Cedric. Who would ever dream of the old Sangrado in that character?"

"I think his wife allows hersel great lati

tude in her dress," said Miss Tibby, bridling.

"I wish, fair coz, she'd allow herself a little more longitude," replied the boy; and all around laughed.

Augusta was, beyond all comparison, the belle of the ball; and the universal admiration she excited, by adding to her animation and confidence, increased her charms.

Julian had felt sure of dancing the first set with her, and therefore he had neglected to invite her (a common error with a man who thinks himself secure of a woman's heart, and one which, en passant be it said, is dangerous; for, in the first place, no woman likes a man to seem too certain of her preference; and, in the next, she is always piqued if the favoured one appears less anxious and alert than those she has not distinguished, or than himself, before she smiled upon his suit,

Julian had been entrapped for some minutes into a conversation with Lady Jane Belville, who looked to great advantage as Mary Queen of Scots. Augusta, surrounded by adorers, elated to the highest pitch of vanity, and in