rsecution, and
accompany him to the cell of a certain holy hermit whom he knows,
and who is always willing and ready to marry runaway couples like
themselves, whose loves are thwarted by tyrannical parents. But the
young girl answers modestly, yet firmly, that, although she wishes
nothing so earnestly as to be permitted to bestow her hand upon her
faithful Leander, who already has her heart, she cannot disobey her
father, for that she, like all dutiful daughters, is in duty bound to
respect and submit to the commands of the author of her being; but she
promises never to marry the detested Captain Matamore--she will go into
the convent rather than listen to him for a moment. Unable to shake
her decision Leander then retires to devise plans, with the aid of his
clever valet, to overcome the formidable obstacles in his way--more than
ever determined not to give up the fair Isabelle, and promising her to
return in the evening and report progress.

Isabelle retires from her balcony and closes her window, and a moment
after Captain Matamore strides fiercely upon the stage--his appearance
is greeted with peals of laughter--his tall, attenuated figure is
encased in an absurd costume, in which the bright red and yellow
stripes of his tunic meet in points in front and behind, whilst they
run spirally round his long, thin arms and legs, producing the most
preposterously comical effect imaginable; a stiffly-starched ruff,
immensely broad, encircles his neck, upon which his head seems to be
set, like that of John the Baptist on the charger; a large felt hat,
turned up at one side, and ornamented with a huge tuft of red and yellow
feathers, is stuck jauntily on his head, and a short cloak of the same
colour, fastened round his neck and thrown back from his shoulders,
floats behind him. He wears an enormous sword, whose heavily weighted
hilt keeps the point always raised and standing out prominently behind
him, whilst from it dangles a clever imitation of a spider's web--a
convincing proof of how much he is in the habit of making use of this
formidable weapon. Closely followed by his valet, Scapin, who is in
imminent danger of having an eye put out by the end of his master's big
sword, he marches several times around the stage, taking preternaturally
long strides, rolling his eyes about fiercely, twisting the long ends
of his huge mustache, and indulging in a variety of ridiculous gestures
indicative of exaggerated rage and fury, whic