higher, like (an ominous comparison) the flickering brilliancy of a lamp which has but a little while to burn. Eleven strokes, full half an hour ago, had pealed from the clock of the Old South, when a rumor was circulated among the company that some new spectacle or pageant was about to be exhibited, which should put a fitting close to the splendid festivities of the night.
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"What new jest has your Excellency
in hand?" asked the Rev.
Mather Byles, whose Presbyterian
scruples had not kept him from
the entertainment. "Trust me,
sir, I have already laughed more
than beseems my cloth, at your
Homeric confabulation with yonder
ragamuffin general of the rebels.
One other such fit of merriment,
and I must throw off my
clerical wig and band."
"Not so, good Dr. Byles," answered Sir William Howe; "if mirth were a crime, you had never gained your doctorate in divinity. As to this new foolery, I know no more about it than yourself; perhaps not so much. Honestly now, Doctor, have you not stirred up the sober brains of some of your countrymen to enact a scene in our masquerade?"
"Perhaps," slyly remarked the granddaughter of Colonel Joliffe, whose high spirit had been stung by many taunts against
