uch
like wares, has become a man of great means, twice every year badgers
the community in behalf of this society, and chuckles over what he gets
of Keepum, as if a knave's money was a sure panacea for the cure of
souls saved through the medium of those highly respectable tracts the
society publishes to suit the tastes of the god slavery. Mr. Keepum,
too, has a very high opinion of this excellent society, as he calls it,
and never fails to boast of his contributions.

It is night. The serene and bright sky is hung with brighter stars. Our
little fashionable world has got itself arrayed in its best satin--and
is in a flutter. Carriages, with servants in snobby coats, beset the
doors of the theatre. A flashing of silks, satins, brocades, tulle and
jewelry, distinguished the throng pressing eagerly into the lobbies,
and seeking with more confusion than grace seats in the dress circle.
The orchestra has played an overture, and the house presents a lively
picture of bright-colored robes. Mr. Snivel's handsome figure is seen
looming out of a private box in the left-hand proceniums, behind the
curtain of which, and on the opposite side, a mysterious hand every now
and then frisks, makes a small but prudent opening, and disappears.
Again it appears, with delicate and chastely-jeweled fingers. Cautiously
the red curtain moves aside apace, and the dark languishing eyes of a
female, scanning over the dress-circle, are revealed. She recognizes the
venerable figure of Judge Sleepyhorn, who has made a companion of George
Mullholland, and sits at his side in the parquette. Timidly she closes
the curtain.

In the right-hand procenium box sits, resplendent of jewels and laces,
and surrounded by her many admirers, the beautiful and very fashionable
Madame Montford, a woman of singularly regular features, and more than
ordinary charms. Opinion is somewhat divided on the early history of
Madame Montford. Some have it one thing, some another. Society is sure
to slander a woman of transcendent beauty and intellect. There is
nothing in the world more natural, especially when those charms attract
fashionable admirers. It is equally true, too, that if you would wipe
out any little taint that may hang about the skirts of your character
you must seek the panacea in a distant State, where, with the
application of a little diplomacy you may become the much sought for
wonder of a new atmosphere and new friends, as is the case with Madame
Montford,