sombre influence, their gayety continued to blaze higher, like—an ominous
comparison—the flickering brilliancy of a lamp which has but a little while to
burn.
Eleven strokes full half an hour ago had pealed from the clock of the Old
South, when a rumor was circulated among the company that some new
spectacle or pageant was about to be exhibited which should put a fitting close to
the splendid festivities of the night.
"What new jest has Your Excellency in hand?" asked the Reverend Mather
Byles, whose Presbyterian scruples had not kept him from the entertainment.
"Trust me, sir, I have already laughed more than beseems my cloth at your
Homeric confabulation with yonder ragamuffin general of the rebels. One other
such fit of merriment, and I must throw off my clerical wig and band."
"Not so, good Dr. Byles," answered Sir William Howe; "if mirth were a
crime, you had never gained your doctorate in divinity. As to this new foolery, I
know no more about it than yourself—perhaps not so much. Honestly, now,
doctor, have you not stirred up the sober brains of some of your countrymen to
enact a scene in our masquerade?"
"Perhaps," slyly remarked the granddaughter of Colonel Joliffe, whose high
spirit had been stung by many taunts against New England—"perhaps we are to
have a masque of allegorical figures—Victory with trophies from Lexington and
Bunker Hill, Plenty with her overflowing horn to typify the present abundance in
this good town, and Glory with a wreath for His Excellency's brow."
Sir William Howe smiled at words which he would have answered with one
of his darkest frowns had they been uttered by lips that wore a beard. He was
spared the necessity of a retort by a singular interruption. A sound of music was
heard without the house, as if proceeding from a full band of military
instruments stationed in the street, playing, not such a festal strain as was suited
to the occasion, but a slow funeral-march. The drums appeared to be muffled,
and the trumpets poured forth a wailing breath which at once hushed the
merriment of the auditors, filling all with wonder and some with apprehension.
The idea occurred to many that either the funeral procession of some great
personage had halted in front of the province-house, or that a corpse in a velvet-
covered and gorgeously-decorated coffin was about to be borne from the portal.
After listening a moment, Sir William Howe called in a stern voice to the leader