_Josephine and Mrs. Franklin receive two important Visits._
Josephine Franklin and her mother were languidly partaking of a late
breakfast, and indolently discussing the merits of the Italian opera, to
which they had both been on the preceding night.
It not being the hour for fashionable calls, both ladies were attired
with an extreme negligence which indicated that they anticipated seeing
no company. And yet, to the eyes of a true connoisseur in beauty, there
was something far more seductive in those voluptuous dishabilles, than
there could have been in the most magnificent full dress. The
conversation in which they were engaged, was characteristic of them
both:--
'I think, mamma,' said Josephine--'that the most captivating fellow on
the stage last night, was the Signor Stopazzi, who played the peasant.
Ah, what superb legs! what a fine chest! what graceful motions! I am
dying to get him for a lover!'
'What, tired of the handsome Sinclair already?' asked Mrs. Franklin with
a smile.
'Indeed, to confess the truth, mamma,' replied Josephine--'the Doctor is
becoming somewhat _de trop_--and then, again, those Italians make such
delightful lovers; so full of fire, and passion, and poetry; and music,
and charming romance--ah, I adore them!'
'Apropos of Italian lovers,' said her mother. 'I once had one; I was
then in my sixteenth year, and superbly beautiful. My Angelo was a
divine youth, and he loved me to distraction. Once, in a moment of
intoxicating bliss, he swore to do whatever I commanded him, to test the
sincerity of his life; and I playfully and thoughtlessly bade him go and
kill himself for my sake. The words were forgotten by me, almost as soon
as uttered. Angelo supped with me that night, and when he took his
leave, he had never seemed gayer or happier. The next day, at noon, I
received a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and a perfumed billet-doux;
they were from Angelo. On opening the missive, I found that it contained
the most eloquent assurance of his sincere love--but, to my horror, in
a postscript of two lines he expressed his intention of destroying
himself ere his note could reach me, in obedience to my command. Almost
distracted, I flew to his hotel; my worst fears were confirmed. Poor
Angelo was found with his throat cut, and quite dead, with my miniature
pressed to his heart.'[4]
'Delightfully romantic!' exclaimed Josephine--'how I should like to have
a lover kill himself for my sake!'
But the brilliant eyes of her mother were suffused with tears. Just then
a servant in livery entered and announced--
'Dr. Sinclair is below, and craves an audience with Mrs. Franklin and
Miss Josephine.'
'Let him come up,' said Josephine, with a gesture of some impatience;
for, in truth, she was beginning to be tired of the rector, and longed
for a new conquest.
Dr. Sinclair entered with a constrained and gloomy air.
'My dear Doc,' cried Josephine, with affected cordiality--'how
opportunely that you called! I was just now wishing that you would
come.'
'Ladies,' said the Doctor, solemnly--'I have recently made a terrible, a
most astonishing discovery.'
'Indeed! and pray what is it?' cried both mother and daughter.
'It is that Mr. Edgar Franklin, whose death was so sudden and
unaccountable, was basely murdered!'
The mother and daughter turned pale, and losing all power of utterance,
gazed at each other with looks of wild alarm.
'Yes,' resumed the Doctor--'I have in my possession evidence the most
conclusive, that he met his death by the hands of a murderess, who was
urged to commit the deed by two other devils in female shape.'
'Doctor--explain--what mean you?' gasped Josephine, while her mother
seemed as if about to go into hysterics.
'In the first place I will ask you if you ever knew a woman named Mary
Welch?' said the Doctor; then after a pause, he added--'your looks
convince me that you have known such a person; that woman recently died
in this city, and on her death-bed she made the following confession.'
The rector here produced and read a paper which he had drawn up
embodying the statement and confession which the woman Welch had made to
him, just before her death. As the reader is acquainted with the
particulars of that confession it is unnecessary for us to repeat them.
Having finished the perusal of this document, the rector proceeded to
relate an account of his visit to the tomb of Mr. Franklin, and
concluded his fearfully interesting narrative by producing the lump of
lead which had been taken from the skull of the murdered man.
It is impossible to describe the horror and dismay of the two wretched
and guilty women, when they saw that their crime was discovered. Falling
on their knees before the rector, they implored him to have mercy on
them and not hand them over to justice.--They expressed their sincere
repentance of the deed, and declared that sooner than suffer the
ignominy of an arrest, they would die by their own hands. Josephine in
particular did not fail to remind Dr. Sinclair of the many favors she
had granted him and hinted that her exposure would result in his own
ruin, as his former connection with her would be disclosed, if herself
and mother were arrested and brought to trial.
