r^ rrA 
 
 Uf.lil.T
 
 " He made a lorgnette of his two hands ; the others did so too, and 
 found they saw much better — oh, ever so much better !"— p. 197.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 A ISOVEL. 
 
 BY CHAELES EEADE. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1857.
 
 ISAAC FO 
 LIBRARY 
 
 a 
 
 IfOTICE. 
 
 The Author of " Peg Woffington " reserves to himself the right of Translating 
 it into Foreign Languages. 
 
 LONDON: rUINTED KY \Y. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET.
 
 pf? LIBRARY 
 
 c-1 / V -G^^IVERSITY OF CALIFORNU 
 
 p ., SANTA BARBARA 
 
 TO 
 
 T. TAYLOR, ESQ. 
 
 MY FEIEKD, A^•D COADJUTOR IN THE COMEDT 
 OF 
 
 "MASKS AND FACES," 
 
 TO WHOM THE READEE OWES MUCH OF THE BEST MATTER 
 IN THIS TALE : 
 
 AND TO THE MEMORY OF MARGARET WOFFINGTON, 
 
 FAESELY summed tip until to-day, 
 
 THIS 
 
 "iBramatic ^torg" 
 
 is inscribed by 
 
 CHAELES EEADE. 
 
 LOUDOK, 
 DECEMBEE 15, 1852.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 About the middle of tlie last century, at eight 
 o'clock in the evening, in a large but poor apart- 
 ment, a man was slumbering on a rough couch. 
 His rusty and worn suit of black was of a piece 
 with his uncarpeted room, the deal table of homo 
 manufacture, and its slim unsnuffed candle. 
 
 The man was Triplet, scene painter, actor, and 
 writer of sanguinary plays, in which what ought to 
 be, viz. : truth, plot, situation, and dialogue, were 
 not ; and what ought not to be, were : scilicet, small 
 talk, big talk, fops, ruffians, and ghosts. 
 
 His three mediocrities fell so short of one talent, 
 that he was sometimes imprarisus. 
 
 He slumbered, but uneasily, the dramatic author 
 was uppermost, and his ' Demon of the Hayloft ' 
 hung upon the thread of popular favour. 
 
 On his uneasy slumber entered from the theatre, 
 Mrs. Triplet. 
 
 She was a lady who in one respect fell behind
 
 G PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 her husband, she lacked his variety in ill-doing, but 
 she recovered herself by doing her one thing a 
 shade worse than he did any of his three. She was 
 what is called in grim sport, an actress ; she had 
 just cast her mite of discredit on royalty by playing 
 the Queen, and had trundled home the moment the 
 breath was out of her royal body. She came in 
 rotatory with fatigue, and fell, gristle, into a chair ; 
 she wrenched from her brow a diadem and eyed it 
 with contempt, took from her pocket a sausage, and 
 contemplated it with respect and affection, placed it 
 in a frying-pan on the fire, and entered her bed- 
 room, meaning to don a loose wrapper, and dethrone 
 herself into comfort. 
 
 But the poor woman was shot walking by 
 Morpheus, and subsided altogether; for dramatic 
 performances, amusing and exciting to youth seated 
 in the pit, convey a certain weariness to those 
 bright beings who sparkle on the stage for bread 
 and cheese. 
 
 Eoyalty disposed of, still left its trail of events. 
 The saxisage began to ' spit.' The sound was 
 hardly out of its body, when poor Triplet writhed 
 like a worm on a hook. ' Spitter, spittest,' went 
 the sausage. Triplet groaned, and at last his in- 
 articulate murmurs became words : ' That's right, 
 pit, now that is so reasonable to condemn a poor 
 fellow's play before you have heard it out.' Then,
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 7 
 
 with a change of tone, ' Tom,' muttered he, ' they 
 are losing their respect for spectres ; if they do, 
 hunger will make a ghost of me.' Next, he fancied 
 the clown or somebody had got into his ghost's 
 costume, 
 
 'Dear,' said the poor dreamer, ' the clown makes 
 a very pretty spectre, with his ghastly white face, 
 and his blood boltered cheeks and nose. I never 
 saw the fun of a clown before, no ! no ! no ! it is 
 not the clown, it is worse, much worse ; oh dear, 
 ugh r and Triplet rolled off the couch like Eichard 
 the Third. He sat a moment on the floor, with a 
 linger in each eye ; and then finding he was neither 
 daubing, rantin<r, "nor deluo^inc^ earth with ' acts,' 
 he accused himself of indolence, and sat down to 
 write a small tale of blood and bombast, he took his 
 seat at the deal table with some alacrity, for he had 
 recently made a discovery. 
 
 How to write well, rien que eela. 
 
 ' First, think in as homely a way as you can ; 
 next, shove your pen under the thought, and lift it 
 by polysyllables to the true level of iiction ;' (when 
 done, find a publisher — if you can.) ' This,' said 
 Triplet, ' insures common sense to your ideas, 
 which does pretty well lor a basis,' said Triplet, 
 apologetically, ' and elegance to the dress they 
 wear.' Triplet then casting his eyes round, in 
 search of such actual circumstances as could be in-
 
 8 PECx WOFFINGTON. 
 
 corporated on this plan with fiction, began to work 
 tlius : 
 
 triplet's facts. triplet's fiction. 
 
 A fartliing dip is on the A solitary candle cast its 
 
 table. pale gleams around. 
 
 It wants snuffing. Its elongated wick l>e- 
 
 trayed an owner steeped in 
 
 oblivion. 
 
 He jumped up, and snuf- He rose languidly, and 
 
 fed it with his fingers, trimmed it with an instru- 
 
 Eurned his fingers, and ment that he had by his 
 
 swore a little. side for that purpose, and 
 
 muttered a silent ejacula- 
 tion. 
 
 Before, however, the mole Triplet could under- 
 mine literature and level it with the dust, various 
 interruptions and divisions broke in upon his design, 
 and, sic 7ios servavit Apollo. As he wrote the last 
 sentence, a loud rap came to his door. A servant 
 in livery brought him a note from Mr. Vane, dated 
 Covent Garden. Triplet's eyes sparkled, he bustled, 
 wormed himself into a less rusty coat, and started 
 off to the Theatre Eoyal Covent Garden. 
 
 In those days, the artists of the pen and the brush 
 ferreted patrons, instead of aiming to be indis- 
 pensable to the public, the only patron worth a 
 single gesture of the quill. 
 
 Mr. Vane had conversed with Triplet, that is, 
 let Triplet talk to him in a coffee-house, and Triplet, 
 the most sanguine of unfortunate men, had already
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 9 
 
 built a series of expectations upon that interview, 
 when this note arrived. Leaving him on his road 
 from Lambeth to Covent Garden, we must introduce 
 more important personages. 
 
 Mr. Vane was a wealthy gentleman from Shrop- 
 shire, whom business had called to London four 
 months ago, and now pleasure detained. Business 
 still occupied the letters he sent now and then to 
 his native county ; but it had ceased to occupy the 
 writer. He was a man of learning and taste, as 
 times went ; and his love of the Arts had taken him 
 some time before our tale to the theatres, then the 
 resort of all who pretended to taste ; and it was thus 
 he had become fascinated by Mrs. Woffington, a 
 lady of great beauty, and a comedian high in favour 
 with the town. 
 
 The first night he saw her was an epoch in the 
 history of this gentleman's, mind. He had learning 
 and refinement, and he had not great practical ex- 
 perience, and such men are most open to impression 
 from the stage. He saw a being, all grace and 
 bright nature, move like a goddess among the stiff 
 puppets of the scene ; her glee and her pathos were 
 equally catching, she held a golden key at which all 
 the doors of the heart flew open. Her face, too, 
 was as full of goodness as intelligence — it was like 
 no other face ; the heart bounded to meet it. 
 
 He rented a box at her theatre. He was there
 
 10 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 every night before the curtain drew up ; and I am 
 sorry to say, he at last took half a dislike to Sunday 
 — Sunday ' which knits up the ravelled slave of 
 care,' Sunday ' tired nature's sweet restorer,' be- 
 cause, on Sunday, there was no Peg Woffington. 
 At first, he regarded her as a being of another 
 sphere, an incarnation of poetry and art ; but by 
 degrees his secret aspirations became bolder. She 
 was a woman ; there were men who knew her ; 
 some of them inferior to him in position, and, he 
 flattered himself, in mind. He had even heard a 
 tale against her character. To him her face was its 
 confutation, and he knew how loose-tong'ued is 
 calumny ; but still — ! 
 
 At last, one day he sent her a letter, unsigned. 
 This letter expressed his admiration of her talent in 
 warm but respectful terms ; the writer told her it 
 had become necessary to his heart to return her in 
 some way his thanks for the land of enchantment to 
 which she had introduced him. Soon after this, 
 choice flowers found their way to her dressing-room 
 every night, and now and then verses and precious 
 stones mingled with her roses and eglantine. And, 
 oh ! how he watched the great actress's eye all the 
 night ; how he tried to discover Avhether she looked 
 oftener towards his box than the corresponding box 
 on the other side of the house. 
 
 Did she notice him, or did she not ? What a
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 11 
 
 point gained, if she was conscious of his nightly 
 attendance : she would feel he was a friend, not a 
 mere auditor. He was jealous of the pit, on whom 
 Mrs. Woffington lavished her smiles without measure. 
 
 At last, one day he sent her a wreath of flowers, 
 and implored her, if any word he had said to her 
 had pleased or interested her, to wear this wreath 
 that night. After he had done this he trembled ; 
 he had courted a decision, when, perhaps, his 
 safety lay in patience and time. She made her 
 entree, he turned cold as she glided into sight from 
 the prompter's side, he raised his eyes slowly and 
 fearfully from her feet to her head ; her head was 
 bare, wreathed only by its own rich glossy honours. 
 ' Fool ! ' thought he, ' to tliink she would hang 
 frivolities upon that glorious head for me.' Yet, 
 his disappointment told him he had really hoped 
 it; he would not have sat out the play, but for a 
 leaden incapacity of motion that seized him. 
 
 The curtain drew up for the fifth act, and — 
 could he believe his eyes ? — Mrs. Woffington stood 
 upon the stage with his wreath upon her graceful 
 head. She took away his breath. She spoke the 
 epilogue, and as the curtain fell, she lifted her eyes, 
 he thought, to his box, and made liim a distinct, 
 queen-like curtsey ; his heart fluttered to his 
 mouth, and he walked home on wings and tiptoe. 
 In short —
 
 12 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington, as an actress, justified a portion 
 of this enthusiasm ; she was one of the truest artists 
 of her day ; a line lady in her hands was a lady, 
 with tlic genteel aiFectation of a gentlewoman, not a 
 harlot's affectation, which is simply and without 
 exaggeration what the stage commonly gives us for 
 a fine lady ; an old woman in her hands was a 
 thorough woman, thoroughly old, not a cackling 
 young person of epicene gender. She played Sir 
 Harry Wildair like a man, which is how he ought 
 to be played (or, which is better still, not at all), 
 so that Garrick acknowledged her as a male rival, 
 and abandoned the part he no longer monopolized. 
 
 Now it very, very rarely happens that a Avoman 
 of her age is high enough in art and knowledge to 
 do these things. In players, vanity cripples art at 
 every step. The young actress who is not a 
 Woffington aims to display herself by means of her 
 part, which is vanity ; not to raise her part by 
 sinking herself in it, which is art. It has been my 
 
 misfortune to see , and , and , and 
 
 , et ceteras, play the man ; nature forgive 
 
 them, if you can, for art never will ; they never 
 reached any idea more manly than a steady resolve 
 to exhibit the points of a woman with greater 
 ferocity than they could in a gown. But consider, 
 ladies, a man is not the meanest of the brute 
 creation, so how can he be an unwomanly female ?
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 13 
 
 This sort of actress aims not to give her author's 
 creation to the public, but to trot out the person 
 instead of the creation, and shows sots what a calf it 
 has — and is. 
 
 Vanity, vanity ! all is vanity ! Mesdames les 
 Charlatanes. 
 
 JMargaret AVoffington was of another mould ; she 
 played the ladies of high comedy witli grace, dis- 
 tinction, and delicacy. But in Sir Harry Wildair 
 she parted with a woman's mincmg foot and tongue, 
 and played the man in a style large, spirited, and 
 Mance. As Mrs. Day (committee), she painted 
 wrinkles on her lovely face so honestly that slie was 
 taken for thiiQescore, and she carried out the design 
 with voice andrperson, and did a vulgar old woman 
 to the life. She disfigured her own beauties to 
 show the beauty of her art : in a word, she was 
 an artist ! It does not follow she was the greatest 
 artist that ever breathed; far from it. Mr. Vane 
 was carried to this notion by passion and ignorance. 
 
 On the evening of our tale he was at his post 
 patiently sitting out one of those sanguinary dis- 
 courses our rude forefathers thought were tragic 
 plays. Sedet ceternumque Sedebit Infelix Theseus, 
 because Mrs. Woffington is to speak the epilogue. 
 
 These epilogues were curiosities of the human 
 mind; they whom, just to ourselves and them, wc 
 call our forbears, had an idea their blood and
 
 14 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 bombast were not ridiculous enough in themselves, 
 so when the curtain had fallen on the debris of the 
 dramatis personce, and of common sense, they sent 
 on an actress to turn all the sentiment so laboriously 
 acquired into a jest. 
 
 To insist that nothing good or beautiful shall be 
 carried safe from a play out into the street was the 
 bigotry of English horse-play. Was a Lucretia the 
 heroine of the tragedy she was careful in the 
 epilogue to speak like Messalina. Did a king's 
 mistress come to hunger and repentance, she dis- 
 infected all the petites maitresses in the house of the 
 moral, by assuring them that sin is a joke, repent- 
 ance a greater, and that she individually was ready 
 for either if they would but cry, laugh, and pay. 
 Then the audience used to laugh, and if they did 
 not, lo ! the manager, actor, and author of heroic 
 tragedy, were exceeding sorrowful. 
 
 Whilst sitting attendance on the epilogue, Mr. 
 Vane had nothing to distract him from the con- 
 gregation but a sanguinary sermon in five heads, so 
 his eyes roved over the pews, and presently he 
 became aware of a flimiliar face watching him 
 closely. The gentleman to whom it belonged 
 finding himself recognised left his seat, and a 
 minute later Sir Charles Pomander entered Mr. 
 Vane's box. 
 
 This Sir Charles Pomander was a gentleman of
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 15 
 
 vice : pleasure he called it. Mr. Vane had made 
 his acquaintance two years ago in Shropshire. Sir 
 Charles, who husbanded everything except his soul, 
 had turned himself out to grass for a month. His 
 object was, by roast mutton, bread with some little 
 flour in it, air, water, temperance, chastity, and 
 peace, to be enabled to take a deeper plunge into 
 impurities of food and morals. 
 
 A few nights ago, unseen by Mr. Vane, he had 
 observed him in the theatre ; an ordinary man 
 would have gone at once and shaken hands with 
 him, but this was not an ordinary man, this was 
 a diplomatist. First of all, he said to himself, ' What 
 is this man doing here ?' Tlien he soon discovered 
 this man must be in love with some actress ; then it 
 became his business to know who she was ; this 
 too soon betrayed itself. Then it became more than 
 ever Sir Charles's business to know whether Mrs. 
 Woffington returned the sentiment, and here his 
 penetration was at fault ibr tlie moment; he deter- 
 mined, however, to discover. 
 
 Mr. Vane then received his friend all unsuspicious 
 how that Iriend had been skinning him with his 
 eyes for some time past. After the usual compli- 
 ments had passed between two gentlemen who had 
 been hand and glove for a month and forgotten each 
 other's existence for two years, Sir Charles still 
 keeping in view his design, said :
 
 16 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' Let us go upon the stage.' Tlie fourth act 
 had just conckided. 
 
 ' Go upon the stage !' said Mr. Vane ; ' wliat, 
 where she — I mean among the actors ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; come into the green-room. Tlicre are one 
 or two people of reputation there, I will introduce 
 you to them, if you please.' 
 
