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“Hear! good! bravo!” exclaimed he; “Scully for ever! Hurra-a-a-ay!” and fell skipping about like the Whigs opposite.

“Silence, you brute you!” groaned Lady Gorgon; and seizing him by the shirt-frill and coat-collar, carried him away to his nurse, who, with many other maids of the Whig and Tory parties, stood giggling and peeping at the landing-place.

Fancy how all these small incidents augmented the heap of Lady Gorgon’s anger and injuries! She was a dull phlegmatic woman for the most part, and contented herself generally with merely despising her neighbours; but oh! what a fine active hatred raged in her bosom for victorious Scully! At this moment Mr. Perkins had finished shaking hands with his Napoleon–Napoleon seemed bent upon some tremendous enterprise. He was looking at Lady Gorgon very hard.

“She’s a fine woman,” said Scully, thoughtfully; he was still holding the hand of Perkins. And then, after a pause, “Gad! I think I’ll try.”

“Try what, sir?”

“She’s a DEUCED fine woman!” burst out again the tender solicitor. “I WILL go. Springer, tell the fiddlers to strike up.”

Springer scuttled across the room, and gave the leader of the band a knowing nod. Suddenly, “God save the King” ceased, and “Sir Roger de Coverley” began. The rival forces eyed each other; Mr. Scully, accompanied by his friend, came forward, looking very red, and fumbling two large kid gloves.

“HE’S GOING TO ASK ME TO DANCE,” hissed out Lady Gorgon, with a dreadful intuition, and she drew back behind her lord.

“D—- it, madam, THEN DANCE with him!” said the General. “Don’t you see that the scoundrel is carrying it all his own way! —- him! and —- him! and —- him!” (All of which dashes the reader may fill up with oaths of such strength as may be requisite).

“General!” cried Lady Gorgon, but could say no more. Scully was before her.

“Madam!” exclaimed the Liberal Member for Oldborough, “in a moment like this–I say–that is–that on the present occasion–your Ladyship–unaccustomed as I am–pooh, psha–WILL your Ladyship give me the distinguished honour and pleasure of going down the country-dance with your Ladyship?”

An immense heave of her Ladyship’s ample chest was perceptible. Yards of blond lace, which might be compared to a foam of the sea, were agitated at the same moment, and by the same mighty emotion. The river of diamonds which flowed round her Ladyship’s neck, seemed to swell and to shine more than ever. The tall plumes on her ambrosial head bowed down beneath the storm. In other words, Lady Gorgon, in a furious rage, which she was compelled to restrain, trembled, drew up, and bowing majestically, said,–

“Sir, I shall have much pleasure.” With this, she extended her hand. Scully, trembling, thrust forward one of his huge kid-gloves, and led her to the head of the country-dance. John Perkins–who I presume had been drinking pretty freely, so as to have forgotten his ordinary bashfulness–looked at the three Gorgons in blue, then at the pretty smiling one in white, and stepping up to her, without the smallest hesitation, asked her if she would dance with him.

The young lady smilingly agreed. The great example of Scully and Lady Gorgon was followed by all dancing men and women. Political enmities were forgotten. Whig voters invited Tory voters’ wives to the dance. The daughters of Reform accepted the hands of the sons of Conservatism. The reconciliation of the Romans and Sabines was not more touching than this sweet fusion. Whack–whack! Springer clapped his hands; and the fiddlers adroitly obeying the cheerful signal, began playing “Sir Roger de Coverley” louder than ever.

I do not know by what extraordinary charm (nescio qua praeter solitum, etc.), but young Perkins, who all his life had hated country-dances, was delighted with this one, and skipped and laughed, poussetting, crossing, down-the-middling, with his merry little partner, till every one of the bettermost sort of the thirty-nine couples had dropped panting away, and till the youngest Miss Gorgon, coming up to his partner, said in a loud hissing scornful whisper, “Lucy, Mamma thinks you have danced quite enough with this–this person.” And Lucy, blushing, starting back, and looking at Perkins in a very melancholy way, made him a little curtsey, and went off to the Gorgonian party with her cousin. Perkins was too frightened to lead her back to her place–too frightened at first, and then too angry. “Person!” said he: his soul swelled with a desperate republicanism: he went back to his patron more of a Radical than ever.