'Were I inclined to bring you to justice, the dread of my own exposure
would not prevent me; for no personal consideration should ever restrain
me from doing an act of justice, provided the public good would be
prompted thereby. But I do not see the necessity of bringing you to the
horrors of a trial and execution; much rather would I see you allowed a
chance of repentance. Therefore, you need apprehend no danger from me;
the secret of your crime shall not be revealed by me. But I warn you
that the secret is known to another, who will probably use his knowledge
to his own advantage; the matter lies between you and him. I shall now
leave this house, never again to cross its threshold; but ere I depart,
let me urge you both before God to repent of your sins. Josephine, I
have been very guilty in yielding to your temptations; but the Lord is
merciful, and will not refuse forgiveness to the chief of sinners.
Farewell--we shall meet no more: for I design shortly to retire from a
ministerial life, of which I have proved myself unworthy; and shall take
up my abode in some other place, and lead a life of obscurity and humble
usefulness.'
With these words the Doctor took his departure, leaving the mother and
daughter in a state of mind easier to be imagined than described.
Josephine was the first to break the silence which succeeded his exit
from the house:--
'So our secret is discovered,' said she.--'Perdition! who would have
thought that our crime could ever be found out in that manner? Mother,
what are we to do?'
'I know not what to say,' replied Mrs. Franklin. 'One thing, however, is
certain; that whining parson will never betray us. He said that the
dread of his own folly would not deter him from denouncing us, but he
lies--that dread of being exposed will alone keep his mouth shut. Yet,
good Heavens! he assures us that the secret is known to another person,
who will not scruple to use the knowledge to his advantage. Who can that
person be? And what reward will he require of us, to ensure his
silence?'
'Mother,' said Josephine, in a decided tone--'We must quit this city
forever. We can dwell here no longer with safety. Let us go to Boston,
and dwell there under an assumed name. I have heard that Boston is a
great city, where licentiousness and hypocrisy abound, in secret; where
the artful dissimulator can cloak himself with sanctity, and violate
with impunity every command of God and man. Yes, Boston is the city for
us.'
'I agree with you, my dear,' rejoined her mother--'it is the greatest
lust market of the Union. You will be surprised to learn that several of
my old schoolmates are now keeping fashionable boarding houses for
courtezans in that city and from the business derive a luxurious
maintenance. There is my friend Louisa Atwill, whose history I have
often narrated to you and there, too, is Lucy Bartlett, and Rachel
Pierce, whose lover is the gay and celebrated Frank Hancock, whom I have
often seen--nor must I omit to mention Julia Carr, whose establishment
is noted for privacy, and is almost exclusively supported by married
men. All these with whom I occasionally correspond testify to the
voluptuous temperament of the Bostonians, among whom you will be sure to
make many conquests.'
We merely detail this conversation for the purpose of showing the
recklessness and depravity of these two women. They had just
acknowledged themselves guilty of the crime of murder; and could thus
calmly converse on indifferent and sinful topics, immediately after the
departure of their accuser, and as soon as their first excitement of
fear had subsided.
While thus arranging their plans for the future, the servant in livery
again entered, to announce another visitor.
'He is a strange looking man,' said the servant, 'and when I civilly
told him that the ladies received no company before dinner, he gave me
such a look as I shall never forget, and told me to hold my tongue and
lead the way--good Lord, here he comes now!'
The terrified servant vanished from the room, as a tall figure stalked
in, wrapped in a cloak. The ladies could scarce repress a shriek, when
throwing aside his hat and cloak, the stranger exhibited a face of
appalling hideousness; and a fearful misgiving took possession of their
minds, that this was the other person who was in the secret of their
crime.
'You are the two Franklin ladies I presume--mother and daughter--good!'
and the stranger glanced from one to the other with a fierce
satisfaction.
'What is your business with us?' demanded Josephine, haughtily.
'Ha! young hussey, you are very saucy,' growled the stranger
savagely--'but your pride will soon be humbled. In the first place, are
we alone, and secure from interruption?'
'We are--why do you ask?' said Mrs. Franklin.
'Because your own personal safety demands that our interview be not
overheard,' replied the man. 'As you are fashionable people, I will
introduce myself. Ladies, I am called the Dead Man, and have the honor
to be your most obedient servant. Now to business.'