 ' Go upon the stage ! ' why if it had been pro- 
 posed to him to 'go to heaven he would not have 
 been more astonished. He was too astonished at 
 first to realise the full beauty of the arrangement, 
 by means of which he might be within a yard of 
 Mrs. Woffington, might feel her dress rustle past 
 him, might speak to her, might drink her voice 
 fresh from her lips almost before it mingled with 
 meaner air. Silence gives consent, and Mr. Vane 
 thousfh he thou2;ht a crreat deal said nothing ; so 
 Pomander rose, and they left the boxes together. 
 He led the way to the stage door, which was 
 opened obsequiously to him ; they tlien passed 
 through a dismal passage, and suddenly emerged 
 upon that scene of enchantment, the stage ; a dirty 
 platform encumbered on all sides with piles of 
 scenery in flats. They threaded their way through 
 rusty velvet actors and fustian carpenters, and 
 entered the green-room. At the door of this magic 
 chamber Vane trembled and half wished he could 
 retire. They entered ; his apprehension gave way
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 17 
 
 to disappointment, she was not there. Collecting 
 himself he was presently introduced to a smart, 
 jaunty, and to do him justice, distingue old beau. 
 This was CoUey Gibber, Esq., poet laureate, and 
 retired actor and dramatist, a gentleman who is 
 entitled to a word or two. 
 
 This Gibber was the only actor since Shake- 
 speare's time who had both acted and written well. 
 Pope's personal resentment misleads the reader of 
 English poetry as to Gibber's real place among the 
 wits of the day. 
 
 The man's talent was dramatic, not didactic, or 
 epic, or pastoral. Pope was not so deep in the 
 drama as in other matters, and Gibber was one of its 
 luminaries ; he wrote some of the best comedies of 
 his day. He also succeeded where Dryden, for 
 lack of true dramatic taste, failed. He tampered 
 successfully Avith Shakespeare. Golley Gibber's 
 version of ' Pilchard the Tliird ' is impudent and 
 slightly larcenic, but it is marvellously effective. 
 It has stood a century, and probably will stand for 
 ever ; and the most admired passages, in what 
 literary humbugs who pretend they know Shake- 
 speare by the closet, not the stage, accept as 
 Shakespeare's ' Piichard,' are Gibber's. 
 
 Mr. Gibber was now in private life, a mild edition 
 of his own Lord Foppington ; he had none of the 
 snob-fop as represented on our conventional stage; 
 
 C
 
 18 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 nobody ever had, and lived. He was in tolerably- 
 good taste ; but he went ever gold-laccd, highly- 
 powdered, scented, and diamonded, dispensing 
 graceful bows, praises of whoever had the good 
 luck to be dead, and satire of all who were here 
 to enjoy it. 
 
 Mr. Vane, to whom the drama had now become 
 the golden branch of letters, looked with some awe 
 on this veteran, for he had seen many Woffingtons. 
 He fell soon upon the subject nearest his heart. 
 He asked Mr. Gibber what he thouo;ht of Mrs. 
 AVoffinorton. The old gentlemen thouo-ht well of 
 
 o o o 
 
 the young lady's talent, especially her comedy ; 
 in tragedy said he she imitates Mademoiselle 
 Dumesnil, of the Theatre Fran^ais, and confounds 
 the staaje rhetorician with the actress. The next 
 question was not so fortunate. * Did you ever see 
 so great and true an actress upon the whole ?' 
 
 Mr. Gibber opened his eyes, a slight flush came 
 into his wash-leather face, and he replied : ' I have 
 not only seen many equal, many superior to her, 
 but I have seen some half-dozen who would have 
 eaten her up and spit her out again, and not known 
 they had done anything out of the way.' 
 
 Here Pomander soothed the veteran's dudgeon 
 ;by explaining in dulcet tones that his friend was 
 •not long from Shropshire, and — The critic inter- 
 rupted him, and bade him not dilute the excuse.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 19 
 
 Now, Mr. Vane had as much to say as either of 
 them, but he had not the habit, which dramatic 
 folks have, of carrying his whole bank in his cheek- 
 pocket, so they quenched him for two minutes. 
 But lovers are not silenced, he soon returned to 
 the attack ; he dwelt on the grace, the ease, the 
 freshness, the intelligence, the universal beauty of 
 Mrs. Woffington. Pomander sneered, to draw 
 him out. Gibber smiled, with good-natured supe- 
 riority. This nettled the young gentleman, he 
 fired up, his handsome countenance glowed, he 
 turned Demosthenes for her he loved. One ad- 
 vantage he had over both Gibber and Pomander, 
 a fair stock of classical learning; on this he now 
 drew. 
 
 ' Other actors and actresses,' said he, ' are mono- 
 tonous in voice, monotonous in action, but Mrs. 
 Woffington's delivery has the compass and variety 
 of nature, and her movements are free from the 
 stale unitbrniity that distinguishes artifice from art. 
 The others seem to me to have but two dreams of 
 gmce, a sort of crawling on stilts is their motion, 
 and an angular stifiiiess their repose.' He then 
 cited the most famous statues of antiquity, and 
 quoted situations in plays where, by her fine 
 dramatic instinct, Mrs. Woffington, he said, threw 
 her person into postures similar to these, and of 
 equal beauty ; not that she strikes attitudes like ' 
 
 C 2
 
 20 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 tKe rest, but she melts from one beautiful statue 
 into another ; and if sculptors could gather from 
 her immortal gi-aces, painters too might take from 
 her face the beauties that belong of right to passion 
 and thought, and orators might revive their withered 
 art, and learn from those golden lips the music of 
 old Athens, that quelled tempestuous mobs, and 
 princes drunk with victory. 
 
 Much as this was, he was going to say more, ever 
 so much more, but he became conscious of a singu- 
 lar sort of grin upon every face ; this grin made him 
 turn rapidly round to look for its cause. It ex- 
 plained itself at once ; at his very elbow was a lady, 
 whom his heart recognised, though her back was 
 turned to him. She was dressed in a rich silk 
 gown, pearl white, with flowers and sprigs em- 
 broidered ; her beautiful white neck and arms were 
 bare. She was sweeping up the room with the 
 epilogue in her hand, learning it off by heart ; at 
 the other end of the room she turned, and now she 
 shone full upon him. 
 
 It certainly was a dazzlijig creature : she had a 
 head of beautiful form, perched like a bird upon a 
 throat massive yet shapely and smooth as a column 
 of alabaster, a symmetrical brow, black eyes full of 
 fire and tenderness, a delicious mouth, with a 
 hundred varying expressions, and that marvellous 
 faculty of giA-ing beauty alike to love, or scorn, a
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 21 
 
 sneer or a smile. But she had one feature more re- 
 markable than all, her eyebrows — the actor's feature 
 — they were jet black, strongly marked, and In 
 repose were arched like a rainbow ; but it was their 
 extraordinary flexibility which made other faces 
 upon the stage look sleepy beside I\Iargaret Woffing 
 ton's. In person she was considerably above the 
 middle height, and so finely formed that one could 
 not determine the exact character of her fifrure. At 
 one time it seemed all stateliness, at another time, 
 elegance personified, and flowing voluptuousness at 
 another. She was Juno, Psyche, Hebe, by turns, 
 and for aught we know at will. 
 
 It must be confessed that a sort of halo of per- 
 sonal grandeur surrounds a great actress. A scene 
 is set ; half-a-dozen nobodies are there lost in it, 
 because they are and seem lumps of nothing. The 
 great artist steps upon that scene, and how she fills 
 it in a moment ! Mind and majesty wait upon her 
 in the air ; her person is lost in the greatness of her 
 personal presence ; she dilates with tliouglit, and a 
 stupid giantess looks a dwarf beside her. 
 
 No wonder then that Mr. Vane felt o^'erpowered 
 by this torch in a closet. To \&xy the metaphor, it 
 seemed to him, as she swept up and down, as if the 
 green-room was a shell, and this glorious creature 
 must burst it and be free. Meantime, the others 
 saw a pretty actress studying her business ; and
 
 22 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 Gibber saw a dramatic scliool-girl learning what he 
 presumed to be a very silly set of words. Sir C. 
 Pomander's eye had been on her the moment she 
 entered, and he watched keenly the effect of Vane's 
 eloquent eulogy ; but apparently the actress was too 
 deep in her epilogue for anything else. Slie came 
 in, saying 'Mum, mum, mum,' over her task, and 
 she went on doing so. The experienced Mr. Gibber, 
 who had divined Vane in an instant, drew him into a 
 corner, and complimented him on Ms well-timed 
 eulogy. 
 
 ' You acted that mighty well, Sir,' said he. 
 ' Stop my vitals ! if I did not think you were in 
 earnest, till I saw the jade had slipped in among us. 
 It told. Sir— it told.' 
 
 Up fired Vane. ' What do you mean, Sir ?' said 
 he. ' Do you suppose my admiration of that lady is 
 feigned ?' 
 
 ' No need to speak so loud, Sir,' replied the old 
 gentleman ; ' she hears you. These hussies have 
 ears like hawks.' 
 
 He then dispensed a private wink and a public 
 bow ; with which he strolled away from Mr. Vane, 
 and walked feebly and jauntily up the room, 
 whistling ' Fair Hebe ;' fixing his eye upon the 
 past, and somewhat ostentatiously overlooking the 
 existence of the present company. 
 
 There is no great harm in an old gentleman
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 23 
 
 wliistling, but there are two ways of doing it ; and 
 as this old beau did it, it seemed not unlike a small 
 cock-a-doodle-doo of general defiance ; and the deni- 
 zens of the green-room, swelled now to a considerable 
 number by the addition of all the ladies and gentle- 
 men who had been killed in the fourth act, or whom 
 the buttery-fingered author could not keep in hand 
 until the fall of the curtain, felt it as such ; and so 
 they were not sorry when Mrs. Woffington, looking 
 up from her epilogue, cast a glance upon the old 
 beau, waited for him, and walked parallel with him 
 on the other side the room, giving an absurdly exact 
 imitation of his carriage and deportment. To make 
 this more striking, she pulled out of her pocket, 
 after a mock search, a huge paste ring, gazed on it with 
 a ludicrous affectation of simple wonder, stuckit, like 
 Gibber's diamond, on her little finger, and pursing up 
 her mouth, proceeded to whistle a quick movement, 
 
 ' '^Tiich by some devilish cantrip sleight,' 
 
 played round the old beau's slow movement, without 
 being at variance with it. As for the character of 
 this lady -like performance, it was clear, brilliant, 
 and loud as blacksmith. 
 
 The folk laughed ; Vane was shocked : ' She pro- 
 fanes herself by whistling,' thought he. Mr. Gibber 
 was confounded. He appeared to have no idea 
 whence came this sparkling adagio. He looked
 
 24 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 round, placed liis hands to his ears, and left off 
 whistling. So did his musical accomplice. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' said Gibber, with pathetic gravity, 
 * the wind howls most dismally this evening ! I 
 took it for a drunken shoemaker !' 
 
 At this there was a roar of laughter, except from 
 Mr, Vane. Peg WofEngton laughed as merrily as 
 the others, and showed a set of teeth that were 
 really dazzling ; but all in one moment, without the 
 preliminaries an ordinary countenance requires, this 
 laughing Venus pulled a face gloomy beyond con- 
 ception. Down came her black brows straight as a 
 line, and she cast a look of bitter reproach on all 
 present; resuming her study, as who should say, 
 ' Are ye not ashamed to divert a poor girl from her 
 epilogue ?' And then she went on, ' Mum ! mum ! 
 mum !' casting off ever and anon resentful glances ; 
 and this made the fools laugh again. 
 
 The Laureate was now respectfully addressed by 
 one of his admirers, James Quia, the Falstaff of the 
 day, and the rival at this time of Garrick in tragic 
 characters, though the general opinion was, that he 
 could not long maintain a stand against the younger 
 genius and his rising school of art. 
 
 Off the stage, James Quin was a character ; his 
 eccentricities were three — a humourist, a glutton, 
 and an honest man ; traits that often caused asto- 
 nishment and ridicule, especially the last.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 25 
 
 'May we not hope for something from Mr. 
 Gibber's pen after so long a silence ?' 
 
 ' No,' was the considerate reply. ' Who have yc 
 got to play it?' 
 
 * Plenty,' said Quin ; * there's your humble ser- 
 vant, there's — ' 
 
 ' Humility at the head of the list,' cried she of 
 the epilogue. ' Mum ! mum ! mum !' 
 Vane thought this so sharp. 
 
 * Garrick, Barry, Macklin, Kitty Clive here at 
 my side, Mrs. Gibber, the best tragic actress I ever 
 saw; and Woffington, who is as good a comedian 
 as you ever saw. Sir,' and Quin turned as red as 
 fire. 
 
 ' Keep your temper. Jemmy,' said Mrs Wof- 
 fington, with a severe accent. *Mum! mum! 
 mum !' 
 
 ' You misunderstand my question,' replied Gibber, 
 calmly ; ' I know your dramatis personce, but 
 where the devil are your actors ?' 
 
 Here was a blow. 
 
 ' The public,' said Qum, in some agitation, 
 'would snore, if we acted as they did in your 
 time.' 
 
 ' How do you know that, Sir ?' was the super- 
 cilious rejoinder; ' i/ou never tried F 
 
 Mr. Quin was silenced. Peg Woffington looked 
 off her epilogue.
 
 26 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 'Bad as we arc,' said she, coolly, 'we might be 
 worse.' 
 
 Mr. Gibber turned round, slightly raised his eye- 
 brows : 
 
 ' Indeed !' said he. ' Madam !' added he, with a 
 courteous smile ; ' will you be kind enough to 
 explain to me, how you could be worse ?' 
 
 ' If, like a crab, we could go backwards !' 
 
 At this the auditors tittered ; and Mr. Gibber 
 had recourse to his spy-glass. 
 
 This gentleman was satirical or insolent, as the 
 case might demand, in three degrees, of which the 
 snuff-box was the comparative, and the spy-glass 
 the superlative. He had learned this on the stage ; 
 in annihilating Quin he had just used the snuff 
 weapon, and now he drew his spy-glass upon poor 
 Peggy. 
 
 ' Whom have we here ?' said he ; then he looked 
 with his spy -glass to see ; ' oh ! the little Irish 
 orange girl !' 
 
 ' Whose basket outweighed Colley Gibber's salary 
 for the first twenty years of his dramatic career,' 
 was the delicate reply to the above delicate remark. 
 It staggered him for a moment ; however, he 
 affected a most puzzled air, then gradually allowed 
 a lisrht to steal into his features. 
 
 ' Eh ! ah ! oh ! how stupid I am ; I understand ; 
 you sold something besides oranges !'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON, 27 
 
 ' Oh !' said Mr. Vane, and coloured up to the 
 temples, and cast a look on Gibber, as much as to 
 say, ' if you were not seventy-three !' 
 
 His ejaculation was something so different from 
 any tone any other person there present could have 
 uttered, that the actress's eye dwelt on him for a 
 single moment, and in that moment he felt himself 
 looked through and through. 
 
 ' I sold the young fops a bargain, you mean,' was 
 her calm reply ; ' and now I am come down to the 
 old ones. A truce, Mr. Gibber, what do you im- 
 derstand by an actor ? Tell me ; for I am foolish 
 enough to respect your opinion on these matters !' 
 
 ' An actor, young lady,' said he, gravely, ' is an 
 artist who has gone deep enough in his art, to make 
 dunces, critics, and greenhorns take it for nature ; 
 moreover, he really personates; which your mere 
 man of the stage never does. He has learned the 
 true art of self-multiplication. He drops Betterton, 
 Booth, Wilkes, or, a-hem — ' 
 
 ' Gibber,' inserted Sir Charles Pomander. Gib- 
 ber bowed. 
 
 ' In his dressing-room, and comes out young or 
 old, a fop, a valet, a lover, or a hero, with voice, 
 mien, and every gesture to match. A grain less 
 than this may be good speaking, fine preaching, 
 deep grunting, high ranting, eloquent reciting ; but 
 I'll be hanged if it is acting !'
 
 28 TEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 ' Then, Colley Gibber never acted,' whispered 
 Quin to Mrs. Ciive. 
 
