_MRS.

FOLLINGSBEE'S PARTY, AND WHAT CAME OF IT_.
Our vulgar idea of a party is a week or fortnight of previous discomfort and chaotic tergiversation, and the mistress of it all distracted and worn out with endless cares.

Such a party bursts in on a well-ordered family state as a bomb bursts into a city, leaving confusion and disorder all around.

But it would be a pity if such a life-long devotion to the arts and graces as Mrs.Follingsbee had given, backed by Dick Follingsbee's fabulous fortune, and administered by the exquisite Charlie Ferrola, should not have brought forth some appreciable results.

One was, that the great Castle of Indolence was prepared for the _fete_ with no more ripple of disturbance than if it had been a Nereid's bower, far down beneath the reach of tempests, where the golden sand is never ruffled, and the crimson and blue sea flowers never even dream of commotion.
Charlie Ferrola wore, it is true, a brow somewhat oppressed with care, and was kept tucked up on a rose-colored satin sofa, and served with lachrymae Christi, and Montefiascone, and all other substitutes for the dews of Hybla, while he draughted designs for the floral arrangements, which were executed by obsequious attendants in felt slippers; and the whole process of arrangement proceeded like a dream of the lotus-eaters' paradise.
Madame de Tullegig was of course retained primarily for the adornment of Mrs.Follingsbee's person.