een in prison four years three months and twenty-four
days, during which time she had partaken of nothing but bread and water
(except such occasional tit-bits as Davids could bring her--and these
were few indeed; for old Isaac was always a curmudgeon, and seldom had
more than a pair of eggs for his own and Davids' dinner); and she was
languishing away, when the news came suddenly to revive her. Then,
though in the darkness you could not see her cheeks, they began to
bloom again: then her heart began to beat and her blood to flow, and
she kissed the ring on her neck a thousand times a day at least; and
her constant question was, "Ben Davids! Ben Davids! when is he coming to
besiege Valencia?" She knew he would come: and, indeed, the Christians
were encamped before the town ere a month was over.

*****

And now, my dear boys and girls, I think I perceive behind that
dark scene of the back-kitchen (which is just a simple flat, painted
stone-color, that shifts in a minute,) bright streaks of light flashing
out, as though they were preparing a most brilliant, gorgeous, and
altogether dazzling illumination, with effects never before attempted on
any stage. Yes, the fairy in the pretty pink tights and spangled
muslin is getting into the brilliant revolving chariot of the realms of
bliss.--Yes, most of the fiddlers and trumpeters have gone round from
the orchestra to join in the grand triumphal procession, where the whole
strength of the company is already assembled, arrayed in costumes of
Moorish and Christian chivalry, to celebrate the "Terrible Escalade,"
the "Rescue of Virtuous Innocence"--the "Grand Entry of the Christians
into Valencia"--"Appearance of the Fairy Day-Star," and "Unexampled
displays of pyrotechnic festivity." Do you not, I say, perceive that we
are come to the end of our history; and, after a quantity of rapid and
terrific fighting, brilliant change of scenery, and songs, appropriate
or otherwise, are bringing our hero and heroine together? Who wants a
long scene at the last? Mammas are putting the girls' cloaks and boas
on; papas have gone out to look for the carriage, and left the
box-door swinging open, and letting in the cold air: if there WERE any
stage-conversation, you could not hear it, for the scuffling of the
people who are leaving the pit. See, the orange-women are preparing to
retire. To-morrow their play-bills will be as so much waste-paper--so
will some of our masterpieces, woe is me: but lo!