 ' Then, Margaret WofEngton is an actress,' said 
 M. W. ; ' the fine ladies take my Lady Betty for 
 their sister. In Mrs. Day, I pass for a woman of 
 seventy ; and in Sir Harry Wildair I have been 
 taken for a man. I would have told you that 
 before, but I didn't know it was to my credit,' said 
 she slily ' till Mr. Gibber laid down the law.' 
 
 ' Proof!' said Gibber. 
 
 ' A warm letter from one lady, diamond buckles 
 from another, and an oiFer of her hand and fortune 
 from a third; rkn que cela.' 
 
 Mr. Gibber conveyed behind her back a look of 
 absolute incredulity ; she divined it. 
 
 ' I will not show you the letters,' continued she, 
 ' because Sir Harry, though a rake, was a gentle- 
 man ; but here are the buckles,' and she fished 
 them out of her pocket, capacious of such things. 
 The buckles were gravely inspected, they made 
 more than one eye water, they were undeniable. 
 
 ' Well, let us see what we can do for her,' said 
 the Laureate. He tapped his box, and without a 
 moment's hesitation produced the most execrable 
 distich in the language : 
 
 ' Now who is like Peggy,with talent at Avill, 
 A maid loved her Harry, /or loant of a Bill f 
 
 ' Well, child,' continued he, after the applause
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 29 
 
 which follows, extemporary verses had subsided, 
 ' take me in. Play something to make me lose 
 sight of saucy Peg Woffington, and I'll give the 
 world five acts more before the curtain falls on Colley 
 Gibber.' 
 
 ' If you could be deceived,' put in Mr. Vane, 
 somewhat timidly ; ' I think there is no disguise 
 through which gi'ace and beauty such as Mrs. 
 Woffington's would not shine, to my eyes.' 
 
 * That is to praise my person at the expense of 
 my wit, Sir, is it not ?' was her reply. 
 
 This was the first word she had ever addressed 
 to him ; the tones appeared so sweet to liim, that 
 he could not find anything to reply for listening to 
 them ; and Gibber resumed : 
 
 ' Meantime, I will sliow you a real actress ; she 
 is coming here to-night to meet me. Did ever you 
 children hear of Ann Bracegirdle ?' 
 
 ' Bracegirdle !' said Mrs. Glive ; ' why she has 
 been dead this thirty years ; at least I thought so.' 
 
 ' Dead to the stage. There is more heat in her 
 ashes, than in your fire, Kate Glive ! Ah ! here 
 comes her messenger,' continued he, as an ancient 
 man appeared with a letter in his hand. This letter 
 Mrs. Woflfington snatched and read, and at the 
 same instant in bounced the call-boy. 'Epilogue 
 called,' said this urchin, in the tone of command 
 which these small fry of Parnassus adopt ; and
 
 30 PEG WOFFLYGTON^. 
 
 obedient to his high behest, Mrs. Woffington moved 
 to tlie door with the Bracegirdle missive in her hand, 
 but not before she had delivered its general con- 
 tents : ' The great actress will be here in a few 
 minutes,' said she, and slie glided swiftly out of the 
 room. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 People whose mind or manners possess any feature, 
 and are not as devoid of all eccentricity as half- 
 pounds of butter bought of metropolitan grocers, are 
 recommended not to leave a roomful of their 
 acquaintances until the last but one. Yes, they 
 should always be penultimate. Perhaps Mrs. Wof- 
 fington knew this ; but epilogues are stubborn 
 things, and call-boys undeniable. 
 
 ' Did you ever hear a woman whistle before ? ' 
 
 ' Never ; but I saw one sit astride on an ass in 
 GeriBany ! ' 
 
 ' The saddle was not on her husband, I hope, 
 Madam ? ' 
 
 ' No, Sir ; the husband walked by his kinsfolk's 
 side, and made the best of a bad bargain, as Peggy's 
 husband will have to.' 
 
 ' Wait till some one ventures on the gay Lotharia
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 31 
 
 ■ — illi ces triplex; that means he must have triple 
 brass, Kitty.' 
 
 ' I deny that, Sir ; since his wife will always have 
 enough for both.' 
 
 ' I have not observed the lady's brass,' said Vane, 
 trembling with passion ; ' but I observed her talent, 
 and I noticed that whoever attacks her to her facCj 
 comes badly off.' 
 
 'Well said, Sir," answered Quin; 'and I wish 
 Kitty here would tell us why she hates Mrs. 
 Woffington, the best-natured woman in the theatre ?' 
 
 ' I don't hate her, I don't trouble my head about 
 her.' 
 
 ' Yes, you hate her ; for you never miss a cut at 
 her, never ! ' 
 
 ' Do you hate a haunch of venison, Quin ? ' said 
 the lady. 
 
 ' No ! you little unnatural monster,' replied Quin. 
 
 ' For all that you never miss a cut at one, so hold 
 your tongue ! ' 
 
 ' Le beau raisonnement ! ' said Mr. Gibber. 
 ' James Quin, don't interfere with nature's laws ; 
 let our ladies hate one another, it eases their minds ; 
 try to make them Christians and you will not 
 convert their tempers, but spoil your own. Peggy 
 there hates George Anne Bellamy, because she has 
 gaudy silk dresses from Paris, by paying for them> 
 as she could, if not too stingy. Kitty here hates
 
 32 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 Peggy because Rich lias breeched her, whereas 
 Kitty, who now sets up for a prude, wanted to put 
 delicacy off and small clothes on in Peg's stead, that 
 is where the Kate and Peg shoe pinches, near the 
 femoral artery, James.' 
 
 ' Shrimps have the souls of shrimps,' resumed this 
 censor castigatorque minorum. ' Listen to me, and 
 learn that really great actors are great in soul, and 
 do not blubber like a great school-girl because Anne 
 Bellamy has two yellow silk dresses from Paris, as I 
 saw Woffington blubber in this room, and would not 
 be comforted ; nor fume like Kitty Clive, because 
 Woffington has a pair of breeches and a little boy's 
 rapier to go a playing at acting with. When I was 
 young, two giantesses fought for empire upon this 
 very stage, where now dwarfs crack and bounce like 
 parched peas. They played Roxana and Statira in 
 the ' Rival Queens.' Rival queens of art themselves, 
 they put out all their strength. In the middle of 
 the last act the town gave judgment in favour of 
 Statira. What did Roxana ? Did she spill grease 
 on Statira's robe as Peg Woffington would ? or stab 
 her, as I believe Kitty here capable of doing ? No ! 
 Statira was never so tenderly killed as that night : 
 she owned this to me. Roxana bade the theatre 
 farewell that night, and wrote to Statira thus — I 
 give you word for word : " Madam, the best judge 
 we have, has decided in your favour. I shall never
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 33 
 
 play second on a stage where I have been first so 
 long, but I shall often be a spectator, and methinks 
 none will appreciate your talent more than I, who 
 have felt its weight. My wardrobe, one of the best 
 in Europe, is of no use to me ; if you will honour 
 me by selecting a few of my dresses you will gratify 
 me, and I shall fancy I see myself upon the stage to 
 greater advantage than before." ' 
 
 * And what did Statira answer, Sir ? ' said Mr. 
 Vane, eagerly. 
 
 'She answered thus: "Madam, the town has 
 often been wrong, and may have been so last night, 
 in supposing that I vied successfully with your 
 merit ; but thus much is certain — and here, 
 Madam, I am the best judge — that off the stage 
 you have just conquered me. I shall wear with 
 pride any dress you have honoured, and shall feel 
 inspired to great exertions by your presence among 
 our spectators, unless, indeed, the sense of your 
 magnanimity and the recollection of your talent 
 should damp me by the dread of losing any portion 
 of your good opinion." ' 
 
 * What a couple of stiff old things,' said Mrs. Clive. 
 
 * Nay, Madam, say not so,' cried Vane, warmly ; 
 ' surely, this was the lofty courtesy of two great 
 minds not to be overbalanced by strife, defeat, or 
 victory.' 
 
 ' What were their names, Sir ? ' 
 
 I)
 
 84 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' Statira was the great Mrs. Oldfield. Roxana 
 you will see here to-night.' 
 
 This caused a sensation. 
 
 Colley's reminiscences were interrupted by loud 
 applause from the theatre ; the present seldom gives 
 the past a long hearing. 
 
 The old war-horse cocked his ears. 
 
 ' It is Woffington speaking the epilogue,' said 
 Quin. 
 
 * Oh ! she has got the length of their foot, some- 
 how,' said a small actress. 
 
 'And the breadth of their hands, too/ said 
 Pomander, waking from a nap. 
 
 ' It is the depth of their hearts she has sounded,' 
 said Vane. 
 
 In those days, if a metaphor started up, the poor 
 thing was coursed up hill and down dale, and torn 
 limb from jacket ; even in Parliament, a trope was 
 sometimes hunted from one session into another. 
 
 ' You were asking me about Mrs. Oldfield, Sir,' 
 resumed Gibber, rather peevishly. ' I will own to 
 you, I lack words to convey a just idea of her 
 double and complete supremacy. But the comedians 
 of this day are weak-strained farceurs compared 
 with her, and her tragic tone was thunder set to music. 
 
 ' I saw a brigidier-general cry like a child at 
 her Indiana ; I have seen her crying with pain 
 herself at the wing (for she was always a great
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 35 
 
 sufferer), I have seen her then spring upon tlie 
 stage as Lady Townley, and in a moment sorrow 
 brightened into joy ; the air seemed to fill with 
 singing-birds, that chirped the pleasures of fashion, 
 love, and youth, in notes sparkling like diamonds 
 and stars, and prisms. She was above criticism, out 
 of its scope, as is the blue skj'^ ; men went not to 
 judge her, they drank her, and gazed at her, and 
 were warmed at her, and refreshed by her. The 
 fops were awed into silence, and with their humbler 
 betters thanked Heaven for her, if they thanked it 
 for anything. 
 
 ' In all the crowded theatre, care and pain, and 
 poverty were banished from the memory, whilst 
 Oldfield's face spoke, and her tongue flashed 
 melodies ; the lawyer forgot his quillets ; the 
 polemic, the mote in his brother's eye; the old 
 maid, her grudge against the two sexes; the old 
 man, his grey hairs and his lost hours. And can it 
 be, that all this, which should have been immortal, 
 is quite — quite lost, is as though it had never 
 been ? ' he sighed, ' Can it be, that its fame is 
 now sustained by me ; who twang with my poor 
 lute, cracked and old, these feeble praises of a 
 broken lyre — 
 
 ' " Whose Avires were golden, and its heavenly air 
 More tunable tliau lark to shepherd's car, 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear ? " • 
 
 D 2
 
 36 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 
 
 He paused, and his eye looked back over many 
 years : then, with a very different tone, he added : 
 
 'And that Jack Falstaff there must have seen 
 her, now I think on't.' 
 
 * Only once. Sir,' said Quin, ' and I was but ten 
 years old.' 
 
 ' He saw her once, and he was ten years old ; 
 yet he calls Woffington a great comedian, and my 
 son The's wife, with her hatchet face, the greatest 
 tragedian he ever saw ! Jemmy, what an ass you 
 must be ! ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Gibber always makes me cry, and t'other 
 always makes me laugh,' said Quin, stoutly, ' that's 
 why.' 
 
 Ce beau raisomiement met no answer but a look of 
 sovereign contempt. 
 
 A very trifling incident saved the ladies of the 
 British stage from further criticism. There were 
 two candles in this room, one on each side ; the 
 call-boy had entered, and poking about for some- 
 thing, knocked down and broke one of these. 
 
 ' Awkward imp !' cried a velvet page. 
 
 ' I'll go to the Treasury for another, Ma'am,' 
 said the boy, pertly, and vanished with the 
 fractured wax. 
 
 I take advantage of the interruption to open Mr. 
 Vane's mind to the reader. First he had been 
 astonished at the freedom of sarcasm these people
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 37 
 
 indulged in without quarrelling ; next at the non- 
 respect of sex. 
 
 ' So sex is not recognised in this community/ 
 thought he. Then the glibness and merit of some 
 of their answers surprised and amused him. He, 
 like me, had seldom met an imaginative repartee, 
 except in a play or a book. ' Society's ' repartees 
 were then, as they are now, the good old tree in 
 various dresses and veils : Tu quoque, tu mentiris, vos 
 damnemini ; but he was sick and dispirited on the 
 whole ; such very bright illusions had been dimmed 
 in these few minutes. 
 
 She was brilliant ; but lier manners, if not mascu- 
 line, were very daring ; and yet, when she spoke to 
 him, a stranger, how sweet and gentle her voice 
 was ! Then it was clear nothincr but his imorance 
 could have placed her at the summit of her art. 
 
 Still he clung to his enthusiasm for her. He 
 drew Pomander aside. ' What a simplicity there is 
 in Mrs. Woffington I' said he ; ' the rest, male and 
 female, are all so affected; she is so fresh and 
 natural. They are all hot-house plants ; she is a 
 cowslip with the May dew on it.' 
 
 ' What you take for simplicity, is her refined 
 art,' replied Sir Charles. 
 
 ' No !' said Vane, ' 1 never saw a more innocent 
 creature !' 
 
 Pomander laughed in his face ; this laugh discon-
 
 38 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 certed liira more than words ; lie spoke no more — 
 he sat pensive. He was sorry he had come to this 
 place, where everybody knew his goddess; yet 
 nobody admired, nobody loved, and alas ! nobody 
 respected her. 
 
 He was roused from his reverie by a noise ; the 
 noise was caused by Gibber falling on Garrick, 
 whom Pomander had maliciously quoted against all 
 the tragedians of Colley Gibber's day. 
 
 ' I tell you,' cried the veteran, ' that this Garrick 
 has banished dignity from the stage, and given us in 
 exchange what you and he take for fire ; but it is 
 smoke and vapour. His manner is little, like his 
 person, it is all fuss and bustle. This is his idea of 
 a tragic scene : A little fellow comes bustling in, 
 goes bustling about, and runs bustling out.' Here 
 Mr. Gibber left the room, to give greater effect to 
 his description, but presently returned in a mighty 
 pother, saying : ' " Give me another horse !" Well, 
 where's the horse? don't you see I'm waiting for 
 him? "Bind up my wounds!" Look sharp now 
 with these wounds. " Have mercy. Heaven !" but 
 be quick about it, for the pit can't wait for Heaven. 
 Bustle ! bustle ! bustle !' 
 
 The old dog was so irresistibly funny, that the 
 whole company were obliged to laugh, but in the 
 midst of their merriment Mrs. WofSngton's voice 
 was heard at the door.
 
 TEG WOFFINGTON. 39 
 
 * This way, Madam.' 
 
 A clear and somewhat shrill voice replied : ' I 
 know the way better than you, child,' and a 
 stately old lady appeared on the threshold. 
 
 ' Bracegirdle,' said Mr. Gibber. 
 . It may well be supposed that every eye was 
 turned on this new comer — that Roxana for whom 
 Mr. Gibber's story had prepared a peculiar interest. 
 She Avas dressed in a rich green velvet gown with 
 gold fringe. Gibber remembered it ; she had played 
 the ' Eastern Queen ' in it. Heaven forgive all 
 concerned ! It was fearfully pinched in at the 
 waist and ribs, so as to give the idea of wood inside, 
 not woman. 
 
 Her hair and eyebrows were iron-grey, and she 
 had lost a Iront tooth, or she would still ha\'e been 
 eminently handsome. She was tall and straight as 
 a dart, and her noble port betrayed none of the 
 weakness of age, only it was to be seen that her 
 hands were a little weak, and the gold-headed 
 crutch struck the ground rather sharply, as if it did 
 a little limbs'-duty. 
 
 Such was the lady who marched into the middle 
 of the room, with a ' How do, Golley ?' and looking 
 over the company's heads as if she did not see them, 
 regarded the four walls with some interest. Like a 
 cat, she seemed to think more of places than of folk. 
 The page obsequiously offered her a chair.
 
 40 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 'Not SO clean as it used to be/ said Mrs. 
 Bracegirdle. 
 
