Cruel As The Grave

AMBROSE--Where be these maskers, fool?

COLLIN--Everywhere, sage! But chiefly there

Where least they seem to mask!

JONSON--THE CARNIVAL.

It was All-Hallow Eve, a night long anticipated with delight by the

whole neighborhood, and much longer still remembered with horror by the

whole country.

It was the occasion of Sybil Berners' mask ball; and Black Hall, the

Black Valley, and the town of Blackville were all in a state of

unprecedented excitement; for this was the first entertainment of the

kind that had ever been given in the locality, and the gentry of three

contiguous counties had been invited to assist at it.

Far distant from large cities and professional costumers as the rural

belles and beaux of the neighborhood were, you will wonder what they did

for fancy dresses.

They did very well. They ransacked the old cedar chests of their

great-grandparents, and exhumed the rich brocades, cloths of gold and

silvers, lutestrings, lamas, fardingdales, hair-cushions, and all the

gorgeous paraphernalia and regalia of the ante-revolutionary queens of

fashion. And they referred to old family portraits, and to pictures in

old plays and novels, and upon the whole they got up their dresses with

more fidelity to fact than most costumers do.

Some also went to the trouble and expense of a journey to New York to

procure outfits, and these were commissioned to buy masks for all their

friends and acquaintances who were invited to the ball.

These preparations had occupied nearly the whole month of October. And

now the eventful day had come, and the whole community was on tiptoe

with expectation.

First, at Black Hall all was in readiness, not only for the ball and the

supper, but for the accommodation of those lady friends of the hostess

who, coming from a great distance, would expect to take a bed there.

And all was in readiness at the village hotel at Blackville, where

gentlemen, coming from a distance to attend the ball, had engaged rooms

in advance.

Nevertheless the landlord of the hotel was in a "stew," for there were

more people already arrived, on horseback and in carriages of every

description, from the heavy family coach crammed with young ladies and

gentlemen, to the one-horse gig with a pair of college chums. And the

distracted landlord had neither beds for the human beings nor stalls for

the horses. But he sent out among his neighbors, and tried to get

"accommodations for man and beast" in private houses and stables.

"And the coach be come in, sir, and what be we to do with the

passengers?" inquired the head waiter.

"Blast the coach! I wish it had tumbled down the 'Devil's Descent' into

the bottomless pit!" exclaimed the frantic host, seizing his gray locks

with both hands, and running away from before the face of his

tormentor--and jumping from the frying-pan into the fire, when he came

full upon his daughter Bessie, who stopped him with: "Pop, you must come right into the parlor. There's a gentleman there as

come by the coach, and says he must have a bed here to-night, no

matter how full you may be, or how much it may cost."