Read Peg Woffington Page 13

  CHAPTER XIII.

  DURING the garden scene, Mr. Vane had begged Mrs. Woffington to let himaccompany her. She peremptorily refused, and said in the same breathshe was going to Triplet, in Hercules Buildings, to have her portraitfinished.

  Had Mr. Vane understood the sex, he would not have interpreted herrefusal to the letter; when there was a postscript, the meaning of whichwas so little enigmatical.

  Some three hours after the scene we have described, Mrs. Woffington satin Triplet's apartment; and Triplet, palette in hand, painted away uponher portrait.

  Mrs. Woffington was in that languid state which comes to women aftertheir hearts have received a blow. She felt as if life was ended, andbut the dregs of existence remained; but at times a flood of bitternessrolled over her, and she resigned all hope of perfect happiness in thisworld--all hope of loving and respecting the same creature; and at thesemoments she had but one idea--to use her own power, and bind her loverto her by chains never to be broken; and to close her eyes, and glidedown the precipice of the future.

  "I think you are master of this art," said she, very languidly, toTriplet, "you paint so rapidly."

  "Yes, madam," said Triplet, gloomily; and painted on. "Confound thisshadow!" added he; and painted on.

  His soul, too, was clouded. Mrs. Woffington, yawning in his face, hadtold him she had invited all Mr. Vane's company to come and praise hiswork; and ever since that he had been _morne et silencieux._

  "You are fortunate," continued Mrs. Woffington, not caring what shesaid; "it is so difficult to make execution keep pace with conception."

  "Yes, ma'am;" and he painted on.

  "You are satisfied with it?"

  "Anything but, ma'am;" and he painted on.

  "Cheerful soul!--then I presume it is like?"

  "Not a bit, ma'am;" and he painted on.

  Mrs. Woffington stretched.

  "You can't yawn, ma'am--you can't yawn."

  "Oh, yes, I can. You are such good company;" and she stretched again.

  "I was just about to catch the turn of the lip," remonstrated Triplet.

  "Well, catch it--it won't run away."

  "I'll try, ma'am. A pleasant half-hour it will be for me, when they allcome here like cits at a shilling ordinary--each for his cut."

  "At a sensitive goose!"

  "That is as may be, madam. Those critics flay us alive!"

  "You should not hold so many doors open to censure."

  "No, ma'am. Head a little more that way. I suppose you _can't_ sitquiet, ma'am?--then never mind!" (This resignation was intended as astinging reproach.) "Mr. Cibber, with his sneering snuff-box! Mr. Quin,with his humorous bludgeon! Mrs. Clive, with her tongue! Mr. Snarl, withhis abuse! And Mr. Soaper, with his praise!--arsenic in treacle I callit! But there, I deserve it all! For look on this picture, and on this!"

  "Meaning, I am painted as well as my picture!"

  "Oh, no, no, no! But to turn from your face, madam--on which thelightning of expression plays, continually--to this stony, detestable,dead daub!--I could--And I will, too! Imposture! dead caricature oflife and beauty, take that!" and he dashed his palette-knife through thecanvas. "Libelous lie against nature and Mrs. Woffington, take that!"and he stabbed the canvas again; then, with sudden humility: "I beg yourpardon, ma'am," said he, "for this apparent outrage, which I trust youwill set down to the excitement attendant upon failure. The fact is, Iam an incapable ass, and no painter! Others have often hinted as much;but I never observed it myself till now!"

  "Right through my pet dimple!" said Mrs. Woffington, with perfect_nonchalance._ "Well, now I suppose I may yawn, or do what I like?"

  "You may, madam," said Triplet, gravely. "I have forfeited what littlecontrol I had over you, madam."

  So they sat opposite each other, in mournful silence. At length theactress suddenly rose. She struggled fiercely against her depression,and vowed that melancholy should not benumb her spirits and her power.

  "He ought to have been here by this time," said she to herself. "Well, Iwill not mope for him. I must do something. Triplet," said she.

  "Madam."

  "Nothing."

  "No, madam."

  She sat gently down again, and leaned her head on her hand, and thought.She was beautiful as she thought!--her body seemed bristling withmind! At last, her thoughtful gravity was illumined by a smile. She hadthought out something _excogitaverat._

  "Triplet, the picture is quite ruined!"

  "Yes, madam. And a coach-load of criticism coming!"

  "Triplet, we actors and actresses have often bright ideas."

  "Yes, ma am."

  "When we take other people's!"

  "He, he!" went Triplet. "Those are our best, madam!"

  "Well, sir, I have got a bright idea."

  "You don't say so, ma'am!"

  "Don't be a brute, dear!" said the lady gravely.

  Triplet stared!

  "When I was in France, taking lessons of Dumesnil, one of the actors ofthe Theatre Francais had his portrait painted by a rising artist. Theothers were to come and see it. They determined, beforehand, to mortifythe painter and the sitter, by abusing the work in good set terms. Butsomehow this got wind, and the patients resolved to be the physicians.They put their heads together, and contrived that the living face shouldbe in the canvas, surrounded by the accessories; these, of course, werepainted. Enter the actors, who played their little prearranged farce;and, when they had each given the picture a slap, the picture rose andlaughed in their faces, and discomfited them! By the by, the painterdid not stop there; he was not content with a short laugh, he laughed atthem five hundred years!"

  "Good gracious, Mrs. Woffington!"

  "He painted a picture of the whole thing; and as his work is immortal,ours an April snow-flake, he has got tremendously the better of thoserash little satirists. Well, Trip, what is sauce for the gander is saucefor the goose; so give me the sharpest knife in the house."

  Triplet gave her a knife, and looked confused, while she cut away theface of the picture, and by dint of scraping, cutting, and measuring,got her face two parts through the canvas. She then made him take hisbrush and paint all round her face, so that the transition might not betoo abrupt. Several yards of green baize were also produced. This was tobe disposed behind the easel, so as to conceal her.

  Triplet painted here, and touched and retouched there. While thusoccupied, he said, in his calm, resigned way: "It won't do, madam. Isuppose you know that?"

  "I know nothing," was the reply: "life is a guess. I don't think wecould deceive Roxalana and Lucy this way, because their eyes arewithout colored spectacles; but, when people have once begun to see byprejudices and judge by jargon what can't be done with them? Who knows?do you? I don't; so let us try."

  "I beg your pardon, madam; my brush touched your face."

  "No offense, sir; I am used to that. And I beg, if you can't tone therest of the picture up to me, that you will instantly tone me down tothe rest. Let us be in tune, whatever it costs, sir."

  "I will avail myself of the privilege, madam, but sparingly. Failure,which is certain, madam, will cover us with disgrace."

  "Nothing is certain in this life, sir, except that you are a goose.It succeeded in France; and England can match all Europe for fools.Besides, it will be well done. They say Davy Garrick can turn his eyesinto bottled gooseberries. Well, Peg Woffington will turn hers intoblack currants. Haven't you done? I wonder they have not come. Makehaste!"

  "They will know by its beauty I never did it."

  "That is a sensible remark, Trip. But I think they will rather arguebackward; that, as you did it, it cannot be beautiful, and so cannot beme. Your reputation will be our shield."

  "Well, madam, now you mention it, they are like enough to take thatground. They despise all I do; if they did not--"

  "You would despise them."

  At this moment the pair were startled by the sound of a coach. Tripletturned as pale as ashes. Mrs. Woffington had her misgivings;
but, notchoosing to increase the difficulty, she would not let Triplet, whoseself-possession she doubted, see any sign of emotion in her.

  "Lock the door," said she, firmly, "and don't be silly. Now hold up mygreen baize petticoat, and let me be in a half-light. Now put that tableand those chairs before me, so that they can't come right up to me; and,Triplet, don't let them come within six yards, if you can help it. Sayit is unfinished, and so must be seen from a focus."

  "A focus! I don't know what you mean."

  "No more do I; no more will they, perhaps; and if they don't they willswallow it directly. Unlock the door. Are they coming?"

  "They are only at the first stair."

  "Mr. Triplet, your face is a book, where one may read strange matters.For Heaven's sake, compose yourself. Let all the risk lie in onecountenance. Look at me, sir. Make your face like the Book of Daniel ina Jew's back parlor. Volto Sciolto is your cue."

  "Madam, madam, how your tongue goes! I hear them on the stairs. Praydon't speak!"

  "Do you know what we are going to do?" continued the tormenting Peggy."We are going to weigh goose's feathers! to criticise criticism, Trip--"

  "Hush! hush!"

  A grampus was heard outside the door, and Triplet opened it. There wasQuin leading the band.

  "Have a care, sir," cried Triplet; "there is a hiatus the third stepfrom the door."

  "A _gradus ad Parnassum_ a wanting," said Mr. Cibber.

  Triplet's heart sank. The hole had been there six months, and he hadfound nothing witty to say about it, and at first sight Mr. Cibber haddone its business. And on such men he and his portrait were to attempta preposterous delusion. Then there was Snarl, who wrote critiques onpainting, and guided the national taste. The unlucky exhibitor was in acold sweat. He led the way, like a thief going to the gallows.

  "The picture being unfinished, gentlemen," said he, "must, if you woulddo me justice, be seen from a--a focus; must be judged from here, Imean."

  "Where, sir?" said Mr. Cibber.

  "About here, sir, if you please," said poor Triplet faintly.

  "It looks like a finished picture from here," said Mrs. Clive.

  "Yes, madam," groaned Triplet.

  They all took up a position, and Triplet timidly raised his eyes alongwith the rest. He was a little surprised. The actress had flattenedher face! She had done all that could be done, and more than he hadconceived possible, in the way of extracting life and the atmosphere ofexpression from her countenance. She was "dead still!"

