The woman--the first woman, I mean--goes crazy down to the extremity of
her feet, and dies, and then there are more women,--no; these last are
disembodied spirits, with nothing but light skirts on,--who dance in
graveyards, and make young men dance with them till they fall down
exhausted, calling in vain for BROWN to take them home in carriages, and
pay for their torn gloves. The first young woman, and a young man--not
the other young man, you understand--does a good deal of--Well, in
fact, things are rather mixed before the ballet comes to an end, but I
know that it's a good thing, for FISK sits in his private box and
applauds it, which he wouldn't do if he didn't.
And now, having placed _La Giselle_ plainly before your mental vision, I
desire to rise to a personal explanation. For the ensuing four weeks,
the places, in PUNCHINELLO, which have heretofore known me, will
know me no more. I am going to a quiet country place on Long Island to
write war correspondence for the--well, I won't mention the name of the
paper. You see the editor of the _Na----_ of the paper in question, I
should say,--wants to have an independent and unprejudiced account of
the great struggle on the Rhine--something that shall be different from
any other account.
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