c "assembly." I had just been presented to the

Queen rose of a rosebud garden of girls,

a very gazelle, too, for litheness and grace; the music of the _Sirene_
had begun, and my arm had encircled my partner's willowy waist; when I
felt her hang back, and saw on her fair face a distressed look of
penitence and perplexity: "I'm so sorry," she murmured, "but I can't
dance _loose_." Perfectly vague as to her meaning, I assured her that
she should be guided after as _serree_ a fashion as she chose; but this
evidently did not touch the difficulty. By the merest chance, I observed
that all the cavaliers put themselves, as it were, in position, their
left hand locked in the right of their _valseuse_, before making a
start, omitting the preliminary paces that get you well into the swing.
It was all plain sailing then, and swift sailing, too; the rest of the
performance was completed with perfect unanimity, much to my own
satisfaction, and, I trust, not to the discontent of my fairy-footed
charge.

The freedom and independent self-reliance of the Baltimorean
_demoiselles_ is very remarkable. At home they receive and entertain
their own friends, of either sex, quite naturally, and--taking their
walks abroad, or returning from an evening party--trust themselves
unhesitatingly to the escort of a single cavalier. Yet, you would
scarcely find a solitary imitation of the "fast girls" who have been
giving our own ethical writers so much uneasiness of late. It speaks
well for the tone of society, where such a state of things can prevail
without fear and without reproach. Though Baltimore breeds gossips,
numerous and garrulous as is the wont of provincial cities, I never
heard a slander or a suspicion leveled against the most intrepid of
those innocent Unas.

From the _morale_ one must needs pass to the _personel_. On the
appearance of a _debutante_, they say, the first question in Boston is,
"Is she clever?" In New York, "Is she wealthy?" In Philadelphia, "Is she
well-born?" In Baltimore, "Is she beautiful?" And, for many years past,
common report has conceded the Golden Apple to the Monumental city. I
think the distinction has been fairly won.

The small, delicate features, the long, liquid, iridescent eyes, the
sweet, indolent _morbidezza_, that make southern beauty so perilously
fascinating, are not uncommon here, and are often united to a clearness
and brilliancy of complexion scarcely to be found nearer the tropics.
The