The Dead Man proceeded to relate those circumstances with which the
reader is already acquainted, connected with his visit to the tomb of
Mr. Franklin, and the manner in which he had come to the knowledge of
that gentleman's murder. He omitted, however, to state that he had shut
up the rector in the tomb, for he firmly believed in his own mind that
Dr. Sinclair had perished.
'You perceive,' said he, when he had finished these details--'it is in
my power to have you hung up at any time. Now, to come to the point at
once--what consideration will you allow me if I keep silent in regard to
this affair?'
'Of course you require money,' remarked Josephine, who was disposed to
treat the matter in as business-like a manner as possible.
'Why--yes; but not money alone,' replied the Dead Man, with a horrible
leer;--'you are both devilish handsome, and I should prefer to take out
a good portion of my reward in your soft embraces. You shudder ladies;
yet would not my arms around those fair necks of yours be pleasanter
than an ugly rope, adjusted by the hands of the hangman? You will one
day admit the force of the argument; at present I will not press the
matter, but content myself with a moderate demand on your purse. Oblige
me with the loan--ha, ha!--of the small trifle of one thousand dollars.'
After a moment's consultation with her daughter, Mrs. Franklin left the
room to get the money from her _escritoire_. The door had scarcely
closed upon her, when the Dead Man advanced to Josephine, caught her in
his arms, despite her resistance, imprinted numberless foul kisses upon
her glowing cheeks, her ripe lips, and alabaster shoulders. It was a
rare scene; Beauty struggling in the arms of the Beast!
The lecherous monster did not release her until he heard her mother
returning. Mrs. Franklin handed to him a roll of bank-notes, and said--
'There is the amount you asked for and you must grant that you are
liberally paid for your silence. I trust that you will consider the
reward sufficient, and that we shall see you no more.'
'Bah!' exclaimed the ruffian, as he deposited the money in his
pocket--'do you think I will let you off so cheaply? No, no, my pretty
mistress--you may expect to see me often; and at my next visit I must
have something besides money--a few little amative favors will then
prove acceptable, both from you and your fair daughter, whose lips, by
Satan! are as sweet to my taste as human blood. I know very well you
will attempt to run away from me, by secretly removing from the city;
but hark'ee--though you remove to hell, and assume the hardest name of
Beelzebub's family of fourth cousins--I'll find you out! Remember, I
have said it. Adieu.'
And bowing with mock politeness, the miscreant took his departure from
the house.
'Good heavens!' exclaimed Mrs. Franklin--'we are completely in the power
of that dreadful man. We must leave the city, without delay, for Boston;
yet we will spread the report that we are going to Philadelphia, in
order to escape from that monster, if possible.'
'A monster indeed!' said Josephine shuddering--'during your absence from
the room, he took the most insolent liberties with me, and besmeared me
with his loathsome kisses. How horrible it will be, if he ever finds us
out, and compels us to yield our persons to his savage lust!'
'True,' said her mother--'and yet, for my own part, sooner than pay him
another thousand, I would yield to his desires; for the manner in which
we have squandered money, during the last two years, has fearfully
diminished my fortune, and there is but a very small balance of cash in
my favor at the bank. This house must be sold, together with all our
furniture, in order to replenish our funds. Now, my dear, we must make
preparations for our instant departure for Boston.'
Mrs. Franklin summoned her servants, paid them their wages, and
discharged them all, with the exception of her handsome footman, whom
she determined to leave in charge of the house, until it was sold, after
which he was privately requested to join his mistress in Boston; he was
particularly directed to state, in answer to all inquiries, that the
family had gone to Philadelphia. Simon, (for this was the footman's
name) promised implicit obedience to these orders; and was rewarded for
his fidelity by a private _tete-a-tete_ with his fair patron, during
which many kisses were exchanged, and other little tokens of affection
were indulged in; after which she gave him the keys of the house,
charging him not to visit the wine-cellar too often, and by all means
not to admit a woman into the house, under pain of her eternal
displeasure.
That same afternoon, the two ladies took passage in a steamer for
Boston. They were received on board by the handsome and gentlemanly
Captain, who, being somewhat of a fashionable man, had some slight
acquaintance with the aristocratic mother and her beauteous daughter. He
courteously insisted that they should occupy his own state-room; and
they accordingly took possession of that elegant apartment, where they
ordered tea be served; and, at their invitation, the Captain supped with
them. The repast over, he apologized to the ladies for his necessary
absence; and sent the steward to them with a bottle of very choice wine.
