tossing carelessly her glossy hair on her shoulder, and with lightning quickness snatches with her right the domino from his face.  “Hypocrite!” she exclaims, dashing it to the ground, and with her foot placed defiantly upon the domino, assumes a tragic attitude, her right arm extended, and the forefinger of her hand pointing in his face.  “Ah!” she continues, in biting accents, “it is against the perfidy of such as you I have struggled.  Your false face, like your heart, needed a disguise.  But I have dragged it away, that you may be judged as you are.  This is my satisfaction for your betrayal.  Oh that I could have deeper revenge!” She has unmasked Judge Sleepyhorn, who stands before the anxious gaze of an hundred night revellers, pressing eagerly to the scene of confusion.  Madame Flamingo’s house, as you may judge, is much out in its dignity, and in a general uproar.  There was something touching-something that the graver head might ponder over, in the words of this unfortunate girl—­“I have struggled!” A heedless and gold-getting world seldom enters upon the mystery of its meaning.  But it hath a meaning deep and powerful in its appeal to society-one that might serve the good of a commonwealth did society stoop and take it by the hand.

So sudden was the motion with which this girl snatched the mask from the face of the Judge, (he stood as if appalled,) that, ere he had gained his self-possession, she drew from her girdle a pearl-hilted stiletto, and in attempting to ward off the dreadful lunge, he struck it from her hand, and into her own bosom.  The weapon fell gory to the floor-the blood trickled down her bodice-a cry of “murder” resounded through the hall!  The administrator of justice rushed out of the door as the unhappy girl swooned in the arms of her partner.  A scene so confused and wild that it bewilders the brain, now ensued.  Madame Flamingo calls loudly for Mr. Soloman; and as the reputation of her house is uppermost in her thoughts, she atones for its imperiled condition by fainting in the arms of a grave old gentleman, who was beating a hasty retreat, and whose respectability she may compromise through this uncalled-for act.

A young man of slender form, and pale, sandy features, makes his way through the crowd, clasps Anna affectionately in his arms, imprints a kiss on her pallid brow, and bears her out of the hall.

By the aid of hartshorn and a few dashes of cold water, the old hostess is pleased to come to, as we say, and set about putting her house in order.  Mr. Soloman, to the great joy of those who did not deem it prudent to make their escape, steps in to negotiate for the peace of the house and the restoration of order.  “It is all the result of a mistake,” he says laughingly, and good-naturedly, patting every one he meets on the shoulder.  “A little bit of jealousy on the part of the girl.  It all had its origin in an error that can be easily rectified.  In a word, there’s much ado about nothing in