handsomely dressed, chatting gaily with their
chaperons, and I recognised some of my acquaintances on every side; in
fact, there was scarcely a family of rank in the county that had not at
least some member of it present. As the orchestra struck up the overture
to Don Giovanni, I retired from my place to inspect the arrangements
behind.

Before the performance of the "Family Party," we were to have a little
one-act piece called "a day in Madrid," written by myself--the principal
characters being expressly composed for "Miss Ersler and Mr. Lorrequer."

The story of this trifle, it is not necessary to allude to; indeed, if it
were, I should scarcely have patience to do so, so connected is my
recollection of it with the distressing incident which followed.

In the first scene of the piece, the curtain rising displays la belle
Fanny sitting at her embroidery in the midst of a beautiful garden,
surrounded with statues, fountains, &c. At the back is seen a pavillion
in the ancient Moorish style of architecture, over which hang the
branches of some large and shady trees--she comes forward, expressing her
impatience at the delay of her lover, whose absence she tortures herself
to account for by a hundred different suppositions, and after a very
sufficient expose of her feelings, and some little explanatory details of
her private history, conveying a very clear intimation of her own
amiability, and her guardian's cruelty, she proceeds, after the fashion
of other young ladies similarly situated, to give utterance to her
feelings by a song; after, therefore, a suitable prelude from the
orchestra, for which, considering the impassioned state of her mind, she
waits patiently, she comes forward and begins a melody--

"Oh why is he far from the heart that adores him?"

in which, for two verses, she proceeds with sundry sol feggio's, to
account for the circumstances, and show her disbelief of the explanation
in a very satisfactory manner,--meanwhile, for I must not expose my
reader to an anxiety on my account, similar to what the dear Fanny here
laboured under, I was making the necessary preparations for flying to her
presence, and clasping her to my heart--that is to say, I had already
gummed on a pair of mustachios, had corked and arched a ferocious pair of
eyebrows, which, with my rouged cheeks, gave me a look half Whiskerando,
half Grimaldi; these operations were performed, from the stress of
circumstances, sufficie