172
ETHEL CHURCHILL.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE MASKED BALL.
Life is made up of vanities—so small,
So mean, the common history of the day,—
That mockery seems the sole philosophy.
Then some stern truth starts up—cold, sudden, strange;
And we are taught what life is by despair:—
The toys, the trifles, and the petty cares,
Melt into nothingness—we know their worth;
The heart avenges every careless thought,
And makes us feel that fate is terrible.
Amid the many mirrors called into requisition by Lady Townshend's fête, not one gave back a lovelier likeness than that which reflected the face and form of Lady Marchmont. She was dressed after a picture which had impressed
