visitor of the house, who might be supposed to have his regular score at the bar, his summer seat at the open window, and his prescriptive corner at the winter's fireside. Being of a sociable aspect, I ventured to address him with a remark, calculated to draw forth his historical reminiscences, if any such were in his mind; and it gratified me to discover, that, between memory and tradition, the old gentleman was really possessed of some very pleasant gossip about the Province House. The portion of his talk which chiefly interested me was the outline of the following legend. He professed to have received it at one or two removes from an eye-witness; but this derivation, together with the lapse of time, must have afforded opportunities for many variations of the narrative; so that despairing of literal and absolute truth, I have not scrupled to make such further changes as seemed conducive to the reader's profit and delight.
At one of the entertainments given at the Province House,
during the latter part of the siege of Boston, there passed a
scene which has never yet been satisfactorily explained. The
officers of the British army, and the loyal gentry of the province,
most of whom were collected within the beleaguered town, had
been invited to a masked ball; for it was the policy of Sir
William Howe to hide the distress and danger of the period,
and the desperate aspect of the siege, under an ostentation of
festivity. The spectacle of this evening, if the oldest members
of the provincial court circle might be believed, was the most
gay and gorgeous affair that had occurred in the annals of the
government. The brilliantly lighted apartments were thronged
with figures that seemed to have stepped from the dark canvas
