The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 115: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

98 - REYNOLDS’ WORKS squeezed as flat as a~pancake. Immense was the injury done to white waistcoats, neckties, and other articles of apparel, feet were trodden into jellies, and one or two elderly gentlemen lost their wigs in the crowd. But despite these and other similar misadventures, the throng had kept pouring on until the whole house was filled, as above stated. We do not intend to speak of the opera that was per- formed on the occasion, or to notice the enchantments of the singing or the music. Our object is to introduce to the reader the cynosure of the evening’s attraction, the inimi- table and charming Angela Vivaldi. To say that she was beautiful, were to say nothing; she was lovely almost beyond all power of description, fairer than the fairest image which painter ever drew, sculptor ever modelled, or poet ever dreamed. Her age was about eighteen, and without excep- tion she was the most ravishing embodiment of female charms that ever burst upon the delighted vision. When she appeared upon the stage, enthusiastic was the reception she experienced; and whatever cares or torturing feelings or malignant passions that might have before been agitating in even the unhappiest hearts and most racked of souls were temporarily forgotten now, in the contemplation of that divine creature. Her countenance was of the most illuminating beauty. The high-arched brows, the straight, chiseled nose, the small ripe mouth, the rounded chin, and the oval outline of the face, were all of classic faultlessness. Her eyes, large and dark, were full of fire, and yet had nothing bold in their expression; but bright as her glances were, there was still a sweetness in them that bespoke a purity and an innocence of soul, so that her looks warmed the feelings without in- flaming them. Her shining dark hair clustered about her well-shaped head, and shone with a natural glory of its own brighter than the blaze of light which flooded the whole scene. Her complexion was dazzlingly pure and transparent, and the mantling colour upon her cheeks derived not its carnation hue from the effect of art, but was the rich ver- meil bloom shed there by nature’s own hand. The swanlike neck sloped off to shoulders just rounded sufficiently for plumpness, and expanded into a bosom full enough for feminine beauty, without marring the statuesque perfection of the entire bust. She was tall, and though slender, not CONNIE NO KS (E(0)