MRS.

CHAPMAN GIVES A BALL.
It was a cold, dark night in December.

The wind was blowing fresh from the northeast, the tall trees on the Battery were in commotion, and the ships in the harbor, seen through a pale mist, were straining at their anchors.

A thin, pale mist hung over the sombre old fort on the Battery, over the trees, over the ships, over everything within the eye's reach.
And the mist and the solemn beating sound of the sea-wail, in which the sailor fancies he can read all his sorrows, gave a weird and mysterious appearance to the scene.

The Battery was nearly deserted that night, for at the time we write of only two old men could be seen, leaning over the railing on the sea-wall and watching in the direction of a ship at anchor in the stream, and looking as if she was just in from sea.
Mrs.Chapman was to give her ball that night.