ce would not be
more cheerful. All the eyes of the room are upon him, he thinks; and he
thinks he looks like a fool.

Upon my word, if you press the point with me, dear Miss Jones, I think
he is not very far from right. I think that while Frenchmen and Germans
may dance, as it is their nature to do, there is a natural dignity about
us Britons, which debars us from that enjoyment. I am rather of the
Turkish opinion, that this should be done for us. I think . . .

"Good-by, you envious old fox-and-the-grapes," says Miss Jones, and the
next moment I see her whirling by in a polka with Tom Tozer, at a pace
which makes me shrink back with terror into the little boudoir.

M. CANAILLARD, CHEVALIER OF THE LEGION OF HONOR.

LIEUTENANT BARON DE BOBWITZ.

Canaillard. Oh, ces Anglais! quels hommes, mon Dieu! Comme ils sont
habilles, comme ils dansent!

Bobwitz.--Ce sont de beaux hommes bourtant; point de tenue militaire,
mais de grands gaillards; si je les avais dans ma compagnie de la Garde,
j'en ferai de bons soldats.

Canaillard.--Est-il bete, cet Allemand! Les grands hommes ne font pas
toujours de bons soldats, Monsieur. Il me semble que les soldats de
France qui sont de ma taille, Monsieur, valent un peu mieux . . .

Bobwitz.--Vous croyez?

Canaillard.--Comment! je le crois, Monsieur? J'en suis sur! Il me
semble, Monsieur, que nous l'avons prouve.

Bobwitz (impatiently).--Je m'en vais danser la Bolka. Serviteur,
Monsieur.

Canaillard.--Butor! (He goes and looks at himself in the glass, when he
is seized by Mrs. Perkins for the Polka.)

THE BOUDOIR.

MR. SMITH, MR. BROWN, MISS BUSTLETON.

Mr. Brown.--You polk, Miss Bustleton? I'm SO delaighted.

Miss Bustleton.--[Smiles and prepares to rise.]

Mr. Smith.--D--- puppy.

(Poor Smith don't polk.)

GRAND POLKA.

Though a quadrille seems to me as dreary as a funeral, yet to look at a
polka, I own, is pleasant. See! Brown and Emily Bustleton are whirling
round as light as two pigeons over a dovecot; Tozer, with that wicked
whisking little Jones, spins along as merrily as a May-day sweep; Miss
Joy is the partner of the happy Fred Sparks; and even Miss Ranville
is pleased, for the faultless Captain Grig is toe and heel with her.
Beaumoris, with rather a nonchalant air, takes a turn with Miss Trotter,
at which Lord Methuseleh's wrinkled chops quiver uneasily. See! how the
big Baron de Bobwitz spins lightly, and gravely, and gracefully round;
and lo!