en at the province-house during the
latter part of the siege of Boston there passed a scene which has
never yet been satisfactorily explained. The officers of the British
army and the loyal gentry of the province, most of whom were collected
within the beleaguered town, had been invited to a masqued ball, for
it was the policy for Sir William Howe to hide the distress and danger
of the period and the desperate aspect of the siege under an
ostentation of festivity. The spectacle of this evening, if the oldest
members of the provincial court circle might be believed, was the most
gay and gorgeous affair that had occurred in the annals of the
government. The brilliantly-lighted apartments were thronged with
figures that seemed to have stepped from the dark canvas of historic
portraits or to have flitted forth from the magic pages of romance, or
at least to have flown hither from one of the London theatres without
a change of garments. Steeled knights of the Conquest, bearded
statesmen of Queen Elizabeth and high-ruffed ladies of her court were
mingled with characters of comedy, such as a parti-colored Merry
Andrew jingling his cap and bells, a Falstaff almost as provocative of
laughter as his prototype, and a Don Quixote with a bean-pole for a
lance and a pot-lid for a shield.

But the broadest merriment was excited by a group of figures
ridiculously dressed in old regimentals which seemed to have been
purchased at a military rag-fair or pilfered from some receptacle of
the cast-off clothes of both the French and British armies. Portions
of their attire had probably been worn at the siege of Louisburg, and
the coats of most recent cut might have been rent and tattered by
sword, ball or bayonet as long ago as Wolfe's victory. One of these
worthies--a tall, lank figure brandishing a rusty sword of immense
longitude--purported to be no less a personage than General George
Washington, and the other principal officers of the American army,
such as Gates, Lee, Putnam, Schuyler, Ward and Heath, were represented
by similar scarecrows. An interview in the mock-heroic style between
the rebel warriors and the British commander-in-chief was received
with immense applause, which came loudest of all from the loyalists of
the colony.

There was one of the guests, however, who stood apart, eying these
antics sternly and scornfully at once with a frown and a bitter smile.
It was an old man formerly of high station and great repute in the