  There was a pause. Triplet fluttered. At last some of them spoke asfollows:

  _Soaper._ "Ah!"

  _Quin._ "Ho!"

  _Clive._ "Eh!"

  _Cibber._ "Humph!"

  These interjections are small on paper, but as the good creaturesuttered them they were eloquent; there was a cheerful variety ofdispraise skillfully thrown into each of them.

  "Well," continued Soaper, with his everlasting smile.

  Then the fun began.

  "May I be permitted to ask whose portrait this is?" said Mr. Cibberslyly.

  "I distinctly told you, it was to be Peg Woffington's," said Mrs. Clive."I think you might take my word."

  "Do you act as truly as you paint?" said Quin.

  "Your fame runs no risk from me, sir!" replied Triplet.

  "It is not like Peggy's beauty! Eh?" rejoined Quin.

  "I can't agree with you," cried Kitty Clive. "I think it a very prettyface; and not at all like Peg Woffington's."

  "Compare paint with paint," said Quin. "Are you sure you ever saw downto Peggy's real face?"

  Triplet had seen with alarm that Mr. Snarl spoke not; many satiricalexpressions crossed his face, but he said nothing. Triplet gathered fromthis that he had at once detected the trick. "Ah!" thought Triplet, "hemeans to quiz them, as well as expose me. He is hanging back; and, inpoint of fact, a mighty satirist like Snarl would naturally choose toquiz six people rather than two."

  "Now I call it beautiful!" said the traitor Soaper. "So calm andreposeful; no particular expression."

  "None whatever," said Snarl.

  "Gentlemen," said Triplet, "does it never occur to you that the finearts are tender violets, and cannot blow when the north winds--"

  "Blow!" inserted Quin.

  "Are so cursed cutting?" continued Triplet.

  "My good sir, I am never cutting!" smirked Soaper. "My dear Snarl,"whined he, "give us the benefit of your practiced judgment. Do justiceto this ad-mirable work of art," drawled the traitor.

  "I will!" said Mr. Snarl; and placed himself before the picture.

  "What on earth will he say?" thought Triplet. "I can see by his face hehas found us out."

  Mr. Snarl delivered a short critique. Mr. Snarl's intelligence wasnot confined to his phrases; all critics use intelligent phrases andphilosophical truths. But this gentleman's manner was very intelligent;it was pleasant, quiet, assured, and very convincing. Had the reader orI been there, he would have carried us with him, as he did his hearers;and as his successors carry the public with them now.

  "Your brush is by no means destitute of talent, Mr. Triplet," saidMr. Snarl. "But you are somewhat deficient, at present, in the greatprinciples of your art; the first of which is a loyal adherence totruth. Beauty itself is but one of the forms of truth, and nature is ourfinite exponent of infinite truth."

  His auditors gave him a marked attention. They could not but acknowledgethat men who go to the bottom of things like this should be the bestinstructors.

  "Now, in nature, a woman's face at this distance--ay, even at this shortdistance--melts into the air. There is none of that sharpness; but, onthe contrary, a softness of outline." He made a lorgnette of his twohands; the others did so too, and found they saw much better--oh, everso much better! "Whereas yours," resumed Snarl, "is hard; and, forgiveme, rather tea-board like. Then your _chiaro scuro,_ my good sir, isvery defective; for instance, in nature, the nose, intercepting thelight on one side the face, throws, of necessity, a shadow under theeye. Caravaggio, Venetians generally, and the Bolognese masters, doparticular justice to this. No such shade appears in this portrait."

  "'Tis so, stop my vitals!" observed Colley Cibber. And they all looked,and, having looked, wagged their heads in assent--as the fat, whitelords at Christie's waggle fifty pounds more out for a copy ofRembrandt, a brown levitical Dutchman, visible in the pitch-dark by somesleight of sun Newton had not wit to discover.

  Soaper dissented from the mass.

  "But, my dear Snarl, if there are no shades, there are lights, loads oflights."

  "There are," replied Snarl; "only they are impossible, that is all.You have, however," concluded he, with a manner slightly supercilious,"succeeded in the mechanical parts; the hair and the dress are well, Mr.Triplet; but your Woffington is not a woman, not nature."

  They all nodded and waggled assent; but this sagacious motion wasarrested as by an earthquake.

  The picture rang out, in the voice of a clarion, an answer that outlivedthe speaker: "She's a woman! for she has taken four men in! She'snature! for a fluent dunce doesn't know her when he sees her!"

  Imagine the tableau! It was charming! Such opening of eyes and mouths!Cibber fell by second nature into an attitude of the old comedy. And allwere rooted where they stood, with surprise and incipient mortification,except Quin, who slapped his knee, and took the trick at its value.

  Peg Woffington slipped out of the green baize, and, coming round fromthe back of the late picture, stood in person before them; while theylooked alternately at her and at the hole in the canvas. She then cameat each of them in turn, _more dramatico._

  "A pretty face, and not like Woffington. I owe you two, Kate Clive."

  "Who ever saw Peggy's real face? Look at it now if you can withoutblushing, Mr. Quin."

  Quin, a good-humored fellow, took the wisest view of his predicament,and burst into a hearty laugh.

  "For all this," said Mr. Snarl, peevishly, "I maintain, upon theunalterable principles of art--" At
this they all burst into a roar,not sorry to shift the ridicule. "Goths!" cried Snarl, fiercely."Good-morning, ladies and gentlemen," cried Mr. Snarl, _avec intention,_"I have a criticism to write of last night's performance." The laughdied away to a quaver. "I shall sit on your pictures one day, Mr.Brush."

  "Don't sit on them with your head downward, or you'll addle them," saidMr. Brush, fiercely. This was the first time Triplet had ever answereda foe. Mrs. Woffington gave him an eloquent glance of encouragement. Henodded his head in infantine exultation at what he had done.

  "Come, Soaper," said Mr. Snarl.

  Mr. Soaper lingered one moment to say: "You shall always have my goodword, Mr. Triplet."

  "I will try--and not deserve it, Mr. Soaper," was the prompt reply.

  "Serve 'em right," said Mr. Cibber, as soon as the door had closed uponthem; "for a couple of serpents, or rather one boa-constrictor. Soaperslavers, for Snarl to crush. But we were all a little too hard onTriplet here; and, if he will accept my apology--"

  "Why, sir," said Triplet, half trembling, but driven on by looks fromMrs. Woffington, "'Cibber's Apology' is found to be a trifle wearisome."

  "Confound his impertinence!" cried the astounded laureate. "Come along,Jemmy."

  "Oh, sir," said Quin, good-humoredly, "we must give a joke and take ajoke. And when he paints my portrait--which he shall do--"

  "The bear from Hockley Hole shall sit for the head!"

  "Curse his impudence!" roared Quin. "I'm at your service, Mr. Cibber,"added he, in huge dudgeon.

  Away went the two old boys.

  "Mighty well!" said waspish Mrs. Clive. "I did intend you should havepainted Mrs. Clive. But after this impertinence--"

  "You will continue to do it yourself, ma'am!"

  This was Triplet's hour of triumph. His exultation was undignified,and such as is said to precede a fall. He inquired gravely of Mrs.Woffington, whether he had or had not shown a spirit. Whether he had orhad not fired into each a parting shot, as they sheered off. To repairwhich, it might be advisable for them to put into friendly ports.

  "Tremendous!" was the reply. "And when Snarl and Soaper sit on your nextplay, they won't forget the lesson you have given them."

  "I'll be sworn they won't!" chuckled Triplet. But, reconsidering herwords, he looked blank, and muttered: "Then perhaps it would have beenmore prudent to let them alone!"

  "Incalculably more prudent!" was the reply.

  "Then why did you set me on, madam?" said Triplet, reproachfully.

  "Because I wanted amusement, and my head ached," was the cool answer,somewhat languidly given.

  "I defy the coxcombs!" cried Triplet, with reviving spirit. "But realcriticism I respect, honor, and bow to. Such as yours, madam; or such asthat sweet lady's at Mr. Vane's would have been; or, in fact, anybody'swho appreciates me. Oh, madam, I wanted to ask you, was it not strangeyour not being at Mr. Vane's, after all, to-day?"

  "I was at Mr. Vane's, Triplet."

  "You were? Why, I came with my verses, and she said you were not there!I will go fetch the verses."

  "No, no! Who said I was not there?"

  "Did I not tell you? The charming young lady who helped me with her ownhand to everything on the table. What wine that gentleman possesses!"

  "Was it a young lady, Triplet?"

  "Not more than two-and-twenty, I should say.

  "In a traveling-dress?"

  "I could not see her dress, madam, for her beauty--brown hair, blueeyes, charming in conversation--"

  "Ah! What did she tell you?"

  "She told me, madam--Ahem!"

  "Well, what did you tell her? And what did she answer?"

  "I told her that I came with verses for you, ordered by Mr. Vane. Thathe admired you. I descanted, madam, on your virtues, which had made himyour slave."

  "Go on," said Mrs. Woffington, encouraging him with a deceitful smile."Tell me all you told her."

  "That you were sitting to me for your portrait, the destination of whichwas not doubtful. That I lived at 10, Hercules Buildings."

  "You told that lady all this?"

  "I give my honor. She was so kind, I opened my heart to her. But tellme now, madam," said Triplet, joyously dancing round the Woffingtonvolcano, "do you know this charming lady?"

  "Yes."

  "I congratulate you, madam. An acquaintance worthy even of you; andthere are not many such. Who is she, madam?" continued Triplet, livelywith curiosity.

