Clark, the daughter of Colley? Is there not Congreve, and
Farquhar--nay, and at a pinch, the "Dramatic Biography," or even the
Spectator, from which the observant genius might borrow passages,
and construct pretty antiquarian figments? Leave we these trifles
to meaner souls! Our business is not with the breeches and
periwigs, with the hoops and patches, but with the divine hearts of
men, and the passions which agitate them. What need, therefore,
have we to say that on this evening, after the dancing, the music,
and the fireworks, Monsieur de Galgenstein felt the strange and
welcome pangs of appetite, and was picking a cold chicken, along
with some other friends in an arbour--a cold chicken, with an
accompaniment of a bottle of champagne--when he was led to remark
that a very handsome plump little person, in a gorgeous stiff damask
gown and petticoat, was sauntering up and down the walk running
opposite his supping-place, and bestowing continual glances towards
his Excellency. The lady, whoever she was, was in a mask, such as
ladies of high and low fashion wore at public places in those days,
and had a male companion. He was a lad of only seventeen,
marvellously well dressed--indeed, no other than the Count's own
son, Mr.
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