province, and who had been a very famous soldier in his day. Some
surprise had been expressed that a person of Colonel Joliffe's known
Whig principles, though now too old to take an active part in the
contest, should have remained in Boston during the siege, and
especially that he should consent to show himself in the mansion of
Sir William Howe. But thither he had come with a fair granddaughter
under his arm, and there, amid all the mirth and buffoonery, stood
this stern old figure, the best-sustained character in the masquerade,
because so well representing the antique spirit of his native land.
The other guests affirmed that Colonel Joliffe's black puritanical
scowl threw a shadow round about him, although, in spite of his sombre
influence, their gayety continued to blaze higher, like--an ominous
comparison--the flickering brilliancy of a lamp which has but a little
while to burn.

Eleven strokes full half an hour ago had pealed from the clock of the
Old South, when a rumor was circulated among the company that some new
spectacle or pageant was about to be exhibited which should put a
fitting close to the splendid festivities of the night.

"What new jest has Your Excellency in hand?" asked the Reverend Mather
Byles, whose Presbyterian scruples had not kept him from the
entertainment. "Trust me, sir, I have already laughed more than
beseems my cloth at your Homeric confabulation with yonder ragamuffin
general of the rebels. One other such fit of merriment, and I must
throw off my clerical wig and band."

"Not so, good Dr. Byles," answered Sir William Howe; "if mirth were a
crime, you had never gained your doctorate in divinity. As to this new
foolery, I know no more about it than yourself--perhaps not so much.
Honestly, now, doctor, have you not stirred up the sober brains of
some of your countrymen to enact a scene in our masquerade?"

"Perhaps," slyly remarked the granddaughter of Colonel Joliffe, whose
high spirit had been stung by many taunts against New England--"perhaps
we are to have a masque of allegorical figures--Victory with trophies
from Lexington and Bunker Hill, Plenty with her overflowing horn to
typify the present abundance in this good town, and Glory with a
wreath for His Excellency's brow."

Sir William Howe smiled at words which he would have answered with one
of his darkest frowns had they been uttered by lips that wore a beard.
He was spared the necessity of a retort by a singular interru