The young people early took possession of the dancing-hall, where, surrounded by the elders, a quick succession of Money Musk, Opera Reel, Chorus Jig, etc., interspersed sparingly with cotillons, evidenced the relish with which young spirits and light hearts enjoy the exercises of the ball-room.

Julia Markham was the conceded belle, beautiful and elegant in form and style, faultless in dress and manner, brilliant with the vivacity of healthy girlhood.  Next to her, undoubtedly, was Miss Walters, with whom ranked several elegant girls from abroad.

And of the young people here may be remarked what is usually true in all country places, that there were about three cultivated and refined girls to one young man of corresponding accomplishments.

As the ball went forward, the elders—­and the elders did not dance in the young Ohio in those days, rarely or never—­gathered into various groups, discussing the dancers and various kindred topics, and the little odds and ends of graceful “they says” that append themselves to the persons of those at all noticeable.

Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Markham were the centre of the principal of these.  They were really good friends, and liked each other.  Their husbands were friends, and possible rivals, and watched each other.  Both were ambitious, and lived too near each other.

“Who is Miss Walters?” Mrs. Ford asked.

“She is from Pittsburgh.  Her brother is in New Orleans, and she remains with the Fishers, relatives of hers, till he returns.”

“She is very elegant.”

“She is indeed, and she and Julia are great friends.”

“Who is that dancing with Julia?”

“A Mr. Thorndyke.  He is of a Boston family, on a visit to his uncle in Thorndyke.  Mr. Markham knew them, and he came up to call on us.”

“He dances a little languidly, I think.”

“He feels a little out of place in this mixed company, I presume.  His notions are high Boston.”

“How does that suit Julia?”

“It amuses her.  He was telling her how this and that is done in Boston, and she in return told him how we do not do the same things here, and claimed that our way is the best.”

“Here comes Major Ridgeley.  He seems much at home in a ball-room.”

“Yes, he is one of those ready men, who always appear best in a crowd.”

He saw and made his way to them; inquired about the General, spoke of his reply to Byington, complimented the dancing of Julia, inquired about her partner, and rattled on about several things.

“Will your brother Barton be here this evening?” asked Mrs. Ford.

“I don’t know; he thought he would not,” was the reply.  “He don’t go out at all, lately.”

“What an awful time he had with that Bingham!” said Mrs. Ford.  “They say he has broken up two or three schools, and was a powerful and dangerous man, twenty-five or six years old.  I would really like to see Barton.  He is quite a lion.”