Kate grew dizzy and faint; a mist gathered before her eyes, and when it cleared away she was sitting on the sofa, with a strong arm lovingly twined about her waist, and on the soft white hand which lay in the grasp of Clarence glittered the betrothal ring, though how or when it was placed there she never clearly could remember. * * * * * “How strangely Clarence Ferrers disappeared from the ball to-night,” exclaimed Mrs. Lorimer, as she puffed her way up to her room at two o’clock in the morning. “I was not sorry he went, mamma, for it gave Frank the chance he has so long wanted. He offered himself last night, while we were in the midst of that last polka; and I referred him to papa,” said Louisa, as she turned toward her own room. “Well, I only hope you have not been too hasty,” said the mother, too sleepy just then to care much about the matter. The next morning Mr. Lorimer was visited in his private office by the young and handsome Frank Dormer. He was an only child; his father was prepared to “come down” handsomely with the cash, and Mr. Lorimer gave a ready assent to the proposition of the enamored youth. He had scarcely finished his after-dinner nap, on the same day, when Clarence Ferrers sought an interview. Matters were soon arranged with a man who was “_worth half a million_,” and Mr. Lorimer chuckled and rubbed his hands with infinite glee, as he reminded his wife of her prediction that “_Kate was a predestinate old maid_.” Kate has been more than two years a wife, and in the elegant, self-possessed, dignified woman, whose statuesque repose of manner seems now the result of the most perfect grace, no one would recognize the dull, indifferent, “lumpish” Kate of former years. In the atmosphere of affection every faculty of mind and body has attained perfect development. She has learned to value herself at her real worth, because such a man as Clarence Ferrers has thought her deserving of his regard. She is not the less humble, but she is no longer self-despising and self-neglectful. In order to do honor to her husband, she has striven to be all he would have her, and the result is one of the most intellectual and elegant women of whom our country can boast. The “light” which was threatened with extinction has now found “its right socket,” and no brighter luminary shines either in the world of fashion, or in the circle of home. * * * * * BALLADS OF THE CAMPAIGN IN MEXICO. NO. III. BY HENRY KIRBY BENNER, U. S. A. [Illustration: Monterey.] IT was early in September, in the morning of the day, When our army paused admiringly in front of MONTEREY;— Like Cortez, had our general led his gallant little band Through hosts of savage foemen to the centre of the land;— Guerilla and Ranchero had followed on his track, Like hungry wolves, but steadily our men had beat them back.