put on your shawl, and step into the carriage; you stop in some street or square; your footman raps as long as he can; you are some time going up stairs; you hear your name, or something like it, leading the way before you. As many drawing-rooms are thrown open as the house will allow,—they are lighted with lamps or wax lights, there is a certain quantity of china, and a certain number of exotics; also a gay-looking crowd, from which the hostess emerges, and declares she is very glad to see you. You pass on; you sit a little while on a sofa; a tall or a short gentleman asks yon to dance,—to this you reply, that you will be very happy; you take his arm and walk to the quadrille or waltz; a succession of partners. Then comes supper: you have a small piece of fowl, and a thin slice of ham, perhaps some jelly, or a few grapes,—a glass of white wine, or ponche à la romaine. Your partners have asked you if you have been to the Opera; in return you question them if they have been to the Park. Perhaps a remark is hazarded on Miss Fanny Kemble. If you are a step more intimate, a few disparaging observations are made on the entertainment and the guests. Some cavalier hands you downstairs; you re
