52 The Mysterious Tailor : [Juy, 
till far removed from the husky tones of that sepulchral voice which 
had once before so highly excited my annoyance. 
It was somewhere about this time that my friend C , of Covent 
Garden — pitying my generally secluded mode of life— offered me 
tickets for one of Mr. Champaigne Wright's masquerades. As this 
is a species of amusement totally foreign to what has been usually 
considered the staple of English character—an amusement wherein 
extremes meet; where the melancholy Jaques jostles the merry Fal- 
staff; where patricians league with plebeians ; where rowés consort on 
equal terms with their own tradesmen; where pimps and parasites, 
authors and actors, play the fool, each to the best of his ability ; where 
the flashing countenance, rounded bust, and full undulating form of 
some entrancing beauty, decked out in all the witcheries of art, breathe 
a hot scorching spirit into the veins, that literally sets the blood on 
fire ; where the very air itself is love, a wandering, subtle, searching, 
and invisible love, whose voice speaks in music, and melts in the 
heart silently and sunnily, as eave-drops in the day-beam ; where wit, 
fancy, passion, and ostentation, mobility -in robes, nobility in rags, 
pursue the novice at each step: as this is a species of amuse- 
ment wherein all such quaint contrarieties are sure to be combined, I 
resolved for once to mingle with the motley herd; so forthwith set out, 
disguised as a domino, for the scene of entertainment. A few minutes 
after my arrival, the stage began to fill; and what with the lights and 
the dresses—the music—the heated atmosphere—and the heterogeneous 
variety of characters, who flitted past me like dreams—my fancy 
expanded, my shyness wore away, and was succeeded by insufferable 
impudence. While thus excited, my eyes were suddenly directed 
towards the figure of a Nun, shrouded from head to foot in a long black 
veil, who. as C assured me, had been staring at me attentively for 
some time. What could this import? Admiration, doubtless, on the 
part of the fair gazer. So I thought; and, fired with champaigne and 
sentiment, hastened towards the spot where she stood. Alas! it was too 
late. The unknown had gone—eloped—evaporated ! Here was a situa- 
tion for a gentleman! Luckily, my disappointment was not of long dura- 
tion ; for, on turning my eyes towards the stage-door, I caught a second 
glimpse of the Nun, wedged fast between two apoplectic Ariels.. In an 
instant I was by her side ; my eyes rivetted on her mask with that expres- 
sion of peculiar intensity which is said to characterize the lover. We 
were at this time alone, in a remote quarter of the stage. I seized the 
opportunity, and, grasping my companion’s hand vigorously, but with 
perfect gentility, whispered in her ear a few brief sentences, which I 
cannot here repeat, but which I distinctly remember were amorous, touch- 
ing, and persuasive. An awful pause ensued, at the expiration of which 
time I resumed my pleadings. I painted in the most feeling terms my 
anxiety to behold a countenance, which I felt convinced must be lovely 
—or at least to hear a voice, which fancy persuaded me must breathe 
the spirit of sensibility itself. Strange to tell, I received not the slight+ 
est answer! A third time I renewed my supplications. I besought—I 
adjured—I prayed—but for one word, one little word, if it merely 
meant nothing ; adding (and IJ think with singular felicity), that even 
nothing was something to a lover. Still no reply!» My feelings now 
began to be wrought to desperation—my lip quivered—the devil was 
fast rising within me. The unknown evidently saw my agitation: her 
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