rew near Miss Hendy--and if you
were to judge by the number of elbows which young ladies, in all parts
of the room, nudged into other young ladies' sides, and the strange
smiles and winks that were exchanged by the more distant members of
the society--you might easily perceive that there was something very
impressive in the manner of his address. He bowed at every word, while
the gold chains across his waistcoat glistened and jingled at every
motion. Miss Hendy's head also was bent till the white spangles on her
turban seemed affected with St Vitus's dance; and their voices
gradually sank lower and lower, till they descended at last to an
actual whisper. There were seven female hearts in that assemblage
bursting with spite, and one with triumph. Mr Pitskiver had never been
known to whisper it any body's ear before.

In the mean time Mr Bristles, as literary master of the ceremonies,
had made a call on Mr Sidsby to proceed with his reading of the first
act of his play. A tall young gentleman, very good-looking, and very
shy, was with difficulty persuaded to seat himself in the middle of
the room; and with trembling hands he drew from his pocket a roll of
manuscript, though, to judge from his manner, he did not seem quite
master of his subject.

"Modesty, always the accompaniment of true genius," observed Mr
Bristles, apologetically to the expectant audience. "Go on, my good
sir; you will gain courage as you proceed."

All was then silent. Mr Pitskiver at Miss Hendy's side, near the door;
Mr Whalley straining his long neck to catch the faintest echo of their
conversation; the others casting from time to time enquiring glances
towards the illustrious pair; but all endeavouring to appear intensely
interested in the drama. Mr Sidsby began:--

It was a play of the passions. A black lady fell in love with a white
general. Her language was fit for a dragon. She breathed nothing but
fire. It seemed, by a strange coincidence of ideas between Sidsby and
Shakspeare, to bear no small resemblance to Othello, with the
distinction already stated of the colour of the Desdemona. But
breathless attention rewarded the reader's toil; and though he
occasionally missed a word, in which he was always set right by Mr
Bristles, and did not enter very warmly into the more vigorous parts
of the declamation, his efforts were received with overwhelming
approbation, and Bristles as usual led the chorus of admiration.

"A wonderful play! an asto