‘No names at all;’ and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, ‘names won’t do-- not known--very good names in their way, but not great ones--capital names for a small party, but won’t make an impression in public assemblies--incog. the thing--gentlemen from London--distinguished foreigners--anything.’ The door was thrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the stranger entered the ballroom. It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles in glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevated den, and quadrilles were being systematically got through by two or three sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the adjoining card-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen, were executing whist therein. The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a corner to observe the company. ‘Charming women,’ said Mr. Tupman. ‘Wait a minute,’ said the stranger, ‘fun presently--nobs not come yet-- queer place--dockyard people of upper rank don’t know dockyard people of lower rank--dockyard people of lower rank don’t know small gentry--small gentry don’t know tradespeople--commissioner don’t know anybody.’ ‘Who’s that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancy dress?’ inquired Mr. Tupman. ‘Hush, pray--pink eyes--fancy dress--little boy--nonsense--ensign 97th-- Honourable Wilmot Snipe--great family--Snipes--very.’ ‘Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Misses Clubber!’ shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies, on a similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue. ‘Commissioner--head of the yard--great man--remarkably great man,’ whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman’s ear, as the charitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. The Honourable Wilmot Snipe, and other distinguished gentlemen crowded to render homage to the Misses Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright, and looked majestically over his black kerchief at the assembled company. ‘Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,’ was the next announcement. ‘What’s Mr. Smithie?’ inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman. ‘Something in the yard,’ replied the stranger. Mr. Smithie bowed deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber acknowledged the salute with conscious condescension. Lady Clubber took a telescopic view of Mrs. Smithie and family through her eye-glass and Mrs. Smithie stared in her turn at Mrs. Somebody-else, whose husband was not in the dockyard at all. ‘Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder,’ were the next arrivals. ‘Head of the garrison,’ said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupman’s inquiring look.