freshness and perfume. In short, she was a tall, rakish looking craft,
with ingeniously painted head-gear, carrying an immense amount of sail,
and flying colors not recognized by good society in Bowling Green--at
least not on the West side.




CHAPTER XXIII.

MRS. CHAPMAN GIVES A BALL.


It was a cold, dark night in December. The wind was blowing fresh from
the northeast, the tall trees on the Battery were in commotion, and the
ships in the harbor, seen through a pale mist, were straining at their
anchors. A thin, pale mist hung over the sombre old fort on the Battery,
over the trees, over the ships, over everything within the eye's reach.
And the mist and the solemn beating sound of the sea-wail, in which the
sailor fancies he can read all his sorrows, gave a weird and mysterious
appearance to the scene. The Battery was nearly deserted that night, for
at the time we write of only two old men could be seen, leaning over the
railing on the sea-wall and watching in the direction of a ship at
anchor in the stream, and looking as if she was just in from sea.

Mrs. Chapman was to give her ball that night. The lady had for several
weeks given all her mind and energy to the preliminaries of this grand
affair. Who was to be invited, what sort of new dresses she and Mattie
would appear best in, who was to provide the supper, and what the whole
would cost, were subjects which so engaged the lady's attention that she