Oh God! my limbs fail me. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend.
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