 Unfortunately, in making this remark, the old 
 lady graciously patted the page's head for offering 
 her the chair ; and this action gave, with some of 
 the ill-constituted minds that are ever on the titter, 
 a ridiculous direction to a remark intended, I believe, 
 for the paint and wainscots, &c. 
 
 ' Nothing is as it used to be,' remarked Mr. 
 Gibber. 
 
 ' All the better for everything,' said Mrs. Clive. 
 
 ' We were laughing at this mighty little David, 
 first actor oi' this mighty little age.' 
 
 Now if Mr. Gibber thought to find in the new 
 comer an ally of the past in its indiscriminate attack 
 upon the present, he was much mistaken ; for the 
 old actress made onslaught on this nonsense at once. 
 
 ' Ay, ay,' said she, ' and not the first time by 
 many hvmdreds. 'Tis a disease you have. Cure 
 yourself, Golley. Davy Garrick pleases the public ; 
 and in trifles like acting, that take nobody to heaven, 
 to please all the world, is to be great. Some pretend 
 to higher aims, but none have 'em. You may hide 
 this from young fools, mayhap, but not from an old 
 'oman like me. He ! he ! he ! No, no, no — not 
 from an old 'oman like me.' 
 
 She then turned round in her chair, and with 
 that sudden, unaccountable snappishness of tone, to
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 41 
 
 which the brisk old are subject, she snarled : ' Gie 
 me a pinch of snuff, some of ye, do!' 
 
 Tobacco dust was instantly at her disposal. She 
 took it with the points of her fingers, delicately, and 
 divested the crime of half its uncleanness and 
 vulgarity — more an angel couldn't. 
 
 ' Monstrous sensible woman, though !' whispered 
 Quin to Clive. 
 
 ' Hey, Sir ! what do you say, Sir ? for I'm a little 
 deaf,' (Not very to praise, it seems.) 
 
 'That your judgment. Madam, is equal *to the 
 reputation of your talent.' 
 
 The words were hardly spoken, before the old 
 lady rose upright as a tower. She then made an 
 oblique preliminary sweep, and came down with 
 such a curtsey as the young had never seen, 
 
 James Quin, not to disgrace his generation, 
 attempted a corresponding bow, for which his figure 
 and apoplectic tendency rendered hira unfit; and 
 whilst he was transacting it, the graceful Gibber 
 stepped gi'avely up, and looked down and up the 
 process with his glass, like a naturalist inspecting 
 some strange capriccio of an ourang-outang. The 
 gymnastics of courtesy ended without back-falls — 
 Gibber lowered his tone : 
 
 ' You are right, Bracy. It is nonsense denying 
 the young fellow's talent; but his Othello, now, 
 Bracy ! be just — his Othello !*
 
 42 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 ' Oh dear ! oh dear !' cried she ; ' I thought it was 
 Desdemona's little black boy come in without the 
 tea-kettle.' 
 
 Quin laughed uproariously. 
 
 • It made me laugh a deal more than Mr. Quin's 
 FalstafF. Oh dear ! oh dear !' 
 
 ' FalstaiF, indeed ! SnufF !' in the tone of a 
 trumpet. 
 
 Quin secretly revoked his good opinion of this 
 woman's sense. 
 
 ' Ma^am,' said the page, timidly, ' if you 
 would but favour us with a specimen of the old 
 style !' 
 
 * Well, child, why not ? Only what makes you 
 mumble like that? but they all do it now, I see. 
 Bless my soul ! our words used to come out like 
 brandy-cherries ; but now a sentence is like rasp- 
 berry-jam, on the stage and off.' 
 
 Gibber chuckled. 
 
 ' And why don't you men carry yourself like 
 Gibber here ?' 
 
 ' Don't press that question,' said Golley, drily. 
 
 ' A monstrous poor actor, though,' said the 
 merciless old woman, in a mock aside to the others ; 
 ' only twenty shillings a-week for half his life ;' and 
 her shoulders went up to her ears — then she fell 
 into a half-reverie. ' Yes, we were distinct,' said 
 she ; * but I must own, children, we were slow.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 43 
 
 Once, in the midst of a beautiful tirade, my lover 
 went to sleep, and fell against me. A mighty 
 pretty epigram, twenty lines, was writ on't by one 
 of my gallants. Have ye as many of them as we 
 used ?' 
 
 ' In that respect,' said the page, ' we are not 
 behind our great-grandmothers.' 
 
 ' I call that pert,' said Mrs. Bracegirdle, with the 
 air of one drawing scientific distinctions. ' Now, is 
 that a boy or a lady that spoke to me last T 
 
 ' By its dress, I should say a boy,' said Gibber, 
 with his glass ; ' by its assurance, a lady !' 
 
 ' There's one clever woman amongst ye ; Peg 
 something, plays Lothario, Lady Betty Modish, and 
 what not ?' 
 
 ' What ! admire Woffington ?' screamed Mrs. 
 Clive ; ' why, slie is the greatest gabbler on the 
 stage.' 
 
 ' I don't care,' was the reply, ' there's nature 
 about the jade. Don't contradict me,' added she, 
 with sudden fury ; ' a parcel of children.' 
 
 ' No, Madam,' said Clive, humbly. ' Mr. Gibber, 
 will you try and prevail on Mrs. Bracegirdle to 
 favour us with a recitation ?' 
 
 Gibber handed his cane with pomp to a small 
 actor. Bracegirdle did the same ; and striking the 
 attitudes that had passed for heroic in their day, 
 they declaimed out of the ' Eival Queens ' two or
 
 44 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 three tirades, which I gi-aciously spare the reader of 
 this tale. Their elocution was neat and silvery ; 
 but not one bit like the way people speak in streets, 
 palaces, fields, roads, and rooms. They had not 
 made the grand discovery, which Mr. A. Wigan on 
 the stage, and every man of sense off it, has made in 
 our day and nation ; namely, that the stage is a 
 representation not of stage, but of life ; and that an 
 actor ought to speak and act in imitation of human 
 beings, not of speaking machines that have run and 
 creaked in a stage groove, with their eyes shut 
 upon the world at large, upon nature, upon truth, 
 upon man, upon woman, and upon child. 
 
 ' This is slow,' cried Gibber ; ' let us show these 
 young people how ladies and gentlemen moved fifty 
 years ago, dansons.' 
 
 A fiddler was caught, a beautiful slow minuet 
 played, and a bit of ' solemn dancing ' done. Cer- 
 tainly, it was not gay, but it must be owned it was 
 beautiful ; it was the dance of kings, the poetry of 
 the courtly saloon. 
 
 The retired actress, however, had frisker notions 
 left in her : ' This is slow,' cried she, and bade the 
 fiddler play, ' The wind that shakes the barley,' an 
 ancient jig tune ; this she danced to in a style that 
 utterly astounded the spectators. 
 
 She showed them what fun was ; her feet and 
 her stick were all echoes to the mad strain ; out
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 45 
 
 went her heel behind, and returning, drove her 
 four yards forward. She made unaccountable 
 slants, and cut them all over in turn if they did not 
 jump for it. Eoars of inextinguishable laughter 
 arose, it would have made an oyster merry. 
 Suddenly she stopped, and put her hands to her 
 sides, and soon after she gave a vehement cry 
 of pain. 
 
 The laughter ceased. 
 
 She gave another cry of such agony, that they 
 were all round her in a moment. 
 
 ' Oh ! help me, ladies,' screamed the poor woman, 
 in tones as feminine as they were heart-rending and 
 piteous. ' Oh, my back ! my loins ! 1 suffer, 
 gentlemen,' said the poor thing, faintly. 
 
 What was to be done? Mr. Vane offered his 
 penknife to cut her laces. 
 
 ' You shall cut my head off sooner,' cried she, 
 with sudden energy. ' Don't pity me,' said sl:e, 
 sadly, ' I don't deserve it ;' then lifting her eyes, 
 she exclaimed, with a sad air of self-reproach : ' Oh, 
 vanity ! do you never leave a woman ?' 
 
 ' Nay, Madam !' whimpered the page, who was a 
 good-hearted girl ; ' 'twas your great complaisance 
 for us, not vanity. Oh ! oh ! oh !' and she began to 
 blubber to make matters better. 
 
 ' No, my children,' said the old lady, ' 'twas 
 vanity. I wanted to show you what an old 'oman
 
 46 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 could do ; and I have humiliated myself, trying to 
 outshine younger folk. I am justly humiliated, as 
 you see,' and she began to cry a little. 
 
 ' This is very painful,' said Gibber. 
 
 Mrs. Bracegirdle now raised her eyes (they had 
 set her in a chair), and looking sweetly, tenderly, 
 and earnestly on her old companion, she said to him, 
 slowly, gently, but impressively : 
 
 ' Colley, at three-score years and ten, this was 
 ill-done of us ! You and I are here now — for what ? 
 to cheer the young up the hill we mounted years 
 ago. And, old friend, if we detract firom them we 
 discourage them. A great sin in the old !' 
 
 ' Every dog his day.' 
 
 *We have had ours.' Here she smiled, then 
 laying her hand tenderly in the old man's, she 
 added, with calm solemnity : * And now we must go 
 quietly towards our rest, and strut and fret no more 
 the few last minutes of life's fleeting hour.' 
 
 How tame my cacotype of these words compared 
 with what they were. I am ashamed of them and 
 myself, and the human craft of writing, which, 
 though commoner far, is so miserably behind the 
 godlike art of speech : Si ipsam audivisses ! 
 
 These ink scratches, which in the imperfection of 
 language we have called words, till the unthinking 
 actually dream they are words, but which are the 
 shadows of the corpses of words; these word-
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 47 
 
 shadows then were living powers on her lips, and 
 subdued as eloquence always does, every heart 
 within reach of the imperial tongue. 
 
 The young loved her, and the old man, softened 
 and vanquished, and mindful of his failing life, was 
 silent, and pressed his handkerchief to his eyes a 
 moment ; then he said : 
 
 ' No, Bracy — no. Be composed, I pray you. 
 She is right. Young people, forgive me tliat I love 
 the dead too well, and the days when I was what 
 you are now. Drat the woman,' continued he, 
 half-ashamed of his emotion ; ' she makes us laugh, 
 and makes us cry, just as she used.' 
 
 ' What does he say, young woman ?' said the old 
 lady, drily, to Mrs. Clive. 
 
 ' He says you make us laugh, and make us cry, 
 Madam ; and so you do me, I'm sure.' 
 
 ' And that's Pej; Woffington's notion of an 
 actress ! Better it, Gibber and Bracegirdle, if you 
 can,' said the other, rising up like lightning. 
 
 She then threw Colley Gibber a note, and walked 
 coolly and rapidly out of the room, without looking 
 once behind her. 
 
 The rest stood transfixed, looking at one another, 
 and at the empty chair. Then Gibber opened and 
 read the note aloud. It was from Mrs. Bracegirdle : 
 * Playing at tric-trac ; so can't play the fool in your 
 green-room to-night. — B.'
 
 48 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 On tliis, a musical rin^incr laujih was heard from 
 outside the door, wliere tlie pseudo Bracegirdle was 
 washing the grey from her hair, and the wrinkles from 
 her face — ah ! I wish I could do it as easily ! — and 
 the little bit of sticking-plaster from her front tooth. 
 
 ' Why, it is the Irish jade !' roared Gibber. 
 
 ' Divil a less !' rang back a rich brogue ; ' and 
 it's not the furst time we put the comether upon ye, 
 England, my jewal !' 
 
 One more mutual glance, and then the mortal 
 cleverness of all this began to dawn on their minds ; 
 and they broke forth into clapping of hands, and 
 gave this accomplished mime three rounds of 
 applause ; Mr. Vane and Sir Charles Pomander 
 leading with ' Brava, Woffington !' 
 
 Its effect on Mr. Vane may be imagined. Who but 
 she could have done this ? This was as if a painter 
 should so paint a man as to deceive his species. 
 This was acting, but not like the acting of the stage. 
 He was in transports, and self-satisfaction at his own 
 judgment mingled pleasantly with his admiration. 
 
 In this cheerful exhibition, one joined not — Mr. 
 Gibber. His theories had received a shock (and we 
 all love our theories). He himself had received a 
 rap, and we don't hate ourselves. 
 
 Great is the syllogism 1 But there is a class of 
 arguments less vulnerable. 
 
 If A says to B, ' You can't hit me, as I prove by
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 49 
 
 this syllogism,' (here followeth the syllogism), 'and 
 B, pour toute re'ponse, knocks A down such a whack 
 that he rebounds into a sitting posture ; and to him 
 the man, the tree, the lamp-post, and the fire- 
 escape, become not clearly distinguishable; this 
 barbarous logic prevails against the logic in Barbara, 
 and the syllogism is in the predicament of Humpty 
 Dumpty. 
 
 In this predicament was the Poet Laureate. 
 'The miscreant Proteus (could not) escape these 
 chains !' So the miscreant Proteus — no bad name 
 for an old actor — took his little cocked-hat and 
 marched ; a smaller, if not a wiser man. Some 
 disjointed words fell from him : ' Mimicry is not 
 acting,' &c. ; and with one bitter, mowing glance at 
 the applauders, circumferens aeriter oculos, he 
 vanished in the largest pinch of snufF on record. 
 The rest dispersed more slowly. 
 
 Mr. Vane waited eagerly, and watched the door 
 for Mrs. Woffington ; but she did not come. He 
 then made acquaintance with good-natured Mr. 
 Quin, who took him upon the stage, and showed 
 him by what vulgar appliances that majestic rise of 
 the curtain he so admired was effected. Eeturning 
 to the green-room for his friend, he found him in 
 animated conversation with Mrs Woffington. This 
 made Vane uneasy. 
 
 Sir Charles, up to the present moment of the 
 
 E
 
 50 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 evening, had been unwontcdly silent, and now he 
 was talking nineteen to the dozen, and Mrs. Wof- 
 fington was listening with an appearance of interest 
 that sent a pang to poor Vane's heart ; he begged 
 Mr. Quin to introduce him. 
 
 Mr. Quin introduced him. 
 
 The lady received his advances witli polite com- 
 posure. Mr. Vane stammered his admiration of 
 lier Bracegirdle ; but all he could find words to say, 
 was mere general praise, and somewhat coldly re- 
 ceived. Sir Charles, on the contrary, spoke more 
 like a critic. ' Had you given us the stage cackle, 
 or any of those traditionary symptoms of old age, we 
 should have instantly detected you,' said he ; ' but 
 this was art copying nature, and it may be years 
 before such a triumph of illusion is again effected 
 under so many adverse circumstances.' 
 
 ' You are very good, Sir Charles,' was the reply. 
 ' You flatter me. It was one of those things which 
 look greater than they are; nobody here knew 
 Bracegirdle but Mr. Cibber; Mr. Cibber cannot see 
 well without his glasses, and I got rid of one of the 
 candles ; I sent one of the imps of the theatre to 
 knock it down. I know Mrs. Bracegirdle by heart. 
 I drink tea with her every Sunday. I had her dress 
 on, and I gave the old boy her words and her way 
 of thinking ; it was mere mimicry ; it was nothing 
 compared with what I once did ; but, a-hem !'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 51 
 
 * Pray tell us !' 
 
 ' I am afraid I shall shock your friend. I see he 
 is not a wicked man like you, and perhaps does not 
 know what good-for-nothing creatures actresses are.' 
 
 * He is not so ignorant as he looks,' replied Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 ' That is not quite the answer I expected, Sir 
 Charles,' replied this lively lady ; ' but it serves me 
 right, for fishing on dry land. Well then, you 
 must know a young gentleman courted me. I 
 forget whether I liked him or not; but you will 
 fancy I hated him, for I promised to marry him. 
 You must understand, gentlemen, that I was sent 
 into the world, not to act, which I abominate, but 
 to chronicle small beer and teach an army of little 
 brats their letters ; so this word ' wife,' and that 
 word ' chimney-corner,' took possession of my mind, 
 and a vision of darning stockings for a large party, 
 all my own, filled my heart, and really I felt quite 
 grateful to the little brute that was to give me all 
 this, and he would have had such a wife as men 
 never do have, still less deserve. But one fine day 
 that the theatre left me time to examine his manner 
 towards me ; I instantly discovered he was de- 
 ceiving me. So I had him watched, and the little 
 brute was going to marry another woman, and break 
 it to me by degrees afterwards, &c. You know, 
 Sir Charles ? Ah ! I see you do. 
 