  "Mrs. Vane," was the quiet, grim answer.

  "Mrs. Vane? His mother? No--am I mad? His sister! Oh, I see, his--"

  "His wife!"

  "His wife! Why, then, Mr. Vane's married?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, look there!--Oh, look here now! Well, but, good Heavens! she wasn'tto know you were there, perhaps?"

  "No."

  "But then I let the cat out of the bag?"

  "Yes."

  "But, good gracious! there will be some serious mischief!"

  "No doubt of it."

  "And it is all my fault?"

  "Yes."

  "I've played the deuce with their married happiness?"

  "Probably."

  "And ten to one if you are not incensed against me too?"

  Mrs. Woffington replied by looking him in the face, and turning her backupon him. She walked hastily to the window, threw it open, and lookedout of it, leaving poor Triplet to very unpleasant reflections. She wasso angry with him she dared not trust herself to speak.

  "Just my luck," thought he. "I had a patron and a benefactress; I havebetrayed them both." Suddenly an idea struck him. "Madam," said he,timorously, "see what these fine gentlemen are! What business had he,with a wife at home, to come and fall in love with you? I do it foreverin my plays--I am obliged--they would be so dull else; but in _real_life to do it is abominable."

  "You forget, sir," replied Mrs. Woffington, without moving, "that Iam an actress--a plaything for the impertinence of puppies and thetreachery of hypocrites. Fool! to think there was an honest man in theworld, and that he had shone on me!"

  With these words she turned, and Triplet was shocked to see the changein her face. She was pale, and her black, lowering brows were gloomy andterrible. She walked like a tigress to and fro, and Triplet dared notspeak to her. Indeed she seemed but half conscious of his presence. Hewent for nobody with her. How little we know the people we eat and go tochurch and flirt with! Triplet had imagined this creature an incarnationof gayety, a sportive being, the daughter of smiles, the bride of mirth;needed but a look at her now to see that her heart was a volcano, herbosom a boiling gulf of fiery lava. She walked like some wild creature;she flung her hands up to heaven with a passionate despair, beforewhich the feeble spirit of her companion shrank and cowered; and, withquivering lips and blazing eyes, she burst into a torrent of passionatebitterness.

  "But who is Margaret Woffington," she cried, "that she should pretendto honest love, or feel insulted by the proffer of a stolen regard? Andwhat have we to do with homes, or hearts, or firesides? Have we not theplayhouse, its paste diamonds, its paste feelings, and the loud applauseof fops and sots--hearts?--beneath loads of tinsel and paint? Nonsense!The love that can go with souls to heaven--such love for us? Nonsense!These men applaud us, cajole us, swear to us, flatter us; and yet,forsooth, we would have them respect us too."

  "My dear benefactress," said Triplet, "they are not worthy of you."

  "I thought this man was not all dross; from the first I never felt hispassion an insult. Oh, Triplet! I could have loved this man--reallyloved him! and I longed so to be good. Oh, God! oh, God!"

  "Thank Heaven, you don't love him!" cried Triplet, hastily. "ThankHeaven for that!"

  "Love him? Love a man who comes to me with a silly second-hand affectionfrom his insipid baby-face, and offers me half, or two-thirds, or athird of his worthless heart? I hate him! and her! and all the world!"

  "That is what I call a very proper feeling," said poor Triplet, with aweak attempt to soothe her. "Then break wi
th him at once, and all willbe well."

  "Break with him? Are you mad? No! Since he plays with the tools of mytrade I shall fool him worse than he has me. I will feed his passionfull, tempt him, torture him, play with him, as the angler plays a fishupon his hook. And, when his very life depends on me, then by degreeshe shall see me cool, and cool, and freeze into bitter aversion. Then heshall rue the hour he fought with the Devil against my soul, and playedfalse with a brain and heart like mine!"

  "But his poor wife? You will have pity on her?"

  "His wife! Are wives' hearts the only hearts that throb, and burn, andbreak? His wife must defend herself. It is not from me that mercy cancome to her, nor from her to me. I loathe her, and I shall not forgetthat you took her part. Only, if you are her friend, take my advice,don't you assist her. I shall defeat her without that. Let her fight_her_ battle, and _I_ mine.

  "Ah, madam! she cannot fight; she is a dove."

  "You are a fool! What do you know about women? You were with her fiveminutes, and she turned you inside out. My life on it, while I have beenfooling my time here, she is in the field, with all the arts of our sex,simplicity at the head of them."

  Triplet was making a futile endeavor to convert her to his view of herrival, when a knock suddenly came to his door. A slovenly girl, one ofhis own neighbors, brought him a bit of paper, with a line written inpencil.

  "'Tis from a lady, who waits below," said the girl.

  Mrs. Woffington went again to the window, and there she saw getting outof a coach, and attended by James Burdock, Mabel Vane, who had sent upher name on the back of an old letter.

  "What shall I do?" said Triplet, as soon as he recovered the firststunning effects of this _contretemps._ To his astonishment, Mrs.Woffington bade the girl show the lady upstairs. The girl went down onthis errand.

  "But _you_ are here," remonstrated Triplet. "Oh, to be sure, you cango into the other room. There is plenty of time to avoid her," saidTriplet, in a very natural tremor. "This way, madam!"

  Mrs. Woffington stood in the middle of the room like a statue.

  "What does she come here for?" said she, sternly. "You have not told meall."

  "I don't know," cried poor Triplet, in dismay; "and I think the Devilbrings her here to confound me. For Heaven's sake, retire! What willbecome of us all? There will be murder, I know there will!"

  To his horror, Mrs. Woffington would not move. "You are on her side,"said she slowly, with a concentration of spite and suspicion. She lookedfrightful at this moment. "All the better for me," added she, with aworld of female malignity.

  Triplet could not make head against this blow; he gasped, and pointedpiteously to the inner door. "No; I will know two things: the course shemeans to take, and the terms you two are upon."

  By this time Mrs. Vane's light foot was heard on the stair, and Tripletsank into a chair. "They will tear one another to pieces," said he.

  A tap came to the door.

  He looked fearfully round for the woman whom jealousy had so speedilyturned from an angel to a fiend; and saw with dismay that she hadactually had the hardihood to slip round and enter the picture again.She had not quite arranged herself when her rival knocked.

  Triplet dragged himself to the door. Before he opened it, he lookedfearfully over his shoulder, and received a glance of cool, bitter,deadly hostility, that boded ill both for him and his visitor. Triplet'sapprehensions were not unreasonable. His benefactress and this sweetlady were rivals!

  Jealousy is a dreadful passion, it makes us tigers. The jealous alwaysthirst for blood. At any moment when reason is a little weaker thanusual, they are ready to kill the thing they hate, or the thing theylove.

  Any open collision between these ladies would scatter ill consequencesall round. Under such circumstances, we are pretty sure to say or dosomething wicked, silly, or unreasonable. But what tortured Tripletmore than anything was his own particular notion that fate doomed himto witness a formal encounter between these two women, and of coursean encounter of such a nature as we in our day illustrate by "Kilkennycats."

  To be sure Mrs. Vane had appeared a dove, but doves can peck on certainoccasions, and no doubt she had a spirit at bottom. Her coming tohim proved it. And had not the other been a dove all the morning andafternoon? Yet, jealousy had turned her to a fiend before his eyes. Thenif (which was not probable) no collision took place, what a situationwas his! Mrs. Woffington (his buckler from starvation) suspected him,and would distort every word that came from Mrs. Vane's lips.

  Triplet's situation was, in fact, that of AEneas in the storm.

  "Olim et haec meminisse juvabit--" "But, while present, such thingsdon't please any one a bit."

  It was the sort of situation we can laugh at, and see the fun of it sixmonths after, if not shipwrecked on it at the time.

  With a ghastly smile the poor quaking hypocrite welcomed Mrs. Vane, andprofessed a world of innocent delight that she had so honored his humbleroof.

  She interrupted his compliments, and begged him to see whether she wasfollowed by a gentleman in a cloak.

  Triplet looked out of the window.

  "Sir Charles Pomander!" gasped he.

  Sir Charles was at the very door. If, however, he had intended to mountthe stairs he changed his mind, for he suddenly went off round thecorner with a businesslike air, real or fictitious.

  "He is gone, madam," said Triplet.

  Mrs. Vane, the better to escape detection or observation, wore athick mantle and a hood that concealed her features. Of these Tripletdebarrassed her.

  "Sit down, madam;" and he hastily drew a chair so that her back was tothe picture.

  She was pale, and trembled a little. She hid her face in her hands amoment, then, recovering her courage, "she begged Mr. Triplet to pardonher for coming to him. He had inspired her with confidence," she said;"he had offered her his services, and so she had come to him, for shehad no other friend to aid her in her sore distress." She might haveadded, that with the tact of her sex she had read Triplet to the bottom,and came to him, as she would to a benevolent, muscular old woman.

  Triplet's natural impulse was to repeat most warmly his offers ofservice. He did so; and then, conscious of the picture, had a misgiving.

  "Dear Mr. Triplet," began Mrs. Vane, "you know this person, Mrs.Woffington?"

  "Yes, madam," replied Triplet, lowering his eyes, "I am honored by heracquaintance."

  "You will take me to the theater where she acts?"

  "Yes, madam; to the boxes, I presume?"

  "No! oh, no! How could I bear that? To the place where the actors andactresses are."

  Triplet demurred. This would be courting that very collision, the dreadof which even now oppressed him.

  At the first faint sign of resistance she began to supplicate him, as ifhe was some great, stern tyrant.