The state-room was divided into two apartments by a curtain of silk; and
in each of these apartments was a magnificent bed. The floor was
handsomely carpeted, and the walls were adorned with superb mirrors and
pictures. The Captain was a man of taste, and his cabin was a gem of
luxury and splendor.
As the stately steamer ploughed her way through the turbid waters of the
Sound, many were the scenes which took place on board of her, worthy to
be delineated by our pen. Though it is our peculiar province to write of
city crimes, we nevertheless must not omit to depict some of the
transactions which occurred during the passage, and which may be
appropriately classed under the head of steamboat crimes.
At the hour for retiring, the ladies' cabin was filled with the feminine
portion of the passengers, who began to divest themselves of their
garments in order to court the embraces of the drowsy god. There was the
simpering boarding-school miss of sixteen; the fat wife of a citizen
with a baby in her arms, and another in anticipation; the lady of
fashion, attended by her maid; the buxom widow, attended by a lap-dog,
musical with silver bells, and there, too, was the elderly dame,
attended by a host of grandchildren, to the horror of an old maid, who
declares she 'can't BEAR young ones,' which is true enough, literally.
Now it is a fact beyond dispute, that ladies, among themselves, when no
males are present, act and converse with more freedom from restraint,
than a company of men; and the fact was never more forcibly illustrated
than upon this occasion. The boarding-school miss, _en chemise_, romped
with the buxom widow, who was herself in similar costume. The citizen's
fat wife lent her baby to the old maid, who wanted to know how it
seemed; and was rewarded for her kindness by a token of gratitude on the
baby's part, which caused the aforesaid old maid to drop the little
innocent like a hot potato. The fashionable lady, who dressed for bed as
for a ball, was arrayed in a very costly and becoming night-dress,
ornamented with a profusion of lace and ruffles; and standing before a
mirror, was admiring her own charms; yet she painted, and had false
teeth--defects which were atoned for by a fine bust and magnificent
ankle. Her maid, a stout, well-looking girl, was toying with a very
pretty boy of eight or nine years of age, and when unobserved, embraced
and kissed him with an ardor which betokened a good share of amative
sensibility on her part.
'The men are such odious creatures, I positively cannot endure them,'
remarked the old maid.
'And yet they are very _useful_, and sometimes agreeable,' said the
buxom widow, with an arch smile, (she was handsome, if she _was_ a
widow,) and glancing significantly at the citizen's fat wife.
'Pooh!' exclaimed the old maid, climbing into her berth, and privately
taking off her wig, (she was bald,)--'I can take my pick of ten thousand
men, yet I wouldn't have one of them.' (She had been pining for an offer
twenty years!)
The buxom widow got into her berth, which she shared with her lapdog;
and as the little animal dove under the bed-clothes and became
invisible, it is difficult to conjecture in what precise locality he
stowed himself! The fashionable lady 'turned in' after the most approved
manner; and as the berths were somewhat scarce, her maid generously
offered to share her couch with little Charley, an offer which that
interesting youth at first declined, saying he was afraid of her, she
'squeezed him so,' but his scruples were overcome by her assurances that
the offence should not be repeated, and Charley concluded to accept the
offer.
Those scenes did not pass unwitnessed for two men were standing outside,
looking thro' one of the windows, from which the curtain had been
partially drawn. Both these men were respectably dressed, and both were
over sixty years of age; yet they viewed the unconscious and undressed
ladies with lecherous delight.
'But, deacon,' said one--'do look at that one standing before the glass;
what breasts--what legs--what a form--what--heavens! I shall go crazy if
I look much longer!'
'Now, in my way of thinking,' said the deacon--'that young thing of
sixteen is the most delicious little witch of the entire lot;--what a
fair skin--what elastic limbs--what wantonness in every look and
movement! There's a youthfulness and freshness about her, which render
her doubly attractive.'
'Ah, they are all going to retire, and we shall lose our sport.--By the
way, deacon, what kind of a set are they that I'm going to preach to, in
Boston?' asked the Rev. John Marrowfat--for it was that noted hero of
pulpit oratory, amours and matrimony!