 E 2
 
 52 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' I foimd her out ; got an Introduction to lier 
 father ; went down to his house three days before 
 the marriage, with a little coal-black moustache, 
 regimentals, and what not, made up, in short, with 
 the art of my sex, gentlemen — and the impudence 
 of yours. 
 
 ' The first day I flirted and danced with the 
 bride. The second I made love to her, and at night 
 I let her know that her intended was a villain. I 
 showed her letters of his ; protestations, oaths of 
 eternal fidelity to one Peg Woffington, " who will 
 die," drawled I, " if he betrays her." 
 
 ' And here, gentlemen, mark the justice of Hea- 
 ven. I received a back -handed slap : " Peg Wof- 
 fington ! an actress ! Oh, the villain !" cried she ; 
 " let him marry the little vagabond. How dare he 
 insult me with his hand that had been offered in 
 such a quarter?" 
 
 ' So, in a fit of virtuous indignation, the little 
 hypocrite dismissed the little brute ; in other words, 
 she had fallen in love with me. 
 
 ' I have not had many happy hours, but I re- 
 member it was delicious to look out of my window, 
 and at the same moment smell the honeysuckles and 
 see my perfide dismissed under a heap of scorn and 
 a pile of luggage he had brought down for his 
 wedding tour. 
 
 ' I scampered up to London, laughing all the
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 53 
 
 way ; and when I got home, if I remember right, I 
 cried for two hours. How do you account for that ?' 
 . ' I hope. Madam,' said Vane, gravely, ' it was 
 remorse for having trifled with that poor young 
 lady's heart ; she had never injured you.' 
 
 ' But, Sir, the husband I robbed her of was a 
 brute and a villain in his little way, and wicked, 
 and good-for-nothing, &c. He would have deceived 
 that poor little hypocrite, as he had this one,' point- 
 ing to herself. 
 
 ' That is not what I mean ; you inspired her 
 with an attachment, never to be forgotten. Poor 
 lady, how many sleepless nights has she passed since 
 then, how many times has she strained her eyes to 
 see her angel lover returning to her ! She will not 
 forget in two years the love it cost you but two 
 days to inspire. The powerful should be merciful. 
 Ah ! I fear you have no heart.' 
 
 These words had no sooner burst from Mr. Vane, 
 than he was conscious of the strange liberty he had 
 taken, and, indeed, the bad taste he had been guilty 
 of; and this feeling was not lessened when he saw 
 Mrs. Woffington colour up to the temples. Her 
 eyes, too, glittered like basilisks; but she said 
 nothing, which was remarkable in her, whose 
 tongue was the sword of a maitre cCarmes. 
 
 Sir Charles eyed his friend in a sly, satirical 
 manner ; he then said, laughingly : ' In two months
 
 54 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 she married a third ! don't waste your sympathy,' 
 and turned the talk into another channel ; and soon 
 after, Mrs. Woffington's maid appearing at the door, 
 she curtsied to botlx gentlemen and left the theatre. 
 Sir Charles Pomander accompanied Mr. Vane a 
 little way. 
 
 ' What becomes of her innocence ? ' was his first 
 word. 
 
 ' One loses sight of" it in her immense talent,' said 
 the lover. 
 
 ' She certainly is clever in all that bears upon her 
 business,' was the reply ; ' but I noticed you were a 
 little shocked with her indelicacy in telling us that 
 story, and still more in having it to tell.' 
 
 ' Indelicacy ? No ! ' said Vane ; ' the little brute 
 deserved it. Good Heavens ! to think that " a little 
 brute " might have married that angel, and actually 
 broke faith to lose her ; it is incredible, the crime is 
 diluted by the absurdity.' 
 
 ' Have you heard him tell the story ? No ? 
 Then take my word for it you have not heard the 
 facts of the case.' 
 
 ' Ah ! you are prejudiced against her?' 
 
 ' On the contrary, I like her. But I know that 
 with all women, the present lover is an angel and 
 the past a demon, and so on in turn. And I know 
 that if Satan were to enter the women of the stage, 
 with the wild idea of impairing their veracity,
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 55 
 
 lie would come out of their minds a greater liar 
 than he went in, and the innocent darlings would 
 never know their spiritual father had been at them.' 
 
 Doubtful whether this sentiment and period could 
 be improved, Sir Cliarles parted with his friend, 
 leavino; his sting in him like a friend ; the other's 
 reflections as he sauntered home were not strictly 
 those of a wise, well-balanced mind, they ran in this 
 style : 
 
 ' When she said : "Is not that to praise my 
 person at the expense of my wit?" I ought to have 
 said : " Nay, Madam ; could your wit disguise 
 your person, it would betray itself, so you would 
 still shine confessed," and instead of that I said 
 nothing !' 
 
 He than ran over in his mind all the oppor- 
 tunities he had had for putting in something smart, 
 and bitterly regretted those lost opportunities ; and 
 made the smart things, and beat the air with them. 
 Then his cheeks tingled when he remembered that 
 he had almost scolded her ; and he concocted a very 
 different speech, and straightway repeated it in 
 imagination. 
 
 This is lovers' pastime; I own it funny; but it 
 is open to one objection, this single practice of 
 sitting upon eggs no longer chickcnable, carried to a 
 habit, is capable of turning a solid intellect into a 
 liquid one, and ruining a mind's career.
 
 56 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 We leave Mr. Vane, therefore, with a hope that 
 he will not do it every night ; and we follow his 
 friend to the close of our chapter. 
 
 Hey for a definition ! 
 
 What is diplomacy? Is it folly in a coat that 
 looks like sagacity ? Had Sir Charles Pomander, 
 instead of watching Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woffington, 
 asked the former whether he admired the latter, and 
 whether the latter responded, straightforward Vane 
 would have told him the whole truth in a minute. 
 Diplomacy therefore was, as it often is, a waste of time. 
 
 But diplomacy did more in this case, it sapienter 
 descendebat in fossam ; it fell on its nose with gym- 
 nastic dexterity, as it generally does, upon my word. 
 
 To watch Mrs. Woffington's face vis-a-vis Mr. 
 Vane, Pomander introduced Vane to the green-room 
 of the Theatre Koyal, Covent Garden. By this 
 Pomander learned nothing, because Mrs. Woffington 
 had, with a wonderful appearance of openness, the 
 closest face in Europe when she chose. 
 
 On the other hand, by introducing this country 
 gentleman to this green-room, he gave a mighty 
 impulse and opportunity to Vane's love ; an oppor- 
 tunity which he forgot the timid, inexperienced 
 Damon might otherwise never have found. 
 
 Here diplomacy was not policy, for, as my 
 sagacious reader has perhaps divined, Sir Charles 
 Pomander was after her himself.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 57 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Yes : Sir Charles was after ]\Iiss Woffington. I 
 use that phrase because it is a fine generic one, 
 suitable to different kinds of love-making. 
 
 Mr. Vane's sentiments were an inexplicable com- 
 pound ; but respect, enthusiasm and deep admira- 
 tion, were the uppermost. 
 
 The good Sir Charles was no enigma : he had a 
 vacancy in his establishment — a very high situation, 
 too, for those who like that sort of thing — the head 
 of his table, his left hand when he drove in the 
 Park, &c. To this he proposed to promote Miss 
 Woffington. She was handsome and witty, and he 
 liked her. But that was not what caused him to 
 pursue her ; slow, sagacious, inevitable, as a beagle. 
 
 She was celebrated, and would confer great eclat 
 on him. The scandal of possessing her was a burn- 
 ing temptation. Women admire celebrity in a 
 man ; but men adore it in a woman. 
 
 ' The world,' says Philip, ' is a famous man ; 
 "What will not women love so taught?' 
 
 I will try to answer this question. 
 
 The women will more readily forgive disgusting 
 physical deformity for Fame's sake, than we. They 
 would embrace with more rapture a famous ourang- 
 outang, than we an illustrious chimpanzee; but
 
 58 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 when it comes to moral deformity tlie tables are 
 turned. 
 
 Had the Queen pardoned Mr. Greenacre and Mrs. 
 Manning, would the great rush have been on the 
 hero, or the heroine ? Why, on Mrs. Macbeth ! 
 To her would the blackguards have brought 
 honourable proposals, and the gentry liberal ones. 
 
 Greenacre would have found more female ad- 
 mirers than I ever shall ; but the grand stream of 
 sexual admiration would have set Mariawards. This 
 iact is as dark as night ; but it is as sure as the sun. 
 
 The next day ' the friends ' (most laughable of 
 liuman substantives !) met in the theatre, and again 
 visited the green-room ; and this time Vane deter- 
 mined to do himself more justice. He was again 
 disappointed ; the actress's manner was ceremoniously 
 polite. She was almost constantly on the stage, and 
 in a hurry when off it ; and when there was a word 
 to be got with her, the ready, glib Sir Charles, was 
 sure to get it. Vane could not help thinking it 
 hard that a man who professed no respect for her, 
 should thus keep the light from him ; and he could 
 hardly conceal his satisfaction, when Pomander, 
 at night, bade him farewell for a fortnight. Pressing 
 business took Sir Charles into the country. 
 
 The good Sir Charles, however, could not go 
 without leaving his sting behind as a companion to 
 his friend. He called on Mr. Vane, and after a
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 59 
 
 short preface, containing the words, ' our friendship,' 
 ' old kindness,' ' my greater experience,' he gravely 
 warned him against Mrs. Woffington. 
 
 ' Not that I would say this if you could take her 
 for what she is, and amuse yourself with her as she 
 will with you, if she thinks it worth her while. 
 But I see you have a heart, and she will make a 
 football of it, and torment you beyond all you have 
 ever conceived of human anguish.' 
 
 Mr. Vane coloured high, and was about to in- 
 terrupt the speaker ; but he continued : 
 
 ' There, I am in a hurry. But ask Quin, or any- 
 body who knows her history, you will find she has 
 had scores of lovers, and no one remains her friend 
 after they part.' 
 
 ' Men are such villains !' 
 
 ' Very likely,' was the reply ; ' but twenty men 
 don't ill-use one good woman : those are not the pro- 
 portions. Adieu !' 
 
 This last hit frightened Mr. Vane, he began to 
 look into himself; he could not but feel that he was 
 a mere child in this woman's hands ; and more than 
 that, his conscience told him that if his heart should 
 be made a football of, it would only be a just and 
 probable punishment. For there were particular 
 reasons why he, of all men, had no luisincss to 
 look twice at any woman whose name was Woffing- 
 ton.
 
 60 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 That night he avoided the green-room, though he 
 could not forego the play ; but the next night he 
 determined to stay at home altogether. Accord- 
 ingly, at five o'clock, the astounded box-keeper wore 
 a visage of dismay — there was no shilling for him ! 
 and Mr. Vane's nightly sliilling had assumed the 
 sanctity of salary in his mind. 
 
 Mr. Vane strolled disconsolate ; he strolled by the 
 Thames, he strolled up and down the Strand ; and, 
 finally, having often admired the wisdom of moths 
 in their gradual approach to what is not good for 
 them, he strolled into the green-room, Covent 
 Garden, and sat down. When there he did not feel 
 happy. Besides, she had always been cold to him, 
 and had given no sign of desiring his acquaintance, 
 still less of recognition. 
 
 Mr. Vane had often seen a weathercock at work, 
 and he had heard a woman compared to it ; but he 
 had never realized the simplicity, beauty, and justice 
 of the simile. He was therefore surprised, as well as 
 thrilled, when Mrs. Wofiington so cool, ceremo- 
 nious, and distant hitherto, walked up to him in the 
 green-room with a face quite wreathed in smiles, 
 and without preliminary, thanked him for all the 
 beautiful flowers he had sent her. 
 
 ' What, Mrs. Wofiington — what, you recognise 
 me?' 
 
 ' Of course, and have been foolish enough to feel
 
 .PEG WOFFINGTON. 61 
 
 quite supported by the thought, I had at least one 
 friend in the house. But,' said she, looking down, 
 ' now you must not be angry ; here are some stones 
 that have fallen somehow among the flowers, I am 
 going to give you them back, because I value 
 flowers, so I cannot have them mixed with anything 
 else ; but don't ask me for a flower back,' added 
 she, seeing the colour mount on his face, * for I 
 would not give one of them to you, or anybody.' 
 
 Imagine the effect of this on a romantic dispo- 
 sition like Mr. Vane's. 
 
 He told her how glad he was that she could dis- 
 tinguish his features amidst the crowd of her ad- 
 mirers ; he confessed he had been mortified when he 
 found himself, as he thought, entirely a stranger to 
 her. 
 
 She interrupted him. 
 
 ' Do you know your friend Sir Charles Pomander ? 
 No ! I am almost sure you do ; well, he is a man I 
 do not like. He is deceitful, besides he is a wicked 
 man. There, to be plain with you, he was watcli- 
 ing me all that night, the first time you came here, 
 and because I saw he was watching me, I would 
 not know who you were, nor anything about you.' 
 
 ' But you looked as if you had never seen me 
 before.' 
 
 ' Of course I did, when I had made up my mind 
 to,' said the actress, naively.
 
 62 PEG WOFFINGTOX.. 
 
 ' Sir Charles has left London for a fortnight, so if 
 he is tlie only obstacle, I hope you will know me 
 every night.' 
 
 ' Why, you sent me no flowers yesterday, or to- 
 day.' 
 
 ' But I will to-morrow.' 
 
 * Then I am sure I shall know your face again : 
 good-bye. Won't you see me in the last act, and 
 tell me how ill I do it ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes !' and he hurried to his box, and so the 
 actress secured one pair of hands for her last act. 
 
 He returned to the green-room, but she did not 
 revisit that verdant bower. The next night, after 
 the usual compliments, she said to him, looking 
 down with a sweet engaging air : ■ 
 
 ' I sent a messenger into the country to know 
 about that lady.' 
 
 ' What lady ?' said Vane, scarcely believing his 
 senses. 
 
 ' That you were so unkind to me about.' 
 
 ' I, unkind to you ? what a brute I must be !' 
 
 ' My meaning is, you justly rebuked me, only 
 you should not tell an actress she has no heart — that 
 is always understood. Well, Sir Charles Pomander 
 said she married a third in two months !' 
 
 'And did she?' 
 
 ' No, it was in six weeks ; that man never tells 
 the truth, and since then she has married a fourth.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 63 
 
 * I am glad of it !' 
 
 * So am I, since you awakened my conscience.' 
 Delicious flattery ! and of all flattery the sweetest 
 
 when a sweet creature does flattery, not merely 
 utters it. 
 
 After this Vane made no more struggles ; he 
 surrendered himself to the charming seduction, and 
 as his advances were respectful, but ardent and in- 
 cessant, he found himself at the end of a fortnight 
 Mrs. Woflington's professed lovpr. 
 
 They wrote letters to each other every day. On 
 Sunday they went to church together in the morn- 
 ing, and spent the afternoon in the suburbs wherever 
 grass was and dust was not. 
 
 In the next fortnight, poor Vane thought he had 
 pretty well fathomed this extraordinary woman's 
 character. Plumb the Atlantic with an eighty 
 fathom line^ Sir ! 
 
 ' She is religious,' said he, * she loves a church 
 much better than a play-house, and she never laughs 
 nor goes to sleep in churcli as I do. And she is 
 breaking me of swearing — by degrees. She says 
 that no fashion can justify what is profane, and that 
 it must be vulgar as well as wicked. And she is 
 firankness and simplicity itself.' 
 
 Another thing that cliarmed him was her dis- 
 interestedness. She ordered him to buy hrr a 
 present every day, but it was never to cost above a
 
 64 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 shilling. If an article could be found that cost 
 exactly tenpence (a favourite sura of hers), she was 
 particularly pleased, and these shilling presents were 
 received with a flush of pleasure and brightening 
 eyes : but when one day he appeared with a diamond 
 necklace, it was taken very coldly, he was not even 
 thanked for it, and he was made to feel, once for all, 
 that the tenpenny ones were the best investments 
 towards her favour. 
 
