with a miscellaneous company. After their presentation to the Governor, Colonel Conyers inquired whether they chose to join the promenade or to take seats. Mrs. Clifton preferred the latter, and their polite escort conducted them to a side sofa, from which they could note the entrance of fresh guests, and watch the great circle of promenaders going round and round in one long elliptic, three or four persons deep, in the most stupid, treadmill monotony conceivable. Very much interested and amused was our simple country girl, in taking observations of the various characters passing in review before them. Here would be a dowager of sixty, in rouge, ringlets, bare arms and a gossamer dress; here a girl of seventeen, in a black, stiff brocade and heavy head-dress. Here comes a stately, broad-chested, senatorial-looking man—he _looks_ the incumbent of some high, official place—he _is_ the master tailor, of —— street. Here comes a red-headed, red-faced, sharp-featured little man, very quick and impatient in his motions, and very high in his voice—he looks like an auctioneer or a constable—he is the great General ——, of the United States Army. Here is a small, dowdy woman, all fuss and flowers, like a barn-house actress—she is the wife of the late Governor ——. This is a queenly woman! tall, stately, dignified, with a fine, royal countenance. Pooh! Don’t ask who she is—she is the “leading lady” at the city theatre—plays in all the heavy tragedies, but is not even a star. There, apart, watching and reflecting upon the scene, stands a grave-looking individual, in a closely-fitting black suit, and closely-cropped black hair, and set, sallow, saturnine face, looking like an undertaker at a funeral—doubtless some famous preacher—though so miserable a messenger of the glad tidings cannot be imagined. Preacher, indeed! Why, he is H——, the low comedian, and he wears his hair cropped that way by reason of the many different sorts of wigs he has to wear in his different impersonations. To-night, he happens to be off the boards, and enjoys the recreation of sadness and gravity. Ah! here is a debonnair gentleman! all life! a laugh and jest, or a smile and a bow for every one. Is he a French dancing-master? No—he is the Rev. Mr. ——, the most popular preacher of the day. Yet these were not all. There _was_ a small proportion of really well-dressed and dignified women and stately, honorable men. “How do you like the scene, Catherine?” asked Mrs. Clifton. Kate laughed—then replied— “I am somewhat disappointed, but very much more diverted! It seems to me so strange that people should look, dress and behave so very inappropriately! and that they could possibly be so very ill-dressed and dowdy at such a great expense. I expected something very recherché and elegant in the saloon of the Governor’s mansion. But ‘motley is the only wear!’” The officer laughed, gayly, and then observed—