M. de Whiskerburg had one active
accomplishment; this was his dancing. His gallopade was declared to
be divine: he absolutely sailed in air. His waltz, at his will, either
melted his partner into a dream, or whirled her into a frenzy! Dangerous
M. de Whiskerburg!
CHAPTER III.
_'A Little Rift.'_
IT IS said that the conduct of refined society, in a literary point of
view, is, on the whole, productive but of slight interest; that all we
can aspire to is, to trace a brilliant picture of brilliant manners;
and that when the dance and the festival have been duly inspired by the
repartee and the sarcasm, and the gem, the robe, and the plume adroitly
lighted up by the lamp and the lustre, our cunning is exhausted. And so
your novelist generally twists this golden thread with some substantial
silken cord, for use, and works up, with the light dance, and with the
heavy dinner, some secret marriage, and some shrouded murder. And thus,
by English plots and German mysteries, the page trots on, or jolts,
till, in the end, Justice will have her way, and the three volumes are
completed.
A plan both good and antique, and also popular, but not our way.
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