approbation of good men; but never--never in my whole life, have I felt
more proud, more satisfied with myself than on that evening when, the
last hook fastened, I gazed at my full-length Self in the cheval glass.
I was a dream. I say it who should not; but I am not the only one who
said it. I was a glittering dream. The groundwork was red, trimmed with
gold braid wherever there was room for gold braid; and where there was
no more possible room for gold braid there hung gold cords, and tassels,
and straps. Gold buttons and buckles fastened me, gold embroidered belts
and sashes caressed me, white horse-hair plumes waved o'er me. I am
not sure that everything was in its proper place, but I managed to get
everything on somehow, and I looked well. It suited me. My success was
a revelation to me of female human nature. Girls who had hitherto been
cold and distant gathered round me, timidly solicitous of notice. Girls
on whom I smiled lost their heads and gave themselves airs. Girls who
were not introduced to me sulked and were rude to girls that had been.
For one poor child, with whom I sat out two dances (at least she
sat, while I stood gracefully beside her--I had been advised, by the
costumier, NOT to sit), I was sorry. He was a worthy young fellow, the
son of a cotton broker, and he would have made her a good husband, I
feel sure. But he was foolish to come as a beer-bottle.

Perhaps, after all, it is as well those old fashions have gone out. A
week in that suit might have impaired my natural modesty.

One wonders that fancy dress balls are not more popular in this grey age
of ours. The childish instinct to "dress up," to "make believe," is
with us all. We grow so tired of being always ourselves. A tea-table
discussion, at which I once assisted, fell into this:--Would any one of
us, when it came to the point, change with anybody else, the poor man
with the millionaire, the governess with the princess--change not only
outward circumstances and surroundings, but health and temperament,
heart, brain, and soul; so that not one mental or physical particle
of one's original self one would retain, save only memory? The general
opinion was that we would not, but one lady maintained the affirmative.

"Oh no, you wouldn't really, dear," argued a friend; "you THINK you
would."

"Yes, I would," persisted the first lady; "I am tired of myself. I'd
even be you, for a change."

In my youth, the question chiefly important to me was