There Is A Long Dark Passage Issuing Out From The Opera Comique Into A Narrow Street; 'tis Trod By A Few Who Humbly Wait For A Fiacre, {2} Or Wish To Get Off Quietly O'foot When The Opera Is Done.

At the end of it, towards the theatre, 'tis lighted by a small candle, the light of which is

Almost lost before you get half-way down, but near the door - 'tis more for ornament than use: you see it as a fixed star of the least magnitude; it burns, - but does little good to the world, that we know of.

In returning along this passage, I discerned, as I approached within five or six paces of the door, two ladies standing arm-in- arm with their backs against the wall, waiting, as I imagined, for a fiacre; - as they were next the door, I thought they had a prior right; so edged myself up within a yard or little more of them, and quietly took my stand. - I was in black, and scarce seen.

The lady next me was a tall lean figure of a woman, of about thirty-six; the other of the same size and make, of about forty: there was no mark of wife or widow in any one part of either of them; - they seem'd to be two upright vestal sisters, unsapped by caresses, unbroke in upon by tender salutations. - I could have wish'd to have made them happy: - their happiness was destin'd that night, to come from another quarter.

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