usually lost all the others; testy papas swearing, lovers leering, as they twisted the boas round the fair throats of their sweethearts; vows of love, mingling with lamentations for a lost slipper, or a stray mantle.  Sometimes the candles were extinguished, and the melee became greater, till the order and light were restored together.  Meanwhile, each of our fellows had secured his fair one, save myself, and I was exposed to no small ridicule for my want of savoir faire.  Nettled at this, I made a plunge to the corner of the room, where Mary Anne was shawling; I recognized her pink sash, threw her cloak over her shoulders, and at the very moment that Mark Anthony drew his wife’s arm within his, I performed the same by my friend, and followed them to the door.  Here, the grim brother-in-law turned round to take Mary Anne’s arm, and seeing her with me, merely gave a kind of hoarse chuckle, and muttered, “Very well, sir:  upon my conscience you will have it, I see.”  During this brief interval, so occupied was I in watching him, that I never once looked in my fair friend’s face; but the gentle squeeze of her arm, as she leaned upon me, assured me that I had her approval of what I was doing.

What were the precise train of my thoughts, and what the subjects of conversation between us, I am unfortunately now unable to recollect.  It is sufficient to remember, that I could not believe five minutes had elapsed, when we arrived at York-street.  “Then you confess you love me,” said I, as I squeezed her arm to my side.

“Then, by this kiss,” said I, “I swear, never to relinquish.”—­

What I was about to add, I am sure I know not; but true it is, that a certain smacking noise here attracted Mr. Mark Anthony’s attention, who started round, looked as full in the face, and then gravely added, “Enough is as good as a feast.  I wish you pleasant drames, Mr. Larry Kar, if that’s your name; and you’ll hear from me in the morning.”

“I intend it,” said I.  “Good night, dearest; think of—­” The slam of the street door in my face spoiled the peroration, and I turned towards home.

By the time I reached the barracks, the united effects of the champagne, sherry, and Sheffield iron, had, in a good measure subsided, and my head had become sufficiently clear to permit a slight retrospect of the evening’s amusement.

From two illusions I was at least awakened:—­First, the high sheriff’s ball was not the most accurate representation of high society; secondly, I was not deeply enamoured of Mary Anne Moriarty.  Strange as it may seem, and how little soever the apparent connexion between those two facts, the truth of one had a considerable influence in deciding the other.  N’importe, said I, the thing is over; it was rather good fun, too, upon the whole—­saving the “chute des casseroles;” and as to the lady, she must have seen it was a joke as well as myself.  At least, so I am decided it shall be; and as there was no witness to our conversation, the thing is easily got out of.