ask in getting
any thing done upon the stage.

Well, at last the long-expected Friday arrived, and I rose in the morning
with all that peculiar tourbillon of spirits that a man feels when he is
half pleased and whole frightened with the labour before him. I had
scarcely accomplished dressing when a servant tapped at my door, and
begged to know if I could spare a few moments to speak to Miss Ersler,
who was in the drawing-room. I replied, of course, in the affirmative,
and, rightly conjecturing that my fair friend must be the lovely Fanny
already alluded to, followed the servant down stairs.

"Mr. Lorrequer," said the servant, and closing the door behind me, left
me in sole possession of the lady.

"Will you do me the favour to sit here, Mr. Lorrequer," said one of the
sweetest voices in the world, as she made room for me on the sofa beside
her. "I am particularly short-sighted; so pray sit near me, as I really
cannot talk to any one I don't see."

I blundered out some platitude of a compliment to her eyes--the fullest
and most lovely blue that ever man gazed into--at which she smiled as if
pleased, and continued, "Now, Mr. Lorrequer, I have really been longing
for your coming; for your friends of the 4_th are doubtless very dashing,
spirited young gentlemen, perfectly versed in war's alarms; but pardon me
if I say that a more wretched company of strolling wretches never graced
a barn. Now, come, don't be angry, but let me proceed. Like all amateur
people, they have the happy knack in distributing the characters--to put
every man in his most unsuitable position--and then that poor dear thing
Curzon--I hope he's not a friend of yours--by some dire fatality always
plays the lover's parts, ha! ha! ha! True, I assure you, so that if you
had not been announced as coming this week, I should have left them and
gone off to Bath."

Here she rose and adjusted her brown ringlets at the glass, giving me
ample time to admire one of the most perfect figures I ever beheld. She
was most becomingly dressed, and betrayed a foot and ancle which for
symmetry and "chaussure," might have challenged the Rue Rivoli itself to
match it.

My first thought was poor Curzon; my second, happy and trice fortunate
Harry Lorrequer. There was no time, however, for indulgence in such very
pardonable gratulation; so I at once proceeded "pour faire l'aimable," to
profess my utter inability to do justice to her undoubted talents, but
slyly adde