  "Oh, you must not, you cannot refuse me. You do not know what I riskto obtain this. I have risen from my bed to come to you. I have a firehere!" She pressed her hand to her brow. "Oh, take me to her!"

  "Madam, I will do anything for you. But be advised; trust to myknowledge of human nature. What you require is madness. GraciousHeavens! you two are rivals, and when rivals meet there's murder ordeadly mischief."

  "Ah! if you knew my sorrow, you would not thwart me. Oh, Mr. Triplet!little did I think you were as cruel as the rest." So then this cruelmonster whimpered out that he should do any folly she insisted upon."Good, kind Mr. Triplet!" said Mrs. Vane. "Let me look in your face?Yes, I see you are honest and true. I will tell you all." Then shepoured in his ear her simple tale, unadorned and touching as Judah'sspeech to Joseph. She told him how she loved her husband; how he hadloved her; how happy they were for the first six months; how her heartsank when he left her; how he had promised she should join him, and onthat hope she lived. "But for two months he had ceased to speak of this,and I grew heart-sick waiting for the summons that never came. At lastI felt I should die if I did not see him; so I plucked up courage andwrote that I must come to
him. He did not forbid me, so I left ourcountry home. Oh, sir! I cannot make you know how my heart burned to beby his side. I counted the hours of the journey; I counted the miles.At last I reached his house; I found a gay company there. I was a littlesorry, but I said: 'His friends shall be welcome, right welcome. He hasasked them to welcome his wife.'"

  "Poor thing!" muttered Triplet.

  "Oh, Mr. Triplet! they were there to do honor to ----, and the wifewas neither expected nor desired. There lay my letters with their sealsunbroken. I know all _his_ letters by heart, Mr. Triplet. The sealsunbroken--unbroken! Mr. Triplet."

  "It is abominable!" cried Triplet fiercely. "And she who sat in myseat--in his house, and in his heart--was this lady, the actress you sopraised to me?"

  "That lady, ma'am," said Triplet, "has been deceived as well as you."

  "I am convinced of it," said Mabel.

  "And it is my painful duty to tell you, madam, that, with all hertalents and sweetness, she has a fiery temper; yes, a very fierytemper," continued Triplet, stoutly, though with an uneasy glance ina certain direction; "and I have reason to believe she is angry, andthinks more of her own ill-usage than yours. Don't you go near her.Trust to my knowledge of the sex, madam; I am a dramatic writer. Did youever read the 'Rival Queens'?"

  "No."

  "I thought not. Well, madam, one stabs the other, and the one that isstabbed says things to the other that are more biting than steel. Theprudent course for you is to keep apart, and be always cheerful, andwelcome him with a smile--and--have you read 'The Way to keep him'?"

  "No, Mr. Triplet," said Mabel, firmly, "I cannot feign. Were I toattempt talent and deceit, I should be weaker than I am now. Honesty andright are all my strength. I will cry to her for justice and mercy. Andif I cry in vain, I shall die, Mr. Triplet, that is all."

  "Don't cry, dear lady," said Triplet, in a broken voice.

  "It is impossible!" cried she, suddenly. "I am not learned, but I canread faces. I always could, and so could my Aunt Deborah before me. Iread you right, Mr. Triplet, and I have read her too. Did not my heartwarm to her among them all? There is a heart at the bottom of all heracting, and that heart is good and noble."

  "She is, madam! she is! and charitable too. I know a family she savedfrom starvation and despair. Oh, yes! she has a heart--to feel for the_poor,_ at all events."

  "And am I not the poorest of the poor?" cried Mrs. Vane. "I haveno father nor mother, Mr. Triplet; my husband is all I have in theworld--all I _had,_ I mean."

  Triplet, deeply affected himself, stole a look at Mrs. Woffington. Shewas pale; but her face was composed into a sort of dogged obstinacy.He was disgusted with her. "Madam," said he, sternly, "there is a wildbeast more cruel and savage than wolves and bears; it is called 'arival,' and don't you get in its way."

  At this moment, in spite of Triplet's precaution, Mrs. Vane, castingher eye accidentally round, caught sight of the picture, and instantlystarted up, crying, "She is there!" Triplet was thunderstruck. "Whatlikeness!" cried she, and moved toward the supposed picture.

  "Don't go to it!" cried Triplet, aghast; "the color is wet."

  She stopped; but her eye and her very soul dwelt upon the supposedpicture; and Triplet stood quaking. "How like! It seems to breathe. Youare a great painter, sir. A glass is not truer."

  Triplet, hardly knowing what he said, muttered something about "criticsand lights and shades."

  "Then they are blind!" cried Mabel, never for a moment removing her eyefrom the object. "Tell me not of lights and shades. The pictures I seehave a look of paint; but yours looks like life. Oh, that she were here,as this _wonderful_ image of hers is. I would speak to her. I am notwise or learned; but orators never pleaded as I would plead to herfor my Ernest's heart." Still her eye glanced upon the picture; and Isuppose her heart realized an actual presence, though her judgment didnot; for by some irresistible impulse she sank slowly down and stretchedher clasped hands toward it, while sobs and words seemed to break directfrom her bursting heart. "Oh, yes! you are beautiful, you are gifted,and the eyes of thousands wait upon your very word and look. What wonderthat he, ardent, refined, and genial, should lay his heart at your feet?And I have nothing but my love to make him love me. I cannot take himfrom you. Oh, be generous to the weak! Oh, give him back to me! What isone heart more to you? You are so rich, and I am so poor, that withouthis love I have nothing, and can do nothing but sit me down and cry tillmy heart breaks. Give him back to me, beautiful, terrible woman! for,with all your gifts, you cannot love him as his poor Mabel does; and Iwill love you longer perhaps than men can love. I will kiss your feet,and Heaven above will bless you; and I will bless you and pray for youto my dying day. Ah! it is alive! I am frightened! I am frightened!" Sheran to Triplet and seized his arm. "No!" cried she, quivering close tohim; "I'm not frightened, for it was for me she--Oh, Mrs. Woffington!"and, hiding her face on Mr. Triplet's shoulder, she blushed, and wept,and trembled.

  What was it had betrayed Mrs. Woffington? _A tear!_

  During the whole of this interview (which had taken a turn so unlookedfor by the listener) she might have said with Beatrice, "What fire is inmine ears?" and what self-reproach and chill misgiving in her heart too.She had passed through a hundred emotions, as the young innocent wifetold her sad and simple story. But, anxious now above all things toescape without being recognized--for she had long repented havinglistened at all, or placed herself in her present position--she fiercelymastered her countenance; but, though she ruled her features, she couldnot rule her heart. And when the young wife, instead of inveighingagainst her, came to her as a supplicant, with faith in her goodness,and sobbed to her for pity, a big tear rolled down her cheek, and provedher something more than a picture or an actress.

  Mrs. Vane, as we have related, screamed and ran to Triplet.

  Mrs. Woffington came instantly from her frame, and stood before them ina despairing attitude, with one hand upon her brow. For a single momenther impulse was to fly from the apartment, so ashamed was she of havinglistened, and of meeting her rival in this way; but she conqueredthis feeling, and, as soon as she saw Mrs. Vane too had recovered somecomposure, she said to Triplet, in a low but firm voice:

  "Leave us, sir. No living creature must hear what I say to this lady!"

  Triplet remonstrated, but Mrs. Vane said, faintly:

  "Oh, yes, good Mr. Triplet, I would rather you left me."

  Triplet, full of misgivings, was obliged to retire.

  "Be composed, ladies," said he piteously. "Neither of you could helpit;" and so he entered his inner room, where he sat and listenednervously, for he could not shake off all apprehension of a personalencounter.

  In the room he had left there was a long, uneasy silence. Both ladieswere greatly embarrassed. It was the actress who spoke first. All traceof emotion, except a certain pallor, was driven from her face. She spokewith very marked courtesy, but in tones that seemed to freeze as theydropped one by one from her mouth.

  "I trust, madam, you will do me the justice to believe I did not knowMr. Vane was married?"

  "I am sure of it!" said Mabel, warmly. "I feel you are as good as youare gifted."

  "Mrs. Vane, I am not!" said the other, almost sternly. "You aredeceived!"

  "Then Heaven have mercy on me! No! I am not deceived, you pitied me. Youspeak coldly now; but I know your face and your heart--you pity me!"

  "I do respect, admire, and pity you," said Mrs. Woffington, sadly; "andI could consent nevermore to communicate with your--with Mr. Vane."

  "Ah!" cried Mabel; "Heaven will bless you! But will you give me back hisheart?"

  "How can I do that?" said Mrs. Woffington, uneasily; she had notbargained for this.

  "The magnet can repel as well as attract. Can you not break your ownspell? What will his presence be to me, if his heart remain behind?"

  "You ask much of me."

  "Alas! I do."

  "But I could do even this." She paused for breath. "And perhaps if you,who have not only touched
my heart, but won my respect, were to sayto me, 'Do so,' I should do it." Again she paused, and spoke withdifficulty; for the bitter struggle took away her breath. "Mr. Vanethinks better of me than I deserve. I have--only--to make him believeme--worthless--worse than I am--and he will drop me like an adder--andlove you better, far better--for having known--admired--and despisedMargaret Woffington."

  "Oh!" cried Mabel, "I shall bless you every hour of my life."Her countenance brightened into rapture at the picture, and Mrs.Woffington's darkened with bitterness as she watched her.

  But Mabel reflected. "Rob you of your good name?" said this purecreature. "Ah, Mabel Vane! you think but of yourself."

