We tell not Mary’s dreams that night, Or how next morning with delight She thought past doubt, that they should meet, Or in the park or in the street, Then gently sighed while counting o’er The hours which must elapse before. At length—at length the clock strikes five, And Mary’s summoned for a drive. She throws by a half-finished sonnet, And blushes as she ties her bonnet, Then smiles as in the glass she sees A face that every eye must please; Each Beau she passes in the street, Causes her timid heart to beat; Afar—she thinks it Deloraine, But near—O hope! why art thou vain? He comes not—an incipient pout Longs to enwreathe her lips about; But her sweet nature conquers spleen, And home returned, there’s something seen, On which her smiles unchecked may fall: His card—she finds it in the hall! Now at her mirror stands our Mary, Like Cinderella dressed by fairy: A robe, than gossamer more light, And whiter even than snow is white, She wears; and with a bright wreath dresses The rich net of her glossy tresses. [Illustration: _The Toilet_ _NOW AT HER MIRROR STANDS OUR MARY LIKE CINDERELLA DRESSED BY FAIRY!_ ] Ah! who that saw her thus arrayed Did e’er behold a fairer maid? While crowded carriages encumber The streets, she wonders at the number; So patient waiting in the Square, } Ere they arrive the ball to share, } When but one Deloraine _can_ be there! } Now strains of music float around, Mingling with many a harsher sound Of crushing panels, curses, cries, As coachman, meeting coachman, tries To win the portal, whence a blaze Of light streams, brilliant as the rays Of noonday sun; while passers by Pause, and move on with envious sigh. At length released, and in the hall, Their names the liveried Stentors call: Unshawled, uncloaked, they slow ascend, ’Midst flowers that thousand odours blend; And once again a fairy scene Holds her, in beauty’s right its Queen! They reach at last the bright saloon, One with a beating heart—how soon To beat more wildly:—yes! ’tis he Who nought but Mary seems to see. In her mild eyes one care will dwell— She hath not greeted him _too_ well? He bolder, blessing friendly chance, Must claim her for the coming dance; While some, with jealous envy vexed, Sneer as they pass, and ask “What next?”