THE BALL. 91 



that every moment I was losing my hold upon the 

 audience. Still the uproar grew. In wrath, min- 

 gled with love, I descended from the slabs, and 

 taking Burns gently but decidedly by the collar, 

 demanded the cause of his unseemly mirth. 



Sobered slightly by my attitude, which was 

 sternly affectionate. Burns managed to articulate, 

 " How can there be a ' promiscuous mingling of the 

 sexes ' in this crowd ? " 



I stood perfectly dumb. I saw the justness of 

 the criticism and the dilemma suggested. I real- 

 ized, at that moment, the value of logical connec- 

 tion. 



Had my audience been in a church, and devoutly 

 drowsy or piously asleep, such a slight slip would 

 never have been noticed, and the report of the 

 sermon, written out by a godless expert, who had 

 not left his hotel during the day, would have ap- 

 peared excellently in Monday's papers. 



I retired in haste and mortification from the 

 yeUing and writhing group ; nor did I regain my 

 composure until the sounds of Everitt's violin 

 charmed the darkness from my soul as the harp 

 of David exorcised by its melody the wicked 

 spirit from the bosom of Saul. 



Now Everitt is a natural fiddler. He fiddles as 

 easily as a rabbit runs. While camping on Con- 

 stable Point, on the Racquette, we had several 

 concerts. They were, in every sense, impromptu 