 Then he found out that she was very prudent and 
 rather stingy ; of Spartan simplicity in her diet, and 
 a scomer of dress off the stage. To redeem this she 
 was charitable, and her charity and her economy 
 sometimes had a sore fight, during which she was 
 peevish, poor little soul. 
 
 One day she made him a request. 
 
 ' I can't bear you should think me worse than I am, 
 and I don't want you to think me better than I am.' 
 
 Vane trembled. 
 
 ' But don't speak to others about me ; promise, 
 and I will promise to tell you my whole story, 
 whenever you are entitled to such a confidence.' 
 
 ' When shall I be entitled to it ?' 
 
 ' When I am sure you love me.' 
 
 ' Do you doubt that now ?' 
 
 ' Yes ! I think you love me, but I am not sure.' 
 
 ' Margaret, remember I have known you much 
 longer than you have known me.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 65 
 
 * Yes ! Two months before we ever spoke I 
 lived upon your face and voice.' 
 
 * That is to say you looked from your box at me 
 upon the stage, and did not I look from the stage at 
 you?' 
 
 ' Never ! you always looked at the pit, and my 
 heart used to sink.' 
 
 ' On the 17th of May you first came into that 
 box. I noticed you a little, the next day I noticed 
 you a little more ; I saw you fancied you liked 
 me, after a while I could not have played without 
 you.' 
 
 Here was delicious flattery again, and poor Vane 
 believed every word of it. 
 
 As for her request and her promise, she showed 
 her wisdom in both these. As Sir Charles observed, 
 it is a wonderful point gained if you allow a woman 
 to tell her story her own way. 
 
 How the few facts that are allowed to remain, get 
 moulded and twisted out of ugly forms into pretty 
 shapes by those supple, dexterous fingers ! 
 
 This present story cannot give the life of Mrs. 
 WofEngton, but only one great passage therein, as 
 do the epic and dramatic writers ; but since there 
 was often great point in any sentences spoken on 
 important occasions by this lady, I will just quote 
 her defence of herself. The reader may be sure she 
 
 F
 
 66 PEG WOFFINGTOlSr. 
 
 did not play her weakest card ; let us give her the 
 benefit. 
 
 One day she and Kitty Clive were at it ding-dong ; 
 the green-room was full of actors, male and female, 
 but there were no strangers, and the ladies were 
 saying things which the men of this generation only 
 think ; at last Mrs. Woffington finding herself 
 roughly, and, as she thought, unjustly handled, 
 turned upon the assembly and said : ' What man 
 did ever I ruin in all my life ? Speak who can !' 
 
 And there was a dead silence. 
 
 ' What woman is there here at as much as three 
 pounds per week even, that liasn't ruined two at the 
 very least ?' 
 
 Eeport says there was a dead silence again, imtil 
 Mrs. Clive perked up, and said she had only ruined 
 one, and that was his own favdt ! 
 
 Mrs. Woffington declined to attach weight to this 
 example. 'Kitty Clive is the hook without the 
 bait," said she ; and the laugh turned, as it always 
 did, against Peggy's antagonist. 
 
 Thus much was speedily shown to Mr. Vane, that 
 whatever were Mrs. Woffington's intentions towards 
 him, interest had at present nothing to do with 
 them; indeed it was made clear that even were 
 she to surrender her liberty to him, it would only be 
 as a princess, forging golden chains for herself with 
 her own royal hand.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 67; 
 
 Anotlier fortnight passed to the mutual satisfaction 
 of the lovers. To Vane it was a dream of rapture to 
 he near this great creature, whom thousands admired 
 at such a distance ; to watch over her, to take her to 
 the theatre in a warm shawl, to stand at the wing 
 and receive her as she came radiant from her 
 dressing-room, to watch her from her rear as she 
 stood like some power about to descend on the 
 stage, to see her falcon-like stoop upon the said 
 stage, and hear the burst of applause that followed, 
 as the report does the flash ; to compare this with 
 the spiritless crawl with which common artists went 
 on, tame from their first note to their last ; to take 
 her hand when she came off, feel how her nerves 
 were strung like a greyhound's after a race, and her 
 whole frame in a high even glow, with the great 
 Pythoness excitement of art. 
 
 And to have the same great creature leaning her 
 head on his shoulder, and listening with a charming 
 complacency, whilst he purred to her of love and 
 calm delights, alternate with still greater triumphs ; 
 for he was to turn dramatic writer, for her sake was 
 to write plays, a woman the hero, and love was to 
 inspire him, and passion supply the want of pencraft. 
 (You make me laugh, Mr. Vane !) 
 
 All this was heavenly. 
 
 And then with all her dash, and fire, and bravado, 
 she was a thorough woman. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 * Margaret !' 
 
 * Ernest !' 
 
 ' I want to ask you a question. Did you really cry 
 because that Miss Bellamy had dresses from Paris ?' 
 
 ' It does not seem very likely.' 
 
 ' No, but tell me ; did you ?' 
 
 ' Who said I did ?' 
 
 ' Mr. Gibber.' 
 
 ' Old fool !' 
 
 ' Yes, but did you ?' 
 
 'Did I what?' 
 
 'Cry!' 
 
 ' Ernest, the minx's dresses were beautiful.' 
 
 ' No doubt. But did you cry ?' 
 
 ' And mine were dirty ; I don't care about gilt 
 rags, but dirty dresses, ugh !' 
 
 ' Tell me, then.' 
 
 •* Tell you what ?' 
 
 ■* Did you cry or not ?' 
 
 ' Ah ! he wants to find out whether I am a fool, 
 and despise me.' 
 
 ' No, I think I should love you better : for 
 hitherto I have seen no weakness in you, and it 
 makes me uncomfortable.' 
 
 ' Be comforted ! Is it not a weakness to like 
 you?' 
 
 ' You are free from that weakness, or you would 
 gratify my curiosity.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 69 
 
 ' Be pleased to state, in plain intelligible English, 
 what you require of me.' 
 
 ' I want to know, in one word, did you cry or not ?' 
 
 ' Promise to tease me no more then, and I'll tell 
 you.' 
 
 ' I promise.' 
 
 ' You won't despise me ?' 
 
 ' Despise you ! of course not' 
 
 ' Well then — I don't remember !' 
 
 On another occasion, they were seated in the 
 dusk, by the side of the canal in the Park, when a 
 little animal began to potter about on an adjacent 
 bank. 
 
 Mrs. Woflington contemplated it with curiosity 
 and delight. 
 
 ' Oh, you pretty creature !' said she. ' Now you 
 are a rabbit : at least, I think so.' 
 
 ' No,' said Vane, innocently ; ' that is a rat.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ah ! ah !' screamed Mrs. Woflington, and 
 pinched his arm. This frightened the rat, who dis- 
 appeared. She burst out laughing : ' There's a fool ! 
 The thing did not frighten me, and the name did. 
 Depend upon it, it's true what they say — that off 
 the stage, I am the greatest fool there is. I'll never 
 be so absurd again. Ah I ah ! ah ! here it is again,' 
 (scream and pinch, as before.) ' Do take me from 
 this horrid place, where monsters come from the 
 great deep.'
 
 70 TEG WOFFIXGTON. 
 
 And she flounced away, looking daggers askant 
 at the place the rat had vacated in equal terror. 
 
 All this was silly, but it pleases us men, and 
 •contrast is so charming! This same fool was 
 brimful of talent — and cunning, too, for that 
 matter. 
 
 She played late that night, and Mr. Vane saw the 
 same creature, who dared not stay where she was 
 liable to a distant rat, spring upon the stage as a gay 
 rake, and flash out her rapier, and act valour's king 
 to the life, and seem ready to eat up everybody, 
 King Fear included; and then, after her brilliant 
 sally upon the public, Sir Harry Wildair came and 
 stood beside Mr. Vane. 
 
 Her bright skin, contrasted with her powdered 
 periwig, became dazzling. She used little rouge, 
 but that little made her eyes two balls of black 
 lightning. From her high instep to her polished 
 forehead, all was symmetry. Her leg would have 
 been a sculptor's glory ; and the curve from her 
 waist to her knee, was Hogarth's line itself. 
 
 She stood like Mercury new lighted on a heaven- 
 kissing hill. She placed her foot upon the ground, 
 as she might put a hand upon her lover's shoulder. 
 We indent it with ovir eleven undisguised stone. 
 
 Such was Sir Harry Wildair, vsrho stood by Mr. 
 Vane, glittering with diamond buckles, gorgeous 
 with rich satin breeches, velvet coat, ruffles, pictai
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 71 
 
 vestis et auri; and as she bent her long eje-fringes 
 down on him, (he was seated,) all her fiery charms 
 gradually softened and quivered down to womanhood. 
 
 ' The first time I was here,' said Vane, ' my 
 admiration of you broke out to Mr. Gibber; and 
 what do you think he said ?' 
 
 ' That you praised mc, for me to hear you. Did 
 you?' 
 
 ' Acquit me of such meanness.' 
 
 ' Forgive me. It is just what I should have 
 done, had I been courting an actress.' 
 
 'I think you have not met many ingenuous 
 spirits, dear friend?' 
 
 ' Not one, my child.' 
 
 This was a phrase she often applied to him now. 
 
 'The old fellow pretended to hear what I said, 
 too ; and I am sure you did not — did you ?' 
 
 ' Guess.' 
 
 ' I guess not.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I must plead guilty. An actress's 
 ears are so quick to hear praise, to tell you the 
 truth, I did catch a word or two, and, " It told, 
 Sir — it told." ' 
 
 ' You alarm me ! At this rate, I shall never 
 know what you see, hear, or think, by your lace.' 
 
 * When you want to know anything, ask me, 
 and I will tell you; but nobody else shall learn 
 anything, nor even you, any other way.'
 
 72 TEG WOFFIXGTO:^. 
 
 ' Did you hear tlie feeble tribute of praise I 
 was paying you, when you came in ?' inquired Vane. 
 
 ' No, You did not say that my voice had the 
 compass and variety of nature, and my move- 
 ments were free and beautiful, whilst the others 
 when in motion were stilts, and coiFee-pots when 
 in repose, did you ?' 
 
 ' Something of the sort, I believe,' cried Vane, 
 laughing. 
 
 ' I melted from one fine statue into another, I 
 restored the Antinous to his true sex. — Goose ! — 
 Painters might learn their art from me (in my 
 dressing-room, no doubt), and orators revive at 
 my lips the music of Athens, that quelled mad 
 mobs and princes drunk with victory. — Silly 
 fellow ! — Praise was never so sweet to me,' mur- 
 mured she, inclining like a goddess of love towards 
 him; and he fastened on two velvet lips, that did 
 not shun the sweet attack, but gently parted with 
 a heavenly sigh; while her heaving bosom, and 
 yielding frame, and swimming eyes, confessed her 
 conqueror. 
 
 That morning Mr. Vane had been dispirited, and 
 apparently self-discontented ; but at night, he went 
 home in a state of mental intoxication. His poetic 
 enthusiasm, his love, his vanity, were all gratified 
 at once. And all these, singly, have conquered 
 Prudence and Virtue a million times.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 73 
 
 She had confessed to liim that she was dis- 
 posed to risk her happiness on him ; she had 
 begged him to submit to a short probation; and 
 she had promised, if her confidence and esteem 
 remained unimpaired at the close of that period 
 — which was not to be an unhappy one — to take 
 advantage of the summer holidays, and cross the 
 water with him, and forget everything in the 
 world with him, but love. 
 
 How was it that the very next morning, clouds 
 chased one another across his face? Was it that 
 men are happy, but while the chase is doubtful? 
 Was it the letter from Pomander announcinc; his 
 return, and sneeringly inquiring whether he was 
 still the dupe of Peg Woffington ? or was it that 
 same mysterious disquiet which attacked him peri- 
 odically, and then gave way for a while to pleasure 
 and her golden dreams ? 
 
 The next day was to be a day of delight. He 
 was to entertain her at his own house ; and to do 
 her honour, he had asked Mr. Cibber, Mr. Quin, 
 and other actors, critics, &c. 
 
 Our friend Sir Cliarles Pomander had been guilty 
 of two ingenuities : first, he had written three or 
 foiir letters, full of respectful admiration, to Mrs. 
 Woffington, of whom he spoke slightingly to Vane ; 
 second, he had made a disengenuous purchase. 
 
 This purchase was Pompey, Mrs. Woffington *s
 
 74 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 little black slave. It is a horrid fact, but Pompey 
 did not love liLs mistress : lie was a little enamoured 
 of her, as small boys are apt to be, but on the whole, 
 a sentiment of hatred slightly predominated in his 
 little black bosom. 
 
 It was not without excuse. 
 
 This lady was subject to two unpleasant com- 
 panions, sorrow and bitterness. About twice a- 
 week she would cry for two hours ; and after 
 this class of fit she generally went abroad, and 
 made a roiind of certain poor or sick 'proteges she 
 had, and returned smiling and cheerful. 
 
 But other twice a week she might be seen to 
 sit upon her chair, contracted into half her size, 
 and looking daggers at the imiverse in general, 
 the world in particular ; and on these occasions, 
 it must be owned, she stayed at home, and some- 
 times whipped Pompey. 
 
 Pompey had not tlae sense to reflect that he 
 ought to have been whipped every day, or the 
 esprit de corps to be consoled by obser^^.ng that 
 this sort of thing did his mistress good. Wliat 
 he felt wa5!, that his mistress, who did everything 
 well, whipped him with energy and skill ; it did 
 not take ten seconds, but still, in that brief period, 
 Pompey found himself dusted and polished off. 
 
 The sacred principle of justice was as strong 
 in Mrs. Woffington as in the rest of her sex, she
 
 PEG WOFFINGTO>;. 75 
 
 had not one grain of it. When she was not in 
 her tantrums, the mischievous imp was as sacred 
 from check or remonstrance as a monkey, or a 
 lap-dog ; and several female servants left the house 
 on his account. 
 
 But Nemesis overtook him in the way we have 
 liinted, and it put his little black pipe out. 
 
 The lady had taken him out of great humanity ; 
 he was fed like a game-cock, and dressed like a 
 Barbaric prince; and once, when he was ill, his 
 mistress watched him, and nursed him, and tended 
 him with the same white hand that plied the ob- 
 noxious whip ; and when he died,, she alone with- 
 held her consent from his burial, and this gave 
 him a chance black boys never get, and he came- 
 to again ; but still these tarnation lickings ' stuck 
 in him gizzard.' So when Sh Charles's agent proposed 
 to him certain silver coins, cheap at a little treachery, 
 the ebony ape grinned till he turned half-ivory, and 
 became a spy in the house of his mistress. 
 
 The reader will have gathered, that the good Sh' 
 Charles had been quietly in London some hours 
 before he announced himself as paulo post futurum. 
 
 Diamond cut diamond ; a diplomatic stole this 
 march upon an actress, and took her black pawn. 
 One for Pomander ! (Gun.)
 
 76 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Triplet, the Cerberus of art, who had the first 
 bark in this legend, and has since been out of" hear- 
 ing, ran from Lambeth to Covent Garden, on receipt 
 of Mr. Vane's note. But ran he never so quick, he 
 had built a full-sized castle in the air before he 
 reached Bow Street. 
 
 The letter hinted at an order upon his muse 
 for amatory verse : delightful task, cheering pros- 
 pect. 
 
 Bid a man whose usual lot it is to break stones for 
 the parish at tenpence the cubic yard ; bid such an 
 one play at marbles with stone taws for half an hour 
 per day, and pocket one pomid one. Bid a poor 
 horse who has drawn those stones about, and browsed 
 short grass by the wayside, bid him canter a few 
 times round a grassy ring, and then go to his com. 
 In short, bid Rosinante change with Pegasus, and 
 you do no more than Mr. Vane's letter held out to 
 Triplet. 
 
