not unsought be won.'"

There was nothing for it but that Silky should make up to Miss Jemima,
and lead her out to dance. This he did among the nods, and winks, and
whispers of all present; and by the time he got into his place in the
quadrille, he did not very well know which end of him was uppermost.
Away rattled Miss Gingerly at the "Highland Laddie," and away bounced
the dancers through the mazes of the figure. Dancing a quadrille is with
some people no trifling matter, and Mr Simon Silky was one of these. He
bent to it all the energies of his not over-powerful mind; and, while it
lasted, beyond a passing word or two, he had no conversation to bestow
upon his partner. It was amusing to see with what earnestness he watched
the movements of those who preceded him, and, when his own turn came,
the exhibition he made would have made a Timor grin. First, he threw out
his arms to steady himself, and then jerking forward his right foot,
brought himself suddenly into the centre of the floor, where he began
throwing his legs confusedly about, till they seemed to be involved in
hopeless entanglement. All the time he kept his eyes fixed anxiously
upon his shoe-ties. It was obviously a critical affair with him to
preserve his equipoise, and each time that he got back safely to his
place, a sigh broke from him, as if a great burden had been taken off
his mind, and he wiped the sweat away that glistered in heavy beads upon
his brow. At length the quadrille ended. Mr Silky thanked heaven; and,
leading the fair Jemima to a seat, planted himself at her side, and
manfully endeavoured to open up a conversation with her.

Dance succeeded dance, and by degrees the elements of the party got
tolerably well interfused. Poor Miss Gingerly wrought away at her
everlasting set of Scotch quadrilles, and nobody ever volunteered to
relieve her of her task, "she played so well." At intervals some of the
young ladies quivered through a fashionable ballad, and occasionally an
attempt was made to get up one of those melancholy chants, which, by
some strange misnomer, pass current in society for glees. In these, Mr
Scratcherd, who sang bass, distinguished himself so signally, that loud
calls were made upon him for a song, and Mr Scratcherd, after a little
preliminary modesty, yielded to the call. He then began raving about an
"Old Oak Tree," and groaned up and down the scale, till his voice became
lost in the bottom of his neckcloth. Serious fears wer