th the admirable Southern fearlessness of being thought
sentimental. Mounting a chair with complete dignity, he lifted a glass
of wine high in the air, and, when all the other glasses had been
filled, proposed the health of his young hostess. He made a speech of
some length, pronouncing himself quite as hopelessly in love with his
old friend's daughter as all could see his own son was; and wishing her
long life and prosperity, with many allusions to fragrant bowers and the
Muses.

It made Miss Betty happy, but it was rather trying, too, for she could
only stand with downcast eyes before them all, trembling a little,
and receiving a mixed impression of Mr. Chenoweth's remarks, catching
fragments here and there: "And may the blush upon that gentle cheek,
lovelier than the radiant clouds at set of sun," and "Yet the sands of
the hour-glass must fall, and in the calm and beauteous old age some
day to be her lot, when fond mem'ry leads her back to view again the
brilliant scene about her now, where stand 'fair women and brave men,'
winecup in hand to do her honor, oh, may she wipe the silent tear", and
the like. As the old gentleman finished, and before the toast was drunk,
Fanchon Bareaud, kissing her hand to Betty, took up the song again; and
they all joined in, lifting their glasses to the blushing and happy girl
clinging to her father's arm:

"Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, Let thy
loveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin, each wish of my
heart, Would entwine itself verdantly still."

They were happy people who had not learned to be self-conscious enough
to fear doing a pretty thing openly without mocking themselves for it;
and it was a brave circle they made about Betty Carewe, the charming
faces of the women and their fine furbelows, handsome men and tall, all
so gay, so cheerily smiling, and yet so earnest in their welcome to
her. No one was afraid to "let out" his voice; their song went full and
strong over the waking town, and when it was finished the ball was over,
too.

The veranda and the path to the gate became like tropic gardens, the
fair colors of the women's dresses, ballooning in the early breeze,
making the place seem strewn with giant blossoms. They all went away at
the same time, those in carriages calling farewells to each other and
to the little processions departing on foot in different directions to
homes near by. The sound of the voices and laughter drew away,