 The amatory verse of that day was not up-hill 
 work. There was a beaten track on a dead level, 
 and you followed it. You told the tender creature, 
 with a world of circumlocution, that, ' without 
 joking now,' she was a leper, ditto a tigress, item 
 marble. You next feigned a lucid interval, and to
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 77 
 
 be on the point of detesting your monster, but in 
 twenty more verses love became, as usual, stronger 
 than reason, and you wound up your rotten yam 
 thus : 
 
 You hugged a golden chain. You drew deeper 
 into your wound a barbed shaft, like — (any wild 
 animal will do, no one of them is such an ass, so you 
 had an equal title to all) ; and on looking back you 
 saw with horrible complacency that you had inflicted 
 one hundred locusts, five feet long, upon oppressed 
 humanity. 
 
 "Wont to travel over acres of canvas for a few 
 shillings, and roods of paper on bare speculation, 
 Triplet knew he could make a thousand a-year at 
 the above work without thinking. 
 
 He came therefore to the box-keeper with his 
 eyes glittering. 
 
 'Mr. Vane?' 
 
 * Just gone out with a gentleman.' 
 
 ' I'll wait then.' 
 
 Now Mr. Yane, we know, was in the green-room, 
 and Avent home by the stage-door. The last thing 
 he thought of was poor Triplet ; the rich do not 
 dream how they disappoint the poor. Tiiplet's 
 castle fell as many a predecessor had. When the 
 lights were put out, he left the theatre with a bitter 
 sigh. 
 
 ' If this gentleman knew how many sweet cliil-
 
 78 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 dren I have, and what a good, patient, suffering 
 wife, sure he would not have chosen me to make a 
 fool of!' said the poor fellow to himself. 
 
 In Bow Street, he turned, and looked back upon 
 the theatre. How gloomy and grand it loomed ! 
 
 ' Ah ! ' thought he, ' if I could but conquer you ; 
 and why not ? All history shows that nothing is 
 unconquerable except perseverance. Hannibal con- 
 quered the Alps, and I'll conquer you,' cried Trip- 
 let, firmly. ' Yes, this visit is not lost ; here I 
 register a vow : I will force my way into that 
 mountain of masonry, or perish in the attempt.' 
 
 Triplet's most xmpremeditated thoughts and 
 actions often savoured ridiculously of the sublime. 
 Then and there, gazing with folded arms on this 
 fortress of Thespis, the polytechnic man organised 
 his first assault. The next evening he made it. 
 
 Five months previously he had sent the manager 
 three great, large tragedies. He knew the aversion 
 a theatrical manager has to read a manuscript play, 
 not recommended by influential folk; an aversion 
 which always has been carried to superstition. So 
 he hit on the following scheme : 
 
 He wrote Mr. Rich a letter; in this, he told 
 Mr. Rich that he (Triplet) was aware what a 
 quantity of trash is offered every week to a manager, 
 how disheartening it must be to read it all, and 
 how natural, after a while, to read none. Therefore,
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 79 
 
 he (Triplet) had provided that Mr. Rich might 
 economise his time, and yet not remain in ignorance 
 of the dramatic treasure that lay ready to his hand. 
 
 ' The soul of a play,' continued Triplet, ' is the 
 plot or fable. A gentleman of your experience can 
 decide at once whether a plot or story is one to take 
 the public ! ' 
 
 So then he drew out, in full, the three plots. 
 He wrote these plots in verse ! Heaven forgive us 
 all, he really did. There were also two margins 
 left ; on one, which was narrow, he jotted down the 
 locale per page of the most brilliant passages ; on the 
 other margin, whicli was as wide as the column of 
 the plot, he made careful drawings of the personages 
 in the principal dramatic situations ; scrolls issued 
 from their mouths, on which were written the words 
 of fire that were flowing from each in these erup- 
 tions of the dramatic action. All was referred to 
 pages in the manuscripts. 
 
 ' By this means. Sir,' resumed the latter, ' you 
 will gut my fish in a jiffey ; permit me to recal that 
 expression, with apologies for my freedom. I would 
 say, you will, in a few minutes of your valuable 
 existence, skim the cream of Triplet.' 
 
 This author's respect for the manager's time, 
 carried him into farther and unusual details. 
 
 ' Breakfast,' said he, ' is a quiet meal. Let me 
 respectfidly suggest, that by placing one of my
 
 8Cr TEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 plots on tlie table, with, say the sugar-basin upon it 
 (this, again, is a mere suggestion), and the play it 
 appertains to on your other side ; you can readily 
 judge my work without disturbing the avocations of" 
 the day, and master a play in the twinkling of a 
 tea-cup; forgive my facetiousness. This day 
 month, at ten of the clock, I shall expect,' said 
 Triplet, with sudden severity, ' Sir, your decision ! ' 
 Then gliding back to the courtier, he formally 
 disowned all special title to the consideration he 
 expected from Mr, Eich's well-known courtesy ; 
 still, he begged permission to remind that gentle- 
 man, that he had six years ago painted for him a 
 large scene, illuminated by two great poetical inci- 
 dents : a red sun, of dimensions never seen out of 
 doors in this or any country ; and an ocean of sand, 
 yellower than up to that time had been attained 
 in art or nature ; and that once, when the audience, 
 late in the evening, had suddenly demanded a popu- 
 lar song from Mr. Nokes, he (Triplet) seeing the 
 orchestra thinned by desertion, and nugatory by 
 intoxication, had started from the pit, resuscitated 
 with the whole contents of his snuff-box, the bass 
 fiddle, snatched the leader's violin, and carried Mr. 
 !Nokes triumphantly through ; that thunders of ap- 
 plause had followed, and Mr. Nokes had kindly 
 returned thanks /or hoth ; but that he (Triplet) had 
 hastily retired to evade the manager's acknowledg-
 
 TEG WOFFINGTON. 81 
 
 ments, preferring to wait an opportunity like the 
 present, when both interests could be conciliated, &c. 
 
 This letter he posted at its destination, to save 
 time, and returned triumphant home. He had now 
 forgiven and almost forgotten Vane; and had re- 
 flected that, after all, the drama was his proper Avalk. 
 
 ' My dear,' said he to Mrs. Triplet, ' this family 
 is on the eve of a great triumph ! ' Then, inverting 
 that order of the grandiloquent and the homely 
 which he invented in our first chapter, he proceeded 
 to say : ' I have reared in a single day a new 
 avenue, by which histrionic greatness, hitherto ob- 
 structed, may become accessible. Wife, I think I 
 liave done the trick at last. Lysimachus ! ' added 
 he, ' let a libation be poured out on so smiling an 
 occasion, and a burnt-offering rise to propitiate the 
 celestial powers. Run to the " Sun," you dog. 
 Three pennyworth of ale, and a hap'orth o' tobacco.' 
 
 Ere the month was out, I am sorry to say, the 
 Triplets were reduced to a state of beggary. Mrs. 
 Triplet's health had lonsf been failinsr ; and althoufrh 
 her duties at her little theatre were light and occa- 
 sional, the manager was obliged to discharge her, 
 since she could not be depended upon. 
 
 The family had not enough to eat ! Think of 
 that ! They were not warm at night, and they felt 
 gnawing and faintness often by day. Think of 
 that ! 
 
 G
 
 82 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 Fortune was unjust here. The man was laugh- 
 able, and a goose ; and had no genius either for 
 writing, painting, or acting ; but in that he resem- 
 bled most writers, painters, and actors of his own 
 day and ours. He was not beneath the average of 
 what men call art, and it is art's antipodes — tread- 
 mill artifice. 
 
 Other fluent ninnies shared gain, and even fame, 
 and were called " pen-men," in Triplet's day. 
 Other ranters were quietly getting rich by noise. 
 Other liars and humbugs were painting out o' doors 
 in^doors, and eating mutton instead of thistles for 
 drenched stinging-nettles, yclept trees; for block- 
 tin clouds; for butlers' pantry seas, and garret- 
 'Conceived lakes ; for molten sugar-candy rivers ; for 
 airless atmosphere and sunless air ; for carpet nature, 
 and cold, dead fragments of an earth all soul and 
 living glory to every cultivated eye but a routine 
 painter's. Yet the man of many such mediocrities 
 could not keep the pot boiling. We suspect that to 
 those who would rise in life, even strong versatility 
 is a very doubtful good, and weak versatility ruina- 
 tion. 
 
 At last, the bitter, weary month was gone, and 
 Triplet's eye brightened gloriously. He donned his 
 best suit ; and whilst tying his cravat, lectured his 
 family. First, he complimented them upon their 
 deportment in adversity ; hinted that moralists, not
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 83 
 
 experience, had infbrmed liim prosperity was far 
 more trying to the character. Put them all 
 solemnly on their guard down to Lucy, a^tat five, 
 that they were morituri and ce, and must be 
 pleased to abstain from ' insolent gladness ' upon his 
 return. 
 
 ' Sweet are the uses of adversity !' continued this 
 cheerful monitor. ' If we had not been hard-up 
 this while, we should not come with a full relish to 
 meat three times a-week, which, unless I am an ass, 
 (and I don't see myself in that light),' said Triplet, 
 drily, 'will, I apprehend, be, after this day, the 
 primary condition of our futm'e existence.' 
 
 ' James, take the picture with you,' said Mrs. 
 Trijjlet, in one of those calm, little, desponding 
 voices that fall upon the soul so agreeably when one 
 is a cock-a-hoop, and desires, with permission so to 
 remain. 
 
 * What on earth am I to take Mrs. Woifington's 
 portrait for ?' 
 
 ' We have nothing in the house,' said the wife, 
 blushing. 
 
 Triplet's eye glittered like a rattlesnake's. 
 
 * The intimation is eccentric,' said he. ' Are you 
 mad, Jane? Pray,' continued he, veiling his wrath 
 in scornful words, ' is it requisite, heroic, or judicious 
 on the eve, or more correctly the mom, of affluence, 
 to deposit an unfinished work of art with a mer- 
 
 G 'Z
 
 84 PEG WOFFINGTON, 
 
 cenary relation. Hang it, Jane ! would you really 
 have me pawn Mrs. Woffington to-day ?' 
 
 ' James,' said Jane, steadily, ' the manager may 
 disappoint you, we have often been disappointed ; so 
 take the picture with you. They will give you ten 
 shillino-s on it.' 
 
 Triplet was of those who see things roseate, Mrs. 
 Triplet lurid. 
 
 ' Madam,' said the poet, * for the first time in 
 our conjugal career, your commands deviate so 
 entirely from reason, that I respectfully withdraw 
 that implicit obedience which has hitherto con- 
 stituted my principal reputation. I'm hanged if I 
 do it, Jane !' 
 
 ' Dear James, to oblige me !' 
 
 ' That alters the case ; you confess it is unreason- 
 able?' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! it is only to oblige me.' 
 
 ' Enough !' said Triplet, whose tongue was 
 often a flail that fell on friend, foe, and self 
 indiscriminately. ' ' Allow it to be unreasonable, 
 and I do it as a matter of course — to please you, 
 Jane.' 
 
 Accordingly the good soul wrapped it in green 
 baize ; but to relieve his mind he was obliged to 
 get behind his wife, and shrug his shoulders to 
 Lysimachus and the eldest girl, as who should say 
 voila bien une femme voire mere a vous !
 
 PEG , WOFFINGTON. 85 
 
 At last lie was off, in high spirits. He reached 
 Covent Garden at half-past ten, and there the poor 
 fellow Avas sucked into onr narrative whirlpool. 
 
 We must, however, leave him for a few minutes. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Sir Charles Pomander was detained in the 
 country much longer than he expected. 
 
 He was rewarded by a little adventure. As he 
 cantered up to London with two servants and a 
 post-boy, all riding on horses ordered in relays 
 beforehand, he came up with an antediluvian coach, 
 stuck fast by the roadside. Looking into the win- 
 dow, with the humane design of quizzing the elders 
 who should be there, he saw a young lady of sur- 
 passing beauty. This altered the case ; Sir Charles 
 instantly drew bridle and offered his services. 
 
 The lady thanked him, and being an innocent 
 country lady, she opened those sluices, her eyes, 
 and two tears gently trickled down, while she told 
 him how eager she was to reach London, and how 
 mortified at this delay. 
 
 The 'good Sir Charles was touched. He leaped 
 his horse over a hedge, galloped to a farm-house in 
 sight, and returned with ropes and rustics. These
 
 86' PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 and Sir Charles's horses soon drew the coach out of 
 some stiffish clay. 
 
 The lady thanked him, and tlianked liim, and 
 thanked him, with licightening colour and beaming 
 eyes, and he rode away like a hero. 
 
 Before he had gone five miles he became thought- 
 ful and self-dissatisfied, finally his remorse came to 
 a head ; he called to him the keenest of his ser- 
 vants, Hunsdon, and ordered him to ride back past 
 the carriage, then follow and put up at the same 
 inn, to learn who the lady was, and whither going ; 
 and this knowledge gained, to ride into town full 
 speed, and tell his master all about it. Sir Charles 
 then resumed his complacency, and cantered into 
 London that same evening. 
 
 Arrived there, he set himself in earnest to cut out 
 his friend with Mrs. Woffington. He had already 
 caused his correspondence with that lady to grow 
 warm and more tender by degrees. Keeping a 
 copy of his last, he always knew where he was. 
 Cupid's barometer rose by rule; and so he arrived 
 by just gradations at an artful climax, and made 
 her in terms of chivalrous affection, an offer of a 
 house, &c., three hundred a-year, &c., not forgetting 
 his heart, &c. He knew that the ladies of the stage 
 have an ear for flattery, and an eye to the main 
 chance. 
 
 The good Sir Charles felt sure that however she
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. ' 87 
 
 misjht flirt "with Vane or others, she would not 
 forego a jDosition for any disinterested penchant. 
 Still, as he was a close player, he determined to 
 throw a little cold water on that flame. His plan, 
 like everything truly scientific, was simple. 
 
 ' I'll run her down to him, and ridicule liim 
 to her,' resolved this faithful friend and lover 
 dear. 
 
 He began with Vane. He found him just 
 leaving his own house. After the usual compli- 
 ments, some such dialogue as this took place between 
 Telemachus and pseudo ]\Ientor : 
 
 ' I trust you are not really in the power of this 
 actress ?' 
 
 ' You are the slave of a word,' replied Vane. 
 ' Would you confound black and white because both 
 are colours? She is like that sisterhood in nothing 
 but a name. Even on the stage they have nothing 
 in common. They are puppets — all attitude and 
 trick : she is all ease, grace and nature.' 
 
 ' Nature !' cried Pomander. ' Laissez-moi tran- 
 quille. They have artifice — nature's libel. She 
 has art — nature's counterfeit.' 
 
 * Her voice is truth told by music,' cried the 
 poetical lover ; ' theirs arc jingling instruments of 
 falsehood.' 
 
 'They are all instruments,' said the satirist; ' she 
 is rather the best tuned and played.'
 
 88 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' Her face speaks in every lineament ; theirs are 
 rouged and wrinkled masks.' 
 
 ' Her mask is tlac best made, mounted and moved ; 
 that is all.' 
 
 * She is a fountain of true feeling.' 
 
 * No ; a pipe that conveys it without spilling or 
 holding a drop.' 
 
 ' She is an angel of talent, Sir.' 
 
 ' She's a devil of deception.' 
 
 ' She is a divinity to worship.' 
 
 ' She's a woman to fight shy of There is not a 
 woman in London better known/ continued Sir 
 Charles. ' She is a fair actress on the boards, and 
 a great actress off them ; but I can tell you how to 
 add a new charm to her.' 
 
 ' Heaven can only do that,' said Vane, hastily. 
 
 ' Yes, you can. Make her blush. Ask her for 
 the list of your predecessors.' 
 
 Vane winced visibly. He quickened his step, as 
 if to get rid of this gadfly. 
 
 ' I spoke to Mr. Quin,' said he, at last ; ' and he, 
 who has no prejudice, paid her character the high- 
 est compliment.' 
 
 ' You have paid it the highest it admits,' was the 
 reply. ' You have let it deceive you.' Sir Charles 
 continued in a more solemn tone : ' Pray be warned. 
 Why is it every man of intellect loves an actress once 
 in his life, and no man of sense ever did it twice ?'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 89 
 
 This last hit, coming after the carte and tierce we 
 have described, brought an expression of pain to 
 Mr. Vane's face. He said abruptly : ' Excuse me, I 
 desire to be alone lor half an hour.' 
 
