at the prospect of a dance and a feast of cake
and British wine. All went merry as a
marriage bell at Cicy's party, until the knocker
proclaimed that the fiys had come to take the
young people home. Then I saw that certain
young ladies and gentlemen were loth to part.
Poor Cicy's pleasure had been greater in the
anticipation than in the realisation. Her sweetheart,
Willy, had behaved disdainfully to her.
Willy is an only son, who is much petted by his
parents, and, since Cicy had last seen him, he
had attained to the dignity of a jacket. He
had also got a ring, a watch and chain, and a
card-case containing little cards engraved with
his little name prefixed by "Mr." Cicy had
looked at him with longing eyes all the evening,
and by many innocent wiles tried to coax him
to dance with her. But  "Mr. William" looked
down upon Cicy, and over her little golden head,
and away from her; and at last I saw Cicy
sitting in a corner, with her eyes wide open
aud full of tears, which, I saw, were welling up
from the very depths of her innocent heart. "Mr.
William," I am happy to say, was punished.
His parents are fond of showing him off, and
they have taught young hopeful to give a
recitation, which is generally received with much
applause. But on this occasion no one asked
"Mr. William" to give his recitation, and,
though he was dying to perform, he could not
find an opportunity of doing so. It was wonderful
to meet our old friend Retribution, in this
way, at a child's party, and to find him still
nimble enough to overtake a boy!

The third juvenile festival I have referred to
may be described as a court ball; for it was
entirely a dancing-party, and was given, as I
have said, in a paved court near Holborn. I
was not invited: I invited myself. I had been
in the habit of taking a short cut to some
chambers in Lincoln's-inn, and had frequently
noticed little girls dancing in a side court to the
music of a barrel organ. The promoter of these
dancing-parties, I found, was one Jemima Iggins,
a tidy sprightly girl of about ten years old. I
think she was entitled to an H in her
patronymic; but she was called Iggins, and as she
did not, dispute the name in that form, it is not
for me to do so. Jemima Iggins was, so to
speak, Queen of this Court, and her Lord
Chamberlain was a ragged boy, named Johnny Smith.
Jemima's courtiers were chiefly young ladies,
for the most part dressed in print frocks,
somewhat ragged, and not over clean, and stout
lace-up nailed boots. Jemima's balls took place,
I was informed, almost every evening in the
summer, when the weather was fine. The full
band was concentrated in the person of an
Italian organ-grinder, and his honorarium was
one penny—generally paid in farthings, as taxes,
by Queen Jemima's subjects.

The ball entirely depended upon the state of
the court treasury. The organ-grinder was in
the habit of looking in every evening, and
making inquiring grins of any of the young
ladies who happened to be in attendance. The
treasury was immediately inspected, and if a
levy of two halfpence, or four farthings, could
be made, the Italian was invited to enter,
when he at once unshouldered his organ
and began to play. I seldom saw any boys
joining in these dances. The girls danced
among themselves—not quadrilles, but a kind
of reel, in which they all did the same
jiggling step, varied occasionally by a waltz or a
polka. The boys were not at all in request.
When they attempted to dance, they failed
signally, and the girls were glad to get rid of
them. Flirtation was not the object here; it
was dancing; and I never saw dancing entered
into with so much earnestness, or so thoroughly
enjoyed. It was not boisterous dancing, by
any means. My young friends in Curzon-
street, or even those in Camden-town, might
not call it genteel; but it was meant to be.
It was evident that those poor girls, while
dancing for their own enjoyment, were also
dancing to attract the admiration of the
spectators. They were doing their best, in their
own fashion, to give a reading, so to speak, of
the poetry of motion. It was, indeed, a very
humble proceeding, dancing in a dirty court,
under the open smoky sky of a great city, to
the music of a barrel organ, ground by an
Italian ragamuffin from Saffron-hill; but to me
it was a pleasing, cheerful scene. The girls
had made themselves as clean and tidy as
possible for the occasion. No attentive
observer could fail to perceive that, while
dancing, they all made a point of standing
very stiffly upon the proprieties. I could not
help mentally exclaiming, "How slight is the
difference between you and those who are
called young ladies!" It is a mere matter of
frock and manner. I believe you can make a
lady out of any healthy, well-formed, well-
disposed girl, if you only catch her young enough;
and I shall live and die in the conviction that
Jemima is a born lady.

                 THE DEAR GIRL.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "BELLA DONNA," "NEVER
               FORGOTTEN," &c.

CHAPTER XXXVI. UNINVITED GUESTS.

MR. DACRES enjoyed himself vastly, fanning
his face with his handkerchief, and performing
quadrilles with all the agility of a "four-year
old." He was going to dance with some "Miss
Mary," when he felt a hand on his arm, and a
gentleman standing before him said, with
cheerful recognition:

"Mr. Dacres?"

"My dear sir, how do you do?"

"You remember me, don't you?"

"Well, now that you ask me, I can't say
exactly—What? Not Sir John Trotter?"
said Dacres, becoming haughty, suddenly
recollecting that he had been "injured in a nice
point" by that gentleman.

"I've been wanting you at Trotterstown,
and have been intending to write to you every
day."

"Oh! indeed, Sir John," said Dacres, softening.