their fantastic
antics around me, grinning hideously, and uttering cries of menacing
import. Tarn O'Shanter's vision was a respectable tea-party of Glasgow
matrons compared to my imaginings; for so distorted were the pictures
of my brain, that the leader of the band, a peaceable-looking old man
in shorts and spectacles, seemed to me like a grim-visaged imp, who
flourished his tail across the strings of his instrument in lieu of a
bow.

I must confess that the dancers, without any wish on my part to detract
from their efforts, had not the entire merit of this transmutation.
Fatigue, for the hour was late, chagrin at being robbed of my
partner, added to the heat and the crowd, had all their share in the
mystification. Besides, if I must confess it, Mr. Rooney's champagne
was strong. My friend O'Grady, however, seemed but little of my opinion;
for, like the master-spirit of the scene, he seemed to direct every
movement and dictate every change--no touch of fatigue, no semblance of
exhaustion about him. On the contrary, as the hour grew later, and the
pale grey of morning began to mingle with the glare of wax-lights, the
vigour of his performance only increased, and several new steps were
displayed, which, like a prudent general, he seemed to have kept in
reserve for the end of the engagement. And what a sad thing is a ball as
it draws towards the close! What an emblem of life at a similar period!

How much freshness has faded! how much of beauty has passed away! how
many illusions are dissipated! how many dreams the lamplight and chalk
floors have called into life fly like spirits with the first beam of
sunlight! The eye of proud bearing is humbled now; the cheek, whose
downy softness no painter could have copied, looks pale, and wan, and
haggard; the beaming looks, the graceful bearing, the elastic step,
where are they? Only to be found where youth--bright, joyous, and
elastic youth-unites itself to beauty.

Such were my thoughts as the dancers flew past, and many whom I had
remarked at the beginning of the evening as handsome and attractive,
seemed now without a trace of either--when suddenly Louisa Bellew came
by, her step as light, her every gesture as graceful, her cheek as
blooming, and her liquid eye as deeply beaming as when first I saw
her. The excitement of the dance had slightly flushed her face, and
heightened the expression its ever-varying emotions lent it.

Handsome as I before had thought her, there was