  "I thank you, madam," said Mrs. Woffington, a little touched by thisunexpected trait; "but some one must suffer here, and--"

  Mabel Vane interrupted her. "This would be cruel and base," said shefirmly. "No woman's forehead shall be soiled by me. Oh, madam! beauty isadmired, talent is adored; but virtue is a woman's crown. With it, thepoor are rich; without it, the rich are poor. It walks through lifeupright, and never hides its head for high or low."

  Her face was as the face of an angel now; and the actress, conquered byher beauty and her goodness, actually bowed her head and gently kissedthe hand of the country wife whom she had quizzed a few hours ago.

  Frailty paid this homage to virtue!

  Mabel Vane hardly noticed it; her eye was lifted to heaven, and herheart was gone there for help in a sore struggle.

  "This would be to assassinate you; no less. And so, madam," she sighed,"with God's help, I do refuse your offer; choosing rather, if needs be,to live desolate, but innocent--many a better than I hath lived so--ay!if God wills it, to die, with my hopes and my heart crushed, but myhands unstained; for so my humble life has passed."

  How beautiful, great, and pure goodness is! It paints heaven on the facethat has it; it wakens the sleeping souls that meet it.

  At the bottom of Margaret Woffington's heart lay a soul, unknown to theworld, scarce known to herself--a heavenly harp, on which ill airs ofpassion had been played--but still it was there, in tune with all thatis true, pure, really great and good. And now the flush that a greatheart sends to the brow, to herald great actions, came to her cheek andbrow.

  "Humble!" she cried. "Such as you are the diamonds of our race. Youangel of truth and goodness, you have conquered!"

  "Oh, yes! yes! Thank God, yes!"

  "What a fiend I must be could I injure you! The poor heart we have bothoverrated shall be yours again, and yours for ever. In my hands itis painted glass; in the luster of a love like yours it may become apriceless jewel." She turned her head away and pondered a moment, thensuddenly offered to Mrs. Vane her hand with nobleness and majesty; "Canyou trust me?" The actress too was divinely beautiful now, for her goodangel shone through her.

  "I could trust you with my life!" was the reply.

  "Ah! if I might call you friend, dear lady, what would I notdo--suffer--resign--to be worthy that title!"

  "No, not friend!" cried the warm, innocent Mabel; "sister! I will callyou sister. I have no sister."

  "Sister!" said Mrs. Woffington. "Oh, do not mock me! Alas! you do notknow what you say. That sacred name to me, from lips so pure as yours.Mrs. Vane," said she, timidly, "would you think me presumptuous if Ibegged you to--to let me kiss you?"

  The words were scarce spoken before Mrs. Vane's arms were wreathed roundher neck, and that innocent cheek laid sweetly to hers.

  Mrs. Woffington strained her to her bosom, and two great hearts, whosegrandeur the world, worshiper of charlatans, never discovered, had foundeach other out and beat against each other. A great heart is as quick tofind another out as the world is slow.

  Mrs. Woffington burst into a passion of tears and clasped Mabel tighterand tighter in a half-despairing way. Mabel mistook the cause, but shekissed her tears away.

  "Dear sister," said she, "be comforted. I love you. My heart warmedto you the first moment I saw you. A woman's love and gratitude aresomething. Ah! you will never find me change. This is for life, lookyou."

  "God grant it!" cried the other poor woman. "Oh, it is not that, it isnot that; it is because I am so little worthy of this. It is a sin todeceive you. I am not good like you. You do not know me!"

  "You do not know yourself if you say so!" cried Mabel; and to her hearerthe words seemed to come from heaven. "I read faces," said Mabel. "Iread yours at sight, and you are what I set you down; and nobody mustbreathe a word against you, not even yourself. Do you think I am blind?You are beautiful, you are good, you are my sister, and I love you!"

  "Heaven forgive me!" thought the other. "How can I resign this angel'sgood opinion? Surely Heaven sends this blessed dew to my parched heart!"And now she burned to make good her promise and earn this virtuouswife's love. She folded her once more in her arms, and then, taking herby the hand, led her tenderly into Triplet's inner room. She made herlie down on the bed, and placed pillows high for her like a mother, andleaned over her as she lay, and pressed her lips gently to her forehead.Her fertile brain had already digested a plan, but she had resolved thatthis pure and candid soul should take no lessons of deceit. "Lie there,"said she, "till I open the door: then join us. Do you know what I amgoing to do? I am not going to restore you your husband's heart, butto show you it never really left you. You read faces; well, I readcircumstances. Matters are not as you thought," said she, with all awoman's tact. "I cannot explain, but you will see." She then gave Mrs.Triplet peremptory orders not to let her charge rise from the bed untilthe preconcerted signal.

  Mrs. Vane was, in fact, so exhausted by all she had gone throughthat she was in no condition to resist. She cast a look of childlikeconfidence upon her rival, and then closed her eyes, and tried not totremble all over and listen like a frightened hare.

  *****

  It is one great characteristic of genius to do great things with littlethings. Paxton could see that so small a matter as a greenhouse could bedilated into a crystal palace, and with two common materials--glassand iron--he raised the palace of the genii; the brightest idea and thenoblest ornament added to Europe in this century--the koh-i-noor of thewest. Livy's definition of Archimedes goes on the same ground.

  *****

  Peg Woffington was a genius in her way. On entering Triplet's studio hereye fell upon three trifles--Mrs. Vane's hood and mantle, the back ofan old letter, and Mr. Triplet. (It will be seen how she worked theseslight materials.) On the letter was written in pencil simply these twowords, "Mabel Vane." Mrs. Woffington wrote above these words two more,"Alone and unprotected." She put this into Mr. Triplet's hand, and badehim take it down stairs and give it Sir Charles Pomander, whose retreat,she knew, must have been fictitious. "You will find him round thecorner," said she, "or in some shop that looks this way." While utteringthese words she had put on Mrs. Vane's hood and mantle.

  No answer was returned, and no Triplet went out of the door.

  She turned, and there he was kneeling on both knees close under her.

  "Bid me jump out of that window, madam; bid me kill those two gentlemen,and I will not rebel. You are a great lady, a talented lady; you havebeen insulted, and no doubt blood will flow. It ought--it is your due;but that innocent lady, do not compromise her!"

  "Oh, Mr. Triplet, you need not kneel to me. I do not wish to force youto render me a service. I have no right to dictate to you."

  "Oh, dear!" cried Triplet, "don't talk in that way. I owe you my life,but I think of your own peace of mind, for you are not one to be happyif you injure the innocent!" He rose suddenly, and cried: "Madam,promise me not to stir till I come back!"

  "Where are you going?"

  "To bring the husband to his wife's feet, and so save one angel fromdespair, and another angel from a great crime."

  "Well, I suppose you are wiser than I," said she. "But, if you are inearnest, you had better be quick, for somehow I am rather changeableabout these people."

  "You can't help that, madam, it is your sex; you a
re an angel. May Ibe permitted to kiss your hand? you are all goodness and gentleness atbottom. I fly to Mr. Vane, and we will be back before you have time torepent, and give the Devil the upper hand again, my dear, good, sweetlady!"

  Away flew Triplet, all unconscious that he was not Mrs. Woffington'sopponent, but puppet. He ran, he tore, animated by a good action, andspurred by the notion that he was in direct competition with the fiendfor the possession of his benefactress. He had no sooner turned thecorner than Mrs. Woffington, looking out of the window, observed SirCharles Pomander on the watch, as she had expected. She remained atthe window with Mrs. Vane's hood on, until Sir Charles's eye in itswanderings lighted on her, and then, dropping Mrs. Vane's letter fromthe window, she hastily withdrew.

  Sir Charles eagerly picked it up. His eye brightened when he read theshort contents. With a self-satisfied smile he mounted the stair.He found in Triplet's house a lady who seemed startled at her latehardihood. She sat with her back to the door, her hood drawn tightlydown, and wore an air of trembling consciousness. Sir Charles smiledagain. He knew the sex, at least he said so. (It is an assertion oftenventured upon.) Accordingly Sir Charles determined to come down fromhis height, and court nature and innocence in their own tones. This herightly judged must be the proper course to take with Mrs. Vane. He felldown with mock ardor upon one knee.

  The supposed Mrs. Vane gave a little squeak.

  "Dear Mrs. Vane," cried he, "be not alarmed; loveliness neglected, andsimplicity deceived, insure respect as well as adoration. Ah!" (A sigh.)

  "Oh, get up, sir; do, please. Ah!" (A sigh.)

  "You sigh, sweetest of human creatures. Ah! why did not a nature likeyours fall into hands that would have cherished it as it deserves? HadHeaven bestowed on me this hand, which I take--"

  "Oh, please, sir--"

  "With the profoundest respect, would I have abandoned such a treasurefor an actress?--a Woffington! as artificial and hollow a jade as everwinked at a side box!"

  "Is she, sir?"

  "Notorious, madam. Your husband is the only man in London who does notsee through her. How different are you! Even I, who have no taste foractresses, found myself revived, refreshed, ameliorated by that engagingpicture of innocence and virtue you drew this morning; yourselfthe bright and central figure. Ah, dear angel! I remember all yourfavorites, and envy them their place in your recollections. Your Barbarymare--"

  "Hen, sir!

  "Of course I meant hen; and Gray Gillian, his old nurse--"

  "No, no, no! she is the mare, sir. He! he! he!"

  "So she is. And Dame--Dame--"

  "Best!"

  "Ah! I knew it. You see how I remember them all. And all carry me backto those innocent days which fleet too soon--days when an angel likeyou might have weaned me from the wicked pleasures of the town, to theplacid delights of a rural existence!"

  "Alas, sir!"

  "You sigh. It is not yet too late. I am a convert to you; I swear iton this white hand. Ah! how can I relinquish it, pretty flutteringprisoner?"

