The Escape of the Notorious Sir William Heans by William Gosse Hay

It seems that daft devotee, Homely O'Crone, had, before his departure, received and lent to Mrs. Scudamore a copy of Serjeant Talfourd's latest tragedy: GLENCOE; or, THE FATE OF THE MACDONALDS, just produced by Mr. Macready at the Haymarket. All young Hobartia had been spouting the sonorous lines, and it had not been long before a clique had been meeting at Isnaleara, the mansion of the Hon. Mrs. McKevin, with the intention of producing it on its own account. Let it be said that the occasion of its playing--though semi-private--was such a success, the audience were so pleasantly elevated by the nobility of the tragedy (Ensign Tipton, as Henry, the traitor brother, being especially stormy and successful in a uniform of the Argyll Regiment designed by old Duterreau), that, at her Ladyship's request, and out of compliment to the intrepid lady, it was agreed to reproduce the first scene of Act 2, and the last, in "Mr. Daunt's room" at the fascinating old ruin in Macquarie Street.

It was so kind of Mr. Daunt to bend to triviality--a man so preoccupied with real things. The young ladies were full of admiring gratitude. Miss Gargrave, who though she was eighteen, still wore an iron collar covered with velvet to make her hold up her beautiful neck, said of him: "He is such a nice man--I think." On the other hand old Miss Bullinger Lecale, who had watched him from the past with 'an illboding eye,' and for years had pounced with unerring instinct on any sign of horsiness in him, "could not think what Satan would be up to, leading the gells into those old damp places." But then Miss Lecale, if once a war-heroine, had troubled her vogue somewhat. She was inclined to the outrageous after enforced silence. Was it not she who had remarked before a gentleman, "she would like to see the women with their tobacco-pipes"; and was it not Mr. Daunt who asked: "But would the ladies keep it up?" She was angelical, but she had no repose! It is a pity--perhaps an insuperable tragedy--that so many of the things which make for our peace depend upon the petty observances of life. Ah, we can all bear the smarts; the difficulty becomes dangerous when they are inflamed by the flunkey and the cad! "Even the gentlemen do not approve of her PRONONCE style," said young Miss Gargrave, as she brushed her hair before a friend's toilette. "Men are such fools," answered her insouciant companion, and straightway descended to the withdrawing-room, where she presented the young gentlemen with their image of a good woman.