s and the flounces. There were people of
all sizes and ages dancing for a wager. I thought of what our good bishop
once said: 'It was very pretty to see the young lambs gambolling about;
but when the old sheep began to caper too, he'd rather not look on.' There
was poor old Mr. K., with his red face and his white hair, and his heels
flying in every direction. (I am ashamed of you for laughing at Mr. K.,
Mrs. Weston, when I am trying to impress upon Alice's mind the folly of
such a scene.) I dare say Mr. K.'s wife was at that very moment, five
hundred miles off, darning her children's stockings.

"All the people did not dance the Polka," continued Ellen; "and I was
dazzled with the pretty faces, and the wise-looking heads. Mr. Webster was
there, with his deep voice, and solemn brow, and cavernous eyes; and close
up to him, where she could not move or breathe, there was a young face,
beautiful and innocent as a cherub's, looking with unfeigned astonishment
upon the scene. There was Gen. Scott, towering above everybody; and Mr.
Douglass, edging his way, looking kindly and pleasantly at every one. There
were artists and courtiers; soldiers and sailors; foolish men, beautiful
women, and sensible women; though I do not know what they wanted there.
There were specimens of every kind in this menagerie of men and women. Dear
Mr. Weston, I have not quite done. There was a lady writer, with a faded
pink scarf, and some old artificial flowers in her hair. There was _a she
Abolitionist too_; yes, a genuine female Abolitionist. She writes for the
Abolition papers. She considers Southerners heathens; looks pityingly at
the waiters as they hand her ice-cream. She wants Frederick Douglass to be
the next President, and advocates amalgamation. I am quite out of breath;
but I must tell you that I looked at her and thought Uncle Bacchus would
just suit her, with his airs and graces; but I do not think she is stylish
enough for him."

"But, my dear," said Mrs. Weston, "you forget Bacchus has a wife and twelve
children."

"That is not of the least consequence, my dear madam," said Ellen; "I can
imagine, when a woman approves of amalgamation, she is so lost to every
sense of propriety that it makes no difference to her whether a man is
married or not. Now, Alice, I resign my post; and if you have any thing to
say I will give you the chair, while I run up to my room and write aunt a
good long letter."

CHAPTER XXIV.

"The afternoon