  "Oh, please--"

  "Stay a while."

  "No! please, sir--"

  "While I fetter thee with a worthy manacle." Sir Charles slipped adiamond ring of great value upon his pretty prisoner.

  "La, sir, how pretty!" cried innocence.

  Sir Charles then undertook to prove that the luster of the ring wasfaint, compared with that of the present wearer's eyes. This did notsuit innocence; she hung her head and fluttered, and showed a bashfulrepugnance to look her admirer in the face. Sir Charles playfullyinsisted, and Mrs. Woffington was beginning to be a little at a loss,when suddenly voices were heard upon the stairs.

  _"My husband!"_ cried the false Mrs. Vane, and in a moment she rose anddarted into Triplet's inner apartment.

  Mr. Vane and Mr. Triplet were talking earnestly as they came up thestair. It seems the wise Triplet had prepared a little dramatic scenefor his own refreshment, as well as for the ultimate benefit of allparties. He had persuaded Mr. Vane to accompany him by warm, mysteriouspromises of a happy _denouement;_ and now, having conducted thatgentleman as far as his door, he was heard to say:

  "And now, sir, you shall see one who waits to forget grief,suspicion--all, in your arms. Behold!" and here he flung the door open.

  "The devil!"

  "You flatter me!" said Pomander, who had had time to recover his_aplomb,_ somewhat shaken, at first, by Mr. Vane's inopportune arrival.

  Now it is to be observed that Mr. Vane had not long ago seen his wifelying on her bed, to all appearance incapable of motion.

  Mr. Vane, before Triplet could recover his surprise, inquired ofPomander why he had sent for him. "And what," added he, "is the grief,suspicion, I am, according to Mr. Triplet, to forget in your arms?"

  Mr. Vane added this last sentence in rather a testy manner.

  "Why, the fact is--" began Sir Charles, without the remotest idea ofwhat the fact was going to be.

  "That Sir Charles Pomander--" interrupted Triplet.

  "But Mr. Triplet is going to explain," said Sir Charles, keenly.

  "Nay, sir; be yours the pleasing duty. But, now I think of it," resumedTriplet, "why not tell the simple truth? it is not a play! She I broughtyou here to see was not Sir Charles Pomander; but--"

  "I forbid you to complete the name!" cried Pomander.

  "I command you to complete the name!" cried Vane.

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen! how can I do both?" remonstrated Triplet.

  "Enough, sir!" cried Pomander. "It is a lady's secret. I am the guardianof that lady's honor."

  "She has chosen a strange guardian of her honor!" said Vane bitterly.

  "Gentlemen!" cried poor Triplet, who did not at all like the turnthings were taking, "I give you my word, she does not even know of SirCharies's presence here!"

  "Who?" cried Vane, furiously. "Man alive! who are you speaking of?"

  "Mrs. Vane."

  "My wife!" cried Vane, trembling with anger and jealousy. "She here! andwith this man?"

  "No!" cried Triplet. "With me, with me! Not with him, of course."

  "Boaster!" cried Vane, contemptuously. "But that is a part of yourprofession!"

  Pomander, irritated, scornfully drew from his pocket the ladies' jointproduction, which had fallen at his feet from Mrs. Woffington's hand.He presented this to Mr. Vane, who took it very uneasily; a mist swambefore his eyes as he read the words: "Alone and unprotected--MabelVane." He had no sooner read these words, than he found he loved hiswife; when he tampered with his treasure, he did not calculate onanother seeking it.

  This was Pomander's hour of triumph! He proceeded coolly to explain toMr. Vane, that, Mrs. Woffington having deserted him for Mr. Vane,and Mr. Vane his wife for Mrs. Woffington, the bereaved parties had,according to custom, agreed to console each other.

  This soothing little speech was interrupted by Mr. Vane's sword flashingsuddenly out of its sheath; while that gentleman, white with rage andjealousy, bade him instantly take to his guard, or be run through thebody like some noxious animal.

  Sir Charles drew his sword, and, in spite of Triplet's weakinterference, half a dozen passes were rapidly exchanged, when suddenlythe door of the inner room opened, and a lady in a hood pronounced, ina voice which was an excellent imitation of Mrs. Vane's, the word,"False!"

  The combatants lowered their points.

  "You hear, sir!" cried Triplet.

  "You see, sir!" said Pomander.

  "Mabel!--wife!" cried Mr. Vane, in agony. "Oh, say this is not true! Oh,say that letter is a forgery! Say, at least, it was by some treacheryyou were lured to this den of iniquity! Oh, speak!"

  The lady silently beckoned to some person inside.

  "You know I loved you--you know how bitterly I repent the infatuationthat brought me to the feet of another!"

  The lady replied not, though Vane's soul appeared to hang upon heranswer. But she threw the door open and there appeared another lady,the real Mrs. Vane. Mrs. Woffington then threw off her hood, and,
toSir Charles Pomander's consternation, revealed the features of thatingenious person, who seemed born to outwit him.

  "You heard that fervent declaration, madam?" said she to Mrs. Vane. "Ipresent to you, madam, a gentleman who regrets that he mistook the realdirection of his feelings. And to you, sir," continued she, with greatdignity, "I present a lady who will never mistake either her feelings orher duty."

  "Ernest! dear Ernest!" cried Mrs. Vane, blushing as if she was theculprit. And she came forward all love and tenderness.

  Her truant husband kneeled at her feet of course. No! he said, rathersternly, "How came you here, Mabel?"

  "Mrs. Vane," said the actress, "fancied you had mislaid thatweathercock, your heart, in Covent Garden, and that an actress had seenin it a fit companion for her own, and had feloniously appropriated it.She came to me to inquire after it."

  "But this letter, signed by you?" said Vane, still addressing Mabel.

  "Was written by me on a paper which accidentally contained Mrs. Vane'sname. The fact is, Mr. Vane--I can hardly look you in the face--I had alittle wager with Sir Charles here; his diamond ring--which you maysee has become my diamond ring"--a horrible wry face from SirCharles--"against my left glove that I could bewitch a countrygentleman's imagination, and make him think me an angel. Unfortunatelythe owner of his heart appeared, and, like poor Mr. Vane, took our playfor earnest. It became necessary to disabuse her and to open your eyes.Have I done so?"

  "You have, madam," said Vane, wincing at each word she said. But atlast, by a mighty effort, he mastered himself, and, coming to Mrs.Woffington with a quivering lip, he held out his hand suddenly in avery manly way. "I have been the dupe of my own vanity," said he, "andI thank you for this lesson." Poor Mrs. Woffington's fortitude hadwell-nigh left her at this.

  "Mabel," he cried, "is this humiliation any punishment for my folly? anyguaranty for my repentance? Can you forgive me?"

  "It is all forgiven, Ernest. But, oh, you are mistaken." She glided toMrs. Woffington. "What do we not owe you, sister?" whispered she.

  "Nothing! that word pays all," was the reply. She then slipped heraddress into Mrs. Vane's hand, and, courtesying to all the company, shehastily left the room.

  Sir Charles Pomander followed; but he was not quick enough. She got astart, and purposely avoided him, and for three days neither the publicnor private friends saw this poor woman's face.

  Mr. and Mrs. Vane prepared to go also; but Mrs. Vane would thank goodMr. Triplet and Mrs. Triplet for their kindness to her.

  Triplet the benevolent blushed, was confused and delighted; butsuddenly, turning somewhat sorrowful, he said: "Mr. Vane, madam, madeuse of an expression which caused a momentary pang. He called this a denof iniquity. Now this is my studio! But never mind."

  Mr. Vane asked his pardon for so absurd an error, and the pair leftTriplet in all the enjoyment which does come now and then to an honestman, whether this dirty little world will or not.

  A coach was called and they went home to Bloomsbury. Few words weresaid; but the repentant husband often silently pressed this angel to hisbosom, and the tears which found their way to her beautiful eyelasheswere tears of joy.

  This weakish, and consequently villainous, though not ill-disposedperson would have gone down to Willoughby that night; but his wife hadgreat good sense. She would not take her husband off, like a school-boycaught out of bounds. She begged him to stay while she made certainpurchases; but, for all that, her heart burned to be at home. So in lessthan a week after the events we have related they left London.

  Meantime, every day Mrs. Vane paid a quiet visit to Mrs. Woffington (forsome days the actress admitted no other visitor), and was with her buttwo hours before she left London. On that occasion she found her verysad.

  "I shall never see you again in this world," said she; "but I beg of youto write to me, that my mind may be in contact with yours."

  She then asked Mabel, in her half-sorrowful, half-bitter way, how manymonths it would be ere she was forgotten.

  Mabel answered by quietly crying. So then they embraced; and Mabelassured her friend she was not one of those who change their minds. "Itis for life, dear sister; it is for life," cried she.

  "Swear this to me," said the other, almost sternly. "But no. I have moreconfidence in that candid face and pure nature than in a human being'soath. If you are happy, remember you owe me something. If you areunhappy, come to me, and I will love you as men cannot love."

  Then vows passed between them, for a singular tie bound these two women;and then the actress showed a part at least of her sore heart to her newsister; and that sister was surprised and grieved, and pitied her trulyand deeply, and they wept on each other's neck; and at last they werefain to part. They parted; and true it was, they never met again in thisworld. They parted in sorrow; but when they meet again, it shall be withjoy.

  Women are generally such faithless, unscrupulous and pitiless humbugsin their dealings with their own sex--which, whatever they may say, theydespise at heart--that I am happy to be able to say, Mrs. Vane provedtrue as steel. She was a noble-minded, simple-minded creature; she wasalso a constant creature. Constancy is a rare, a beautiful, a godlikevirtue.

