“Is this wit?” said I, turning to Miss Darnford:  “I have enough of this diversion, where nothing but coarse jests appear barefac’d.”

At last Mr. B. accosted us, as if he had not known us.  “So lovely a widow, and so sweet a friend! no wonder you do not separate:  for I see not in this various assembly a third person of your sex fit to join with you.”

“Not one, Sir!” said I.  “Will not a penitent Nun make a good third with a mournful Widow, and a prim Quaker?”

“Not for more than ten minutes at most.”

Instantly the Nun, a fine person of a lady, with a noble air, though I did not like her, joined us, and spoke in Italian something very free, as it seemed by her manner, and Mr. B.’s smiling answer; but neither Miss Darnford nor I understood that language, and Mr. B. would not explain it to us.

But she gave him a signal to follow her, seeming to be much taken with his person and air; for though there were three other Spanish habits there, he was called The stately Spaniard by one, The handsome Spaniard by another, in our hearing, as he passed with us to the dessert, where we drank each of us a glass of Champaign, and eat a few sweetmeats, with a crowd about us; but we appeared not to know one another:  while several odd appearances, as one Indian Prince, one Chinese Mandarin, several Domino’s, of both sexes, a Dutch Skipper, a Jewish Rabbi, a Greek Monk, a Harlequin, a Turkish Bashaw, and Capuchin Friar, glided by us, as we returned into company, signifying that we were strangers to them by squeaking out—­“I know you!”—­Which is half the wit of the place.

Two ladies, one in a very fantastic party-coloured habit, with a plume of feathers, the other in a rustic one, with a garland of flowers round her head, were much taken notice of for their freedom, and having something to say to every body.  They were as seldom separated as Miss Darnford and I, and were followed by a crowd wherever they went.

The party-coloured one came up to me:  “Friend,” said she, “there is something in thy person that attracts every one’s notice:  but if a sack had not been a profane thing, it would have become thee almost as well.”—­“I thank thee, friend,” said I, “for thy counsel; but if thou hadst been pleased to look at home, thou wouldst not have taken so much pains to join such advice, and such an appearance, together, as thou makest!”

This made every one that heard it laugh.—­One said, the butterfly hath met with her match.

She returned, with an affected laugh, “Smartly said!—­But art thou come hither, friend, to make thy light shine before men or women?”

“Verily, friend, neither,” replied I:  “but out of mere curiosity, to look into the minds of both sexes; which I read in their dresses.”

“A general satire on the assemblee, by the mass!” said a fat Monk.

The Nun whisked to us:  “We’re all concerned in my friend’s remark.”—­