liding about with long trains sweeping the waxed oak floor. The
gentlemen stood before them, paying compliments, cracking jokes, and
uttering airy nothings. Both parties took occasional pinches of snuff.
For a few minutes the scene struck Phoebe as pretty and amusing; but
this impression was quickly followed by a sensation of sadness. A
number of rational and immortal beings were gathered together, and all
they could find to do was to look pretty and be amusing. Why, a bird, a
dog, or a monkey, could have done as much, and more.

And a few words came into Phoebe's mind, practically denied by the mass
of mankind then as now, "Thou hast created all things, and _for Thy
pleasure_ they are."

How apt man is to think that every creature and thing around him was
created for _his_ pleasure! or, at least, for his use and benefit. The
natural result is, that he considers himself at liberty to use them just
as he pleases, quite regardless of their feelings, especially when any
particular advantage may be expected to accrue to himself.

But "the Lord hath made all things for Himself," and "He cometh to judge
the earth."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

RHODA IS TAKEN IN THE TRAP.

"That busy hive, the world,
And all its thousand stings."

Phoebe sat still for a while in her corner, watching the various members
of the party as they flitted in and out: for the scene was now becoming
diversified by the addition of elder persons. Ere long, two gentlemen
in evening costume, engaged in conversation, came and stood close by
her. One of them, as she soon discovered, was Sir Richard Delawarr.

"'Tis really true, then," demanded the other--a round-faced man, with
brilliant eyes, who was attired as a dignitary of the Church--"'tis
really true, Sir, that the Queen did forbid the visit of the Elector?"

"_I_ had it from an excellent hand, I assure you," returned Sir Richard.
"Nor only that, but the Princess Sophia so laid it to heart, that 'twas
the main cause of her sudden death."

"It really was so?"

"Upon honour, my Lord; my Lady Delawarr had it from Mrs Rosamond
Harley."

"Ha! then 'tis like to be true. You heard, I doubt not, Sir, of
D'Urfey's jest on the Princess Sophia?--ha, ha, ha!" and the Bishop
laughed, as if the recollection amused him exceedingly.

"No, I scarce think I did, my Lord."

"Not? Ah, then, give me leave to tell it you. I hear it gave the Queen
extreme diversion.

"`The crown is too weighty
F