  Four times every year she wrote a long letter to Mrs. Woffington; andtwice a year, in the cold weather, she sent her a hamper of countrydelicacies that would have victualed a small garrison. And whenher sister left this earthly scene--a humble, pious, long-repentantChristian--Mrs. Vane wore mourning for her, and sorrowed over her; butnot as those who cannot hope to meet again.

  *****

  My story as a work of art--good, bad or indifferent--ends with that lastsentence. If a reader accompanies me further, I shall feel flattered,and he does so at his own risk.

  My reader knows that all this befell long ago. That Woffington is gay,and Triplet sad, no more. That Mabel's, and all the bright eyes of thatday, have long been dim, and all its cunning voices hushed. Judgethen whether I am one of those happy story-tellers who can end witha wedding. No! this story must wind up, as yours and minemust--to-morrow--or to-morrow--or to-morrow! when our little sand isrun.

  Sir Charles Pomander lived a man of pleasure until sixty. He thenbecame a man of pain; he dragged the chain about eight years, and diedmiserably.

  Mr. Cibber not so much died as "slipped his wind"--a nautical expressionthat conveys the idea of an easy exit. He went off, quiet and genteel.He was past eighty, and had lived fast. His servant called him at sevenin the morning. "I will shave at eight," said Mr. Cibber. John broughtthe hot water at eight; but his master had taken advantage of thisinterval in his toilet to die!--to avoid shaving?

  Snarl and Soaper conducted the criticism of their day with credit andrespectability until a good old age, and died placidly a natural death,like twaddle, sweet or sour.

  The Triplets, while their patroness lived, did pretty well. She got atragedy of his accepted at her theater. She made him send her a copy,and with her scissors cut out about half; sometimes thinning, sometimescutting bodily away. But, lo! the inherent vanity of Mr. Triplet cameout strong. Submissively, but obstinately, he fought for the discardedbeauties. Unluckily, he did this one day that his patroness was in oneof her bitter humors. So she instantly gave him back his manuscript,with a sweet smile owned herself inferior in judgment to him, and lefthim unmolested.

  Triplet breathed freely; a weight was taken off him. The savage steel(he applied this title to the actress's scissors) had spared his_purpurei panni._ He was played, pure and intact, a calamity the rest ofus grumbling escape.

  But it did so happen that the audience were of the actress's mind, andfound the words too exuberant, and the business of the play too scantyin proportion. At last their patience was so sorely tried that theysupplied one striking incident to a piece deficient in facts. They gavethe manager the usual broad hint, and in the middle of Triplet's thirdact a huge veil of green baize descended upon "The Jealous Spaniard."

  Failing here, Mrs. Woffington contrived often to befriend him in hisot
her arts, and moreover she often sent Mr. Triplet what she called asnug investment, a loan of ten pounds, to be repaid at Doomsday, withinterest and compound interest, according to the Scriptures; and,although she laughed, she secretly believed she was to get her tenpounds back, double and treble. And I believe so too.

  Some years later Mrs. Triplet became eventful. She fell ill, and laya dying; but one fine morning, after all hope had been given up, shesuddenly rose and dressed herself. She was quite well in body now, butinsane.

  She continued in this state a month, and then, by God's mercy, sherecovered her reason; but now the disease fell another step, and lightedupon her temper--a more athletic vixen was not to be found. She hadspoiled Triplet for this by being too tame, so when the dispensationcame they sparred daily. They were now thoroughly unhappy. They werepoor as ever, and their benefactress was dead, and they had learned tosnap. A speculative tour had taken this pair to Bristol, then the secondcity in England. They sojourned in the suburbs.

  One morning the postman brought a letter for Triplet, who was showinghis landlord's boy how to plant onions. (N. B.--Triplet had neverplanted an onion, but he was one of your _a priori_ gentlemen, and couldshow anybody how to do anything.) Triplet held out his hand for theletter, but the postman held out his hand for a half crown first. Trip'sprofession had transpired, and his clothes inspired diffidence. Tripletappealed to his good feeling.

  He replied with exultation, "That he had none left." (A middle-agedpostman, no doubt.)

  Triplet then suddenly started from entreaty to King Cambyses' vein. Invain!

  Mrs. Triplet came down, and essayed the blandishments of the softer sex.In vain! And, as there were no assets, the postman marched off down theroad.

  Mrs. Triplet glided after him like an assassin, beckoning on Triplet,who followed, doubtful of her designs. Suddenly (truth compels me torelate this) she seized the obdurate official from behind, pinnedboth his arms to his side, and with her nose furiously telegraphed herhusband.

  He, animated by her example, plunged upon the man and tore the letterfrom his hand and opened it before his eyes.

  It happened to be a very windy morning, and when he opened the letter aninclosure, printed on much finer paper, was caught into the air and wentdown the wind. Triplet followed in kangaroo leaps, like a dancer makinga flying exit.

  The postman cried on all good citizens for help. Some collected andlaughed at him; Mrs. Triplet explaining that they were poor, and couldnot pay half a crown for the freight of half an ounce of paper. She heldhim convulsively until Triplet reappeared.

  That gentleman on his return was ostentatiously calm and dignified. "Youare, or were, in perturbation about half a crown," said he. "There,sir, is a twenty-pound note, oblige me with nineteen pounds seventeenshillings and sixpence. Should your resources be unequal to such ademand, meet me at the 'Green Cat and Brown Frogs,' after dinner, whenyou shall receive your half-crown, and drink another upon the occasionof my sudden accession to unbounded affluence."

  The postman was staggered by the sentence and overawed by the note, andchose the "Cat and Frogs," and liquid half-crown.

  Triplet took his wife down the road and showed her the letter andinclosure. The letter ran thus:

  "SIR--We beg respectfully to inform you that our late friend and client,James Triplet, Merchant, of the Minories, died last August, without awill, and that you are his heir.

  "His property amounts to about twenty thousand pounds, besides somereversions. Having possessed the confidence of your late uncle weshould feel honored and gratified if you should think us worthy to actprofessionally for yourself.

  "We inclose twenty pounds, and beg you will draw upon us as far as fivethousand pounds, should you have immediate occasion.

  "We are, sir,

  "Your humble servants,

  "JAMES AND JOHN ALLMITT."

  It was some time before these children of misfortune could realize thisenormous stroke of compensation; but at last it worked its way intotheir spirits, and they began to sing, to triumph, and dance upon theking's highway.

  Mrs. Triplet was the first to pause, and take better views. "Oh, James!"she cried, "we have suffered much! we have been poor, but honest, andthe Almighty has looked upon us at last!"

  Then they began to reproach themselves.

  "Oh, James! I have been a peevish woman--an ill wife to you, this manyyears!"

  "No, no!" cried Triplet, with tears in his eyes. "It is I who have beenrough and brutal. Poverty tried us too hard; but we were not like therest of them--we were always faithful to the altar. And the Almighty hasseen us, though we often doubted it."

  "I never doubted that, James."

  So then the poor things fell on their knees upon the public road, andthanked God. If any man had seen them, he would have said they were mad.Yet madder things are done every day by gentlemen with faces as grave asthe parish bull's. And then they rose and formed their little plans.

  Triplet was for devoting four-fifths to charity, and living like aprince on the remainder. But Mrs. Triplet thought the poor were entitledto no more than two-thirds, and they themselves ought to bask in athird, to make up for what they had gone through; and then suddenly shesighed, and burst into tears. "Lucy! Lucy!" sobbed she.

  Yes, reader, God had taken little Lucy! And her mother cried to thinkall this wealth and comfort had come too late for her darling child.

  "Do not cry. Lucy is richer, a thousand times, than you are, with yourtwenty thousand pounds."

  Their good resolutions were carried out, for a wonder. Triplet livedfor years, the benefactor of all the loose fish that swim in and roundtheaters; and, indeed, the unfortunate seldom appealed to him in vain.He now predominated over the arts, instead of climbing them. In hislatter day he became an oracle, as far as the science of acting wasconcerned; and, what is far more rare, he really got to know _something_about it. This was owing to two circumstances: first, he ceased to runblindfold in a groove behind the scenes; second, he became a frequenterof the first row of the pit, and that is where the whole critic, andtwo-thirds of the true actor, is made.

  On one point, to his dying day, his feelings guided his judgment. Henever could see an actress equal to his Woffington. Mrs. Abingtonwas grace personified, but so was Woffington, said the old man: andAbington's voice is thin, Woffington's was sweet and mellow. When Jordanrose, with her voice of honey, her dewy freshness, and her heavenlylaugh, that melted in along with her words, like the gold in the quartz,Triplet was obliged to own her the goddess of beautiful gayety; butstill he had the last word: "Woffington was all _she_ is, except herfigure. Woffington was a Hebe; your Nell Jordan is little better than adowdy."

  Triplet almost reached the present century. He passed through greatevents, but they did not excite him; his eye was upon the arts. WhenNapoleon drew his conquering sword on England, Triplet's remark was:"Now we shall be driven upon native talent, thank Heaven!" The stormsof Europe shook not Triplet. The fact is, nothing that happened on thegreat stage of the world seemed real to him. He believed in nothingwhere there was no curtain visible. But even the grotesque are not goodin vain. Many an eye was wet round his dying bed, and many a tear fellupon his grave. He made his final exit in the year of grace 1799. And I,who laugh at him, would leave this world to-day to be with him; for I amtossing at sea--he is in port.