'Oh, they're a set of soft-pated fools,' replied deacon Small, 'preach
hell-fire and brimstone to 'em, they'll swallow everything you say, and
give you a devilish good salary into the bargain.'
A young man, small and thin, and well dressed, now approached, and
grasped the deacon by the hand.
'Why, this is an unexpected pleasure,' said the young man--'who would
have thought of seeing you here?'
'I am happy to meet you, brother,' said the deacon--'brother Marrowfat,
allow me to introduce you to Samuel Cough, a distinguished advocate of
temperance.'
'What are you going to do in Boston, Sam?' asked deacon Small.
'Oh, going to astonish the natives a little, that's all,' replied Mr.
Cough. 'That was a bad scrape I got into, in Albany; I got infernally
drunk, and slept in a brothel, which was all very well, you know, and
nothing unusual--but people _found it out_! Well, I got up a
cock-and-bull story about drinking drugged soda, and some people believe
it and some don't. Now, when I get _corned_, I keep out of sight.--Ah,
temperance spouting is a great business! But come, gentlemen--it won't
do for us to be seen drinking at the bar; I've got a bottle of
fourth-proof brandy in my pocket; let's take a swig all around.'
And producing the article in question, Mr. Cough took a very copious
swig, and passed the bottle to the others, who followed his example. We
shall now leave this worthy trio, with the remark that they all got very
comfortably drunk previous to retiring for the night. Mr. Cough turned
into his berth with his boots on and a cigar in his mouth; Mr. Marrowfat
sung obscene songs, and fell over a chair; and deacon Small rushed into
the gentleman's cabin, and offered to fight any individual present, for
a trifling wager. He was finally carried to bed in the custody of the
bootblack.
Among the passengers was a very handsome lad, twelve or fourteen years
of age, whose prepossessing appearance seemed to attract the attention
of a tall gentleman, of distinguished bearing, enveloped in a cloak.--He
wore a heavy moustache, and his complexion was very dark. He paid the
most incessant attention to the boy, making him liberal presents of cake
and fruit, and finally gave him a beautiful gold ring, from his own
finger.
This man was a foreigner--one of those beasts in human shape whose
perverted appetites prompts them to the commission of a crime against
nature. Once before, in the tenth chapter of this narrative, we took
occasion to introduce one of those fiends to the notice of the reader;
it was at the masquerade ball, where the Spanish ambassador made a
diabolical proposal to Josephine Franklin, whom he supposed to be a boy.
It is an extremely delicate task for a writer to touch on a subject so
revolting; yet the crime actually exists, beyond the shadow of a doubt,
and therefore we are compelled to give it place in our list of crimes.
We are about to record a startling fact--in New York, there are boys who
_prostitute_ themselves from motives of gain; and they are liberally
patronized by the tribe of genteel foreign vagabonds who infest the
city. It was well known that the principal promenade for such cattle was
in the Park, where they might be seen nightly; and the circumstance had
been more than once commented upon by the newspapers.--Any person who
has resided in New York for two or three years, knows that we are
speaking the truth. Nor is this all. There was formerly a house of
prostitution for that very purpose, kept by a foreigner, and splendidly
furnished; here lads were taken as apprentices, and regularly trained
for the business;--they were mostly boys who had been taken from the
lowest classes of society, and were invariably of comely appearance.
They were expensively dressed in a peculiar kind of costume; half
masculine and half feminine; and were taught a certain style of speech
and behaviour calculated to attract the beastly wretches who patronize
them. For a long time the existence of this infernal den was a secret;
but it eventually leaked out, and the proprietor and his gang were
obliged to beat a hasty retreat from the city, to save themselves from
the summary justice of Lynch law.
But to return to the steamboat. The foreigner called the lad aside, and
the following conversation ensued:--
'My pretty lad, this cabin is excessively close, and the bed
inconvenient. I have a very nice state-room, and should be happy to have
you share it with me.'
'Thank you, sir,' answered the boy--'if it would cause you no
inconvenience--'
'None whatever; come with me at once,' said the other, and they ascended
to the deck, and entered his state room. It is proper to observe, that
the youth was perfectly innocent, and suspected not the design of his
new _friend_. Half an hour afterwards he dashed from the state room with
every appearance of indignation and affright; seeking one of the
officers of the boat he told his story, and the result was that the
foreign gentleman and his baggage were set ashore at a place destitute
of every thing but rocks, and over ten miles from any house; very
inconvenient for a traveller, especially at night, with a storm in
prospect. The miserable sodomite should have been more harshly dealt
with.
