The Masquerade Ball at Judge Keyes' House

The much-talked-of, brightly anticipated masquerade ball, given by Miss Keyes and C. B. Weatherwax, is now an accomplished fact. Last Friday evening, between the gusts of rain, mysterious figures, muffled and masked, hurried along the wet sidewalks toward Judge Keyes' brightly lighted house, whose hospitable doors opened wide with a flood of light and received a motley crew into their shelter. The house was decorated with pots of blooming plants; beside the door leading into the ladies' dressing room stood a magnificent specimen of a pelargonium, radiant in a glory of crimson blossoms. The large rooms on the lower floor were cleared of furniture and the carpets covered with crash; upon this, to the sound of music, a strange pantomimic dance went forward. In order to preserve the incognitos, there was almost perfect silence; and there was something decidedly uncanny in having a ghost slide up and press your hand with a substantial little squeeze and then silently glide away, only to have her place taken by a scarlet devil who looked as if he might have been peeled off of a ham can and come alive—on a somewhat larger scale. After several dances, the personality of many of the maskers became apparent. For instance, a very thick-set maiden, in baby-blue, showed a curious insistence in playing the man's part in the waltz, and wanted to do all the leading, until she became very unpopular with her partners. At about 11 o'clock the request came to unmask, and at a word the secret of all the masks was revealed and a burst of repressed talk gushed forth. The masterful young woman in blue proved to be C. W. Parnell, whose elephantine coquetry had aroused suspicion.