  *****

  A straightforward character like Mabel's becomes a firm characterwith years. Long ere she was forty, her hand gently but steadily ruledWilloughby House, and all in it. She and Mr. Vane lived very happily; hegave her no fresh cause for uneasiness. Six months after their return,she told him what burned in that honest heart of hers, the truth aboutMrs. Woffington. The water rushed to his eyes, but his heart was nowwholly his wife's; and gratitude to Mrs. Woffington for her nobleconduct was the only sentiment awakened.

  "You must repay her, dearest," said he. "I know you love her, and untilto-day it gave me pain; now it gives me pleasure. We owe her much."

  The happy, inn
ocent life of Mabel Vane is soon summed up. Frank as theday, constant as the sun, pure as the dew, she passed the golden yearspreparing herself and others for a still brighter eternity. At home, itwas she who warmed and cheered the house, and the hearth, more than allChristmas fires. Abroad, she shone upon the poor like the sun. She ledher beloved husband by the hand to Heaven. She led her children the sameroad; and she was leading her grandchildren when the angel of death camefor her; and she slept in peace.

  Many remember her. For she alone, of all our tale, lived in this presentcentury; but they speak of her as "old Madam Vane"--her whom we knew soyoung and fresh.

  She lies in Willoughby Church--her mortal part; her spirit is with thespirits of our mothers and sisters, reader, that are gone before us;with the tender mothers, the chaste wives, the loyal friends, and thejust women of all ages.

  RESURGET.

  I come to her last, who went first; but I could not have stayed by theothers, when once I had laid my darling asleep. It seemed for a while asif the events of our tale did her harm; but it was not so in the end.

  Not many years afterward, she was engaged by Mr. Sheridan, at a veryheavy salary, and went to Dublin. Here the little girl, who had oftencarried a pitcher on her head down to the Liffey, and had played PollyPeachum in a booth, became a lion; dramatic, political and literary, andthe center of the wit of that wittiest of cities.

  But the Dublin ladies and she did not coalesce. They said she was anaughty woman, and not fit for them morally. She said they had but twotopics, "silks and scandal," and were unfit for her intellectually.

  This was the saddest part of her history. But it is darkest just beforesunrise. She returned to London. Not long after, it so happened that shewent to a small church in the city one Sunday afternoon. The preacherwas such as we have often heard; but not so this poor woman, in her dayof sapless theology, ere John Wesley waked the snoring church. Insteadof sending a dry clatter of morality about their ears, or evaporatingthe Bible in the thin generalities of the pulpit, this man drove God'struths home to the hearts of men and women. In his hands the divinevirtues were thunderbolts, not swans' down. With good sense, plainspeaking, and a heart yearning for the souls of his brethren and hissisters, he stormed the bosoms of many; and this afternoon, as hereasoned like Paul of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come,sinners trembled--and Margaret Woffington was of those who trembled.

  After this day, she came ever to the narrow street where shone thishouse of God; and still new light burst upon her heart and conscience.Here she learned why she was unhappy; here she learned how alone shecould be happy; here she learned to know herself; and, the moment sheknew herself, she abhorred herself, and repented in dust and ashes.

  This strong and straightforward character made no attempt to reconciletwo things that an average Christian would have continued to reconcile.Her interest fell in a moment before her new sense of right. She flungher profession from her like a poisonous weed.

  Long before this, Mrs. Vane had begged her to leave the stage. She hadreplied, that it was to her what wine is to weak stomachs. "But," addedshe, "do not fear that I will ever crawl down hill, and unravel my ownreputation; nor will I ever do as I have seen others--stand groaning atthe wing, to go on giggling and come off gasping. No! the first nightthe boards do not spring beneath my feet, and the pulse of the publicbeat under my hand, I am gone! Next day, at rehearsal, insteadof Woffington, a note will come, to tell the manager thathenceforth Woffington is herself--at Twickenham, or Richmond, orHarrow-on-the-Hill, far from his dust, his din, and his glare--quiet,till God takes her. Amid grass, and flowers, and charitable deeds."

  This day had not come. It was in the zenith of her charms and her famethat she went home one night after a play, and never entered a theater,by the front door or back door, again. She declined all leave-taking andceremony.

  "When a publican shuts up shop and ceases to diffuse liquid poison, hedoes not invite the world to put up the shutters; neither will I.Actors overrate themselves ridiculously," added she; "I am not of thatimportance to the world, nor the world to me. I fling away a dirty oldglove instead of soiling my fingers filling it with more guineas, andthe world loses in me, what? another old glove, full of words; halfof them idle, the rest wicked, untrue, silly, or impure. _Rougissons,taisons-nous, et partons."_

  She now changed her residence, and withdrew politely from her oldassociates, courting two classes only, the good and the poor. She hadalways supported her mother and sister; but now charity became hersystem. The following is characteristic:

  A gentleman who had greatly admired this dashing actress met one day, inthe suburbs, a lady in an old black silk gown and a gray shawl, with alarge basket on her arm. She showed him its contents--worsted stockingsof prodigious thickness--which she was carrying to some of her_proteges._

  "But surely that is a waste of your valuable time," remonstrated heradmirer. "Much better buy them."

  "But, my good soul," replied the representative of Sir Harry Wildair,"you can't buy them. Nobody in this wretched town can knit worsted hoseexcept Woffington."

  Conversions like this are open to just suspicion, and some did not failto confound her with certain great sinners, who have turned austereself-deceivers when sin smiled no more. But this was mere conjecture.The facts were clear, and speaking to the contrary. This woman leftfolly at its brightest, and did not become austere. On the contrary,though she laughed less, she was observed to smile far oftener thanbefore. She was a humble and penitent, but cheerful, hopeful Christian.

  Another class of detractors took a somewhat opposite ground. Theyaccused her of bigotry for advising a young female friend against thestage as a business. But let us hear herself. This is what she said tothe girl:

  "At the bottom of my heart, I always loved and honored virtue. Yet thetendencies of the stage so completely overcame my good sentiments thatI was for years a worthless woman. It is a situation of uncommon andincessant temptation. Ask yourself, my child, whether there is nothingelse you can do, but this. It is, I think, our duty and our wisdom tofly temptation whenever we can, as it is to resist it when we cannotescape it."

  Was this the tone of bigotry?

  Easy in fortune, penitent, but cheerful, Mrs. Woffington had now but onecare--to efface the memory of her former self, and to give as many yearsto purity and piety as had gone to folly and frailty. This was notto be! The Almighty did not permit, or perhaps I should say, did notrequire this.

  Some unpleasant symptoms had long attracted her notice, but in thebustle of her profession had received little attention. She was nowpersuaded by her own medical attendant to consult Dr. Bowdler, who had agreat reputation, and had been years ago an acquaintance and an admirer.He visited her, he examined her by means little used in that day, and hesaw at once that her days were numbered.

  Dr. Bowdler's profession and experience had not steeled his heart asthey generally do and must do. He could not tell her this sad news, sohe asked her for pen and paper, and said, I will write a prescriptionto Mr. ----. He then wrote, not a prescription, but a few lines, beggingMr. ---- to convey the cruel intelligence by degrees, and with care andtenderness. "It is all we can do for her," said he.

  He looked so grave while writing the supposed prescription, that itunluckily occurred to Mrs. Woffington to look over him. She stole archlybehind him, and, with a smile on her face--read her death warrant.

  It was a cruel stroke! A gasping sigh broke from her. At this Dr.Bowdler looked up, and to his horror saw the sweet face he had doomedto the tomb looking earnestly and anxiously at him, and very pale andgrave. He was shocked, and, strange to say, she, whose death-warranthe had signed, ran and brought him a glass of wine, for he was quiteovercome. Then she gave him her hand in her own sweet way, and bade himnot grieve for her, for she was not afraid to die, and had long learnedthat "life is a walking shadow, a poor, poor player, who frets andstruts his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more."

  But no sooner was the doctor gone than
she wept bitterly. Poor soul!she had set her heart upon living as many years to God as she had to theworld, and she had hoped to wipe out her former self.

  "Alas!" she said to her sister, "I have done more harm than I can everhope to good now; and my long life of folly and wickedness will beremembered--will be what they call famous; my short life of repentancewho will know, or heed, or take to profit?"

  But she soon ceased to repine. She bowed to the will of Heaven, and sether house in order, and awaited her summons. The tranquillity of herlife and her courageous spirit were unfavorable to the progress ofdisease, and I am glad to say she was permitted to live nearly threeyears after this, and these three years were the happiest period of herwhole life. Works of piety and love made the days eventful. She was athome now--she had never been at home in folly and loose living. All herbitterness was gone now, with its cause.

  Reader, it was with her as it is with many an autumn day; clouds darkenthe sun, rain and wind sweep over all--till day declines. But then comesone heavenly hour, when all ill things seem spent. There is no morewind, no more rain. The great sun comes forth--not fiery bright indeed,but full of tranquil glory, and warms the sky with ruby waves, and thehearts of men with hope, as, parting with us for a little space, heglides slowly and peacefully to rest.

  So fared it with this humble, penitent, and now happy Christian.

  A part of her desire was given her. She lived long enough to read a firmrecantation of her former self, to show the world a great repentance,and to leave upon indelible record one more proof, what alone is truewisdom, and where alone true joys are to be found.

  She endured some physical pain, as all must who die in their prime. Butthis never wrung a sigh from her great heart; and within she had thepeace of God, which passes all understanding.

  I am not strong enough to follow her to her last hour; nor is it needed.Enough that her own words came true. When the great summons came, itfound her full of hope, and peace, and joy; sojourning, not dwelling,upon earth; far from dust and din and vice; the Bible in her hand,the Cross in her heart; quiet; amid grass, and flowers, and charitabledeeds.

  "NON OMNEM MORITURAM."

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