To return to Josephine and her mother, whom we left in the Captain's
elegant state room.
We must here remark that Sophia Franklin, the gentle, angelic sister of
the depraved Josephine, had gone to spend a month or so with an aunt,
(her father's sister,) in Newark, N.J., which circumstance will account
for not accompanying her mother and sister in their flight from New
York. It may be as well to add that she was in blissful ignorance of her
father having been murdered, and of course, knew nothing of the
discovery of that fact by Dr. Sinclair.
'Thank heaven,' cried Josephine, raising the wine glass to her vermilion
lips--'we are at last clear of that odious New York! I feel as if just
liberated from a prison.'
'The feeling is natural, my dear,' rejoined her mother--'you are no
longer in constant dread of that horrible fellow who is so savagely
amorous with regard to both of us. We have fairly given him the slip,
and it will be difficult for him to find us.'
'Don't you think, mamma,' asked the young lady--'that the Captain, who
so politely surrendered this beautiful cabin for our accommodation, is a
splendid fellow? Really, I am quite smitten with him.'
'So am I,' remarked her mother--'he is certainly very handsome, and it
is hard that he should be turned out of his cabin on our account. Why
cannot we all three sleep here? I am sure he needs but a hint to make
him joyfully agree to such an arrangement.'
'I understand you mamma,' said Josephine, her eyes sparking with
pleasure--'you will see what a delicate invitation I'll give him; but I
won't be selfish--you shall enjoy as much benefit from the arrangement
as myself. Hark! somebody knocks--it must be the Captain.'
And so it was; he had come to inquire if the ladies were comfortable,
and on receiving an affirmative answer, was about to bid them good
night and depart, when Josephine invited him to sit down and have a
glass of wine with them. It was not in the nature of the good Captain to
decline an invitation when extended by a pretty woman. The mother and
daughter, tastefully attired in superb evening dresses, looked
irresistibly charming--the more so, perhaps, because their cheeks were
suffused with the rosy hues of wine and passion.
'I have been thinking, Captain,' said Josephine, casting her brilliant
eyes upon the carpet--'that it is unjust for us to drive you from your
cabin, and make you pass the night in some less comfortable place.
Mother and I have been talking about it, and we both think you had
better sleep in here, as usual.'
'What--and drive you ladies out?' cried the Captain--'couldn't think of
it, upon my honor.'
'Oh, it doesn't necessarily follow that we must be driven out,' said
Josephine, raising her eyes to his face, and smiling archly--'you silly
man, don't you see that we want to be very kind to you?'
'Is it possible?' exclaimed the Captain, almost beside himself with
joy--'dear ladies, you cannot be jesting, and I accept your offer with
gratitude and delight. Good heavens, what a lucky fellow I am!'
And clasping both ladies around the waists, he kissed them alternately,
again and again. That night was one of guilty rapture to all the
parties; but the particulars must be supplied by the reader's own
imagination.
* * * * *
And now, behold Mrs. Lucretia Franklin and her daughter Josephine, in
the great city of Boston! The same day of their arrival they hired a
handsome house, already furnished in Washington street: and the next day
they made their _debut_ in that fashionable thoroughfare, by
promenading, in dresses of such magnificence and costliness, that they
created a tremendous excitement among the bucks and belles who throng
there every fine afternoon.
'Who can they be?' was asked by every one, and answered by no one. The
dandy clerks, in high dickies and incipient whiskers, rushed to the
doors and windows of their stores, to have a glimpse of the two
beautiful _unknowns_; the mustachioed exquisites raised their
eye-glasses in admiration, and murmured, 'dem foine,' the charming
Countess, the graceful Cad, and the bewitching Jane B----t, were all on
the _qui vive_ to ascertain the names, quality and residence of the two
fair strangers, who were likely to prove such formidable rivals in the
hearts and purses of the lady-loving beaux of the city.
That evening they went to the opera, and while listening to the divine
strains of Biscaccianti, became the cynosure of a thousand admiring
glances. And that night, beneath the windows of their residence, a party
of gallant amateurs, with voice and instrument, awoke sounds of such
celestial harmony, that the winged spirits of the air paused in their
aerial flight to catch the choral symphony that floated on the soft
breezes of the moon-lit night!
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 4: A fact, derived by the Author from the private history of a
fashionable courtezan.]