one of them will espy (such, I
suppose, is the fiction) some persons to whom she wishes to bow, and
she then proceeds to execute a performance of some minutes' duration.
Before curtsying, she stops and seems to "shy," and looks at the
ladies as a frightened horse examines intently the object which alarms
him: she then sinks slowly backward almost to the ground, and recovers
herself with the same slowness. It would seem that such a genuflection
must be, of necessity, ridiculous. But it is not so in the least: it
is quite successful, and rather pleasing. After the ladies come the
prince of Wales and his suite. The royalties then all go upon the
stage, and after music the ball begins.

There are two sets of dancers. The princes and princesses open the
ball with the diplomatists and some of the highest nobility on the
space just in front of the dais. The rest of the hall is occupied by
the other dancers, who later in the evening find their way into the
diplomatic set. The dancing in the quadrilles and Lancers is of a
rather stately and ceremonious sort. In waltz or galop the English
always dance the same step, the _deux temps_, and the aim of the
dancing couple is to go as much like a spinning-top as possible.
They make occasional efforts to introduce puzzling novelties like the
_trois temps_, the Boston dip, etc., but, I am glad to say, without
any success. The result is, that once having learned to dance in
England, you are safe.

The great hall during the waltz is a brilliant spectacle. There are
many beautiful women, the toilets are dazzling, and all the men are
"flaming in purple and gold." There is every variety of magnificent
dress. Officers of a Russian body-guard are gold from head to foot.
Hungarians wear purple and fur-trimmed robes of dark crimson of
the utmost splendor. The young men of the Guards' clubs in gold and
scarlet coats, and in spurred boots which reach above their knees,
clank through the halls. Scotch lords sit about, and exhibit legs of
which they are justly proud. Here, with swinging gait, wanders the
queen's piper, a sort of poet-laureate of the bagpipes, arrayed in
plaid and carrying upon his arm the soft, enchanting instrument to the
music of which, no doubt, the queen herself dances. The music of the
orchestra is perfect, and he must be a dull man who does not feel the
festivity, the buoyancy and the elation of the scene.

Besides the ball-room, many handsome apartments are thrown open,
t