 Machiavel bowed ; and instead of taking offence, 
 said, in a tone full of feeling : ' Ah ! I give you 
 pain ! But you are right ; think it calmly over 
 awhile, and you will see I advise you well.' 
 
 He then made for the theatre, and the weakish 
 personage he had been playing upon walked down 
 to the river, almost ran, in fact. He wanted to be 
 out of sight. 
 
 He got behind some houses, and then his face 
 seemed literally to break loose from confinement ; so 
 anxious, sad, fearful and bitter were the expressions 
 that coursed each other over that handsome coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 What is the meaning of these hot and cold fits ? 
 It is not Sir Charles who has the power to shake 
 Mr. Vane so without some help from within. There 
 is something ivrong about this man !
 
 90 PEG WOFFINGTOy. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Machiavel entered the green-xooin, intending to 
 wait for Mrs. Woffington, and carry out the second 
 part of his plan. 
 
 He knew that weak minds cannot make head 
 against ridicule, and with this pick-axe he proposed 
 to clear the way, before he came to grave, sensible, 
 business love with the lady. Machiavel was a man 
 of talent. If he has been a silent personage hitherto, 
 it is merely because it was not 'his cue to talk, but 
 listen : otherwise, he was rather a master of the art 
 of speech. He could be insinuating, eloquent, 
 sensible, or satirical, at will. -This personage sat in 
 the (jreen-room. In one hand was his diamond 
 snuff-box, in the other a richly laced handkerchief; 
 his clouded cane reposed by his side. 
 
 There was an air of success about this personage. 
 The gentle reader, however conceited a dog, could 
 not see hoAv he was to defeat Sir Charles : who was 
 tall, stout, handsome, rich, witty, self-sufficient, 
 cool, majestic, courageous, and in whom were united 
 the advantages of a hard head, a tough stomach, and 
 no heart at all. 
 
 This great creature sat expecting Mrs. Woffington, 
 like Olympian Jove awaiting Juno. But he was 
 mortal after all ; for suddenly the serenity of that
 
 PEG WOFPINGTON. 91 
 
 adamantine countenance was disturbed; his eye 
 dilated ; his grace and dignity were shaken. He 
 huddled his handkerchief into one pocket, his snuff- 
 box into another, and forgot his cane. He ran to 
 the door in unaffected terror. 
 
 Where are all his fine airs before a real danger ? 
 Love, intrigue, diplomacy, were all driven from his 
 mind ; for he beheld that approaching, which is the 
 greatest peril and disaster known to social man. He 
 saw a bore coming into the room ! 
 
 In a wild thirst for novelty, Pomander had once 
 penetrated to Goodman's Fields Theatre ; there he 
 had unguardedly put a question to a carpenter behind 
 the scene ; a seedy -black poet instantly pushed the 
 carpenter away (down a trap it is thougbt), and 
 answered it in seven pages, and in continuation was 
 so vaguely communicative, that he drove Sir Charles 
 back into the far west. 
 
 Sir Charles knew him again in a moment, and at 
 sight of liim bolted. They met at the door. ' Ah ! 
 Mr. Triplet !' said the fugitive, ' enchanted — to wish 
 you good morning !' and he plunged into the hiding- 
 places of the theatre. 
 
 ' That is a very polite gentleman !' thought 
 Triplet. He was followed by the call-boy, to whom 
 he was explaining that his avocations, though 
 numerous, would wot prevent his paying Mr. Rich 
 the compliment of waiting all day in his green-
 
 92 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 room, sooner than go witliout an answer to three 
 important pro2:)Ositions, in which the town and the 
 arts were concerned. 
 
 ' What is your name ?' said the boy of business to 
 the man of words. 
 
 'Mr. Triplet,' said Triplet. 
 
 ' Triplet ? There is something for you in the 
 hall,' said the urchin, and went off to fetch it. 
 
 ' I knew it,' said Triplet to himself; ' they are 
 accepted. There's a note in the hall to fix the 
 reading.' He then derided his own absurdity ui 
 having ever for a moment desponded. ' Master of 
 three arts, by each of which men gi'ow fat, how was 
 it possible he should starve all his days !' 
 
 He enjoyed a natural vanity for a few moments, 
 and then came more generous feelings. AVhat 
 sparkling eyes there would be in Lambeth to-day ! 
 The butcher, at sight of Mr. Rich's handwriting, 
 would give him credit. Jane should have a new gown. 
 
 But when his tragedies were played, and he 
 paid! — El Dorado! — His children should be the 
 neatest in the street. Lysimachus and Roxalana 
 should learn the English language, cost v^hat it 
 might ; sausages should be diurnal ; and he himself 
 would not be puffed up, fat, lazy. No ! he would 
 work all the harder, be affable as ever, and above all, 
 never swamp the father, husband and honest man, 
 in the poet and the blackguard of sentiment.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 93 
 
 Next his reflections took a business turn. 
 
 ' These tragedies — the scenery ? Oh ! I shall 
 have to paint it myself. The heroes? Well, they 
 have nobody who will play them as I should. (This 
 was true !) It will be hard work, all this ; but then 
 I shall be paid for it. I cannot go on this way : I 
 must and will be paid separately for my branches.' 
 
 Just as he came to this resolution, the boy re- 
 turned with a brown-paper parcel, addressed to Mr. 
 James Triplet. Triplet weighed it in his hand ; it 
 was heavy. ' How is this ?' cried he. ' Oh ! I see/ 
 said he, ' these are the tragedies. He sends them to 
 me for some trifling alterations : managers always 
 do.' Triplet then determined to adopt these altera- 
 tions, if judicious ; for, argued he sensibly enough : 
 ' Managers are practical men : and we, in the heat 
 of composition, sometimes (sic ?) say more than is 
 necessary, and become tedious.' 
 
 With that he opened the parcel, and looked for 
 Mr. Eich's communication ; it was not in sight. He 
 had to look between the leaves of the manuscripts 
 for it ; it was not there. He shook them ; it did 
 not fall out. He shook them as a dosf shakes a 
 rabbit ; nothing ! 
 
 The tragedies were returned without a word. It 
 took him some time to realize the full weight of the 
 blow ; but at last he saw that the manager of the 
 Theatre Eoyal, Covent Garden, declined to take a
 
 94 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 tragedy by Triplet into consideration or bare exami- 
 nation. 
 
 He turned dizzy for a moment. Something 
 between a sigh and a cry escaped him, and he sank 
 upon a covered bench that ran along the wall. His 
 poor tragedies fell here and there upon the ground, 
 and his head went down upon his hands, which 
 rested on Mrs. Woffington's picture. His anguish 
 was so sharp, it choked his breath; wlien he re- 
 covered it, his eye bent down upon the picture. 
 'Ah, Jane,' he groaned, 'you know this villainous 
 world better than I !' He placed tlie picture gently 
 on the seat (that picture must now be turned into 
 bread), and slowly stooped for his tragedies; they 
 had fallen hither and thither; he had to crawl 
 about for them ; he was an emblem of all the humi- 
 liations letters endure. 
 
 As he went after them on all-fours, more than 
 one tear pattered on the dusty floor. Poor fellow ! 
 he was Triplet, and could not have died without 
 tinging the death-rattle with some absurdity; but 
 after all, he was a father driven to despair ; a castle- 
 builder, with his work rudely scattered; an artist, 
 brutally crushed and insulted by a greater dunce 
 than himself. 
 
 Faint, sick, and dark, he sat a moment on the 
 seat before he could find strength to go home and 
 destroy all the hopes he had raised.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 95 
 
 Whilst Triplet sat collapsed on the bench, fate 
 sent into the room all in one moment, as if to insult 
 his sorrow, a creature that seemed the goddess of 
 gaiety, impervious to a care. She swept in with a 
 bold free step, for she was rehearsing a man's part, 
 and thundered without rant, but with a sphit and 
 fire, and pace, beyond the conception of our poor 
 tame actresses of 1852, these lines ; 
 
 ' Xow, by the joys 
 Whicli my soul still lias uucoutroUed pursued, 
 I would not tin-n aside from my least pleasure, 
 Though all thy force were armed to bar my way ; 
 But, like the birds, great Nature's happy commoners, 
 Eifle the sweets ' 
 
 ' I beg — your par — don, Sir !' holding the book 
 on a level with her eye, she had nearly run over, 
 * Two poets instead of one.' 
 
 'Nay, Madam,' said Triplet, admiring, though 
 sad, wretched, but polite, ' pray continue. Happy 
 the hearer, and still happier tlie author of verses so 
 spoken. Ah !' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied the lady, ' if you could persuade 
 authors what we do for them, when we coax good 
 music to grow on barren words. Are you an author, 
 Sir ?' added she, slily. 
 
 ' In a small way. Madam. I have here three 
 trifles — tragedies.'
 
 96 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington looked askant at tlicm like a sliy 
 mare. 
 
 ' Ah, Madam !' said Triplet, in one of his insane 
 fits, ' if I might but submit tliera to such a judgment 
 as yours ?' 
 
 He laid his hand on them. It Avas as when a 
 strange dog sees us go to take up a stone. 
 
 The actress recoiled. 
 
 ' I am no judge of such things,' cried she hastily. 
 
 Triplet bit his lip. He could have killed her. 
 It was provoking, people would rather be hung 
 than read a manuscript. Yet what hopeless trash 
 they will read in crowds, which was manuscript a 
 day ago. Lcs imbeciles ! 
 
 ' No more is the manager of this theatre a judge 
 of such things,' cried the outraged quill-driver, 
 bitterly. 
 
 ' What ! has he accepted them ?' said needle-tongud. 
 
 ' No, Madam, he has had them six months, and 
 see, Madam, he has returned them me without a 
 word.' 
 
 Triplet's lip trembled. 
 
 ' Patience, my good Sir,' was the merry reply. 
 ' Tragic authors should possess that, for tiiey teach it 
 to their. audiences. Managers, Sir, are like Eastern 
 monarchs, inaccessible but to slaves and sultanas. 
 Do you know I called upon Mr. Eich fifteen times 
 before I could see him ?'
 
 TEG WOFFINGTON. 97 
 
 ' You, Madam ? Impossible !' 
 
 ' Oh, it was years ago, and he has paid a liundrcd 
 poimds for each of those little visits. Well, now, let 
 me see, fifteen times ; you must write twelve more 
 tragedies, and then he will read one ; and when he 
 has read it, he will fiivour you with his judgment 
 upon it ; and when you have got that, you will have 
 what all 'the world knows is not worth a farthing. 
 He ! lie ! he ! 
 
 * "And like the birds, gay Nature's happy commoners, 
 Eifle the sweets" — mum — mum — mimi.' 
 
 Her high spirits made Triplet sadder. To think 
 that one word from this laughing lady would secure 
 his work a hearing, and that he dared not ask her. 
 She was up in the world, he was down. She Avas 
 great, he was nobody. He felt a sort of chill at this 
 woman — all brains and no heart. He took his 
 picture and his plays under his arms and crept 
 sorrowfully away. 
 
 The actress's eye fell on him as he went off like 
 a fifth act. His Don Quixote face struck her. She 
 had seen it before. 
 
 ' Sir,' said she. 
 
 ' Madam,' said Triplet, at the door. 
 
 ' We have met before. There, don't speak, I'll 
 tell you who you are. Yours is a face that has 
 been good to me, and I never forget thc:n.' 
 
 n
 
 98 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 'Mc, Madam!' said Triplet, taken aback. 'I 
 trust I know what is due to you better tlian to be 
 good to you, Madam,' said lie, in his confused 
 way. 
 
 ' To be sure !' cried she, ' it is Mr. Triplet, good. 
 Mr. Triplet !' And this vivacious dame, putting 
 her book down, seized both Triplet's hands and 
 shook them. 
 
 He shook hers warmly in return out of excess of 
 timidity, and dropped tragedies, and kicked at them 
 convulsively when they were down, for fear they 
 should be in her way, and his mouth opened, and 
 liis eyes glared. 
 
 ' Mr. Triplet,' said the lady, ' do you remember 
 an Irish orange girl you used to give sixpence to at 
 Goodman's Fields, and pat her on the head and give 
 her good advice, like a good old soul as you were ? 
 She took the sixpence.' 
 
 ' Madam,' said Trip, recovering a gi'ain of pomp, 
 ' singular as it may appear, I remember the young 
 person; she was very engaging. I trust no harm 
 hath befallen her, for methought I discovered, in 
 spite of her brogue, a beautiful nature in her. 
 
 ' Go along wid your blarney,' answered a rich 
 brogue ; ' an is it the comanther ye'd be putting on 
 poor little Peggy ?' 
 
 ' Oh ! oh gracious !' gasped Triplet. 
 
 ' Yes,' was the reply ; but into that ' yes,' she
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 99 
 
 threw a wliole sentence of meaning. ' Fine cha-ney 
 oranges!' chanted she, to put the matter beyond 
 dispute, 
 
 ' Am I really so honoured as to have patted you 
 on that queen-like head !' and he glared at it. 
 
 * On the same head which now I wear,' replied 
 she, pompously. ' I kept it for the convaynience 
 hintirely, only there's more in it. Well, Mr. Triplet, 
 you see what time has done for me ; now tell me 
 whether he has been as kind to you : are you going 
 to speak to me, Mr. Triplet ?' 
 
 As a decayed hunter stands lean and disconsolate, 
 head poked forward like a goose's, but if hounds 
 sweep by his paddock in full cry, followed by horses 
 who are what he was not, he does by reason of the 
 ffood blood that is and will be in his heart, dum 
 sjnrifiis Jioss regit artus, cock his cars, erect his tail, 
 and trot fiery to his cxtrcmest hedge, and look over 
 it, nostril distended, mane flowing, and neigh the 
 hunt onward like a trumpet; so Triplet, who had 
 manhood at bottom, instead of whining out his 
 troubles in the ear of encouraging beauty, as a sneak- 
 ing spirit would, perked up, and resolved to put the 
 best face upon it all before so charming a creature of 
 the other sex. 
 
 ' Yes, Madam,' cried he, with the air of one who 
 could have smacked his lips, ' Providence has blessed 
 me with an excellent wife and four charming chil- 
 li 2
 
 100 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 di'cn. My wife was Miss Chatter ton : you remember 
 her ?' 
 
 ' Yes ! Where is she jolaying now ?' 
 
 ' Why, Madam, her health is too weak for it.' 
 
 ' Oh ! — You were scene-painter. Do you still 
 paint scenes ?' 
 
 ' With the pen, Madam, not the brush : as the 
 wags said, I transferred the distemper from my 
 canvas to my imagination.' And Triplet laughed 
 uproariously. 
 
 When he had done, Mrs. Woffington, who had 
 joined the laugh, inquired quietly whether his 
 pieces had met with success. 
 
 ' Eminent — in the closet ; the stage is to come !' 
 and he smiled absurdly again. 
 
 The lady smiled back. 
 
 ' In short,' said Triplet, recapitulating, ' being 
 blessed with health, and more tastes in the arts than 
 most, and a cheerful sjiirit, I should be wrong, 
 Madam, to repine ; and this day, in particular, is a 
 liappy one,' added the rose colourist, 'since the 
 great Mrs. Woffington has deigned to remember me, 
 and call me friend.' 
 
 Such was Triplet's summary. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington drew out her memorandum-book, 
 and took down her summary of the crafty Triplet's 
 facts. So easy is it for us Triplets to draw the wool 
 over the eyes of women and Woffingtons.
 
 TEG WOFFINGTON. 101 
 
 ' Triplet, discliargcd from scene-painting ; wife, 
 no engagement ; four cliildren supported by liis pen 
 — that is to say, starving ; lose no time !' 
 
 She closed her book ; and smiled, and said : 
 
 * I wish these things were comedies instead of 
 trash-edies, as the French call them ; we would cut 
 one in half, and slice away the finest passages, and 
 then I would act in it : and you would see how 
 the stage-door would fly open at sight of the 
 author.' 
 
 ' Oh, Heaven !' said poor Trip, excited by this 
 picture. ' I'll go home, and write a comedy this 
 moment.' 
 
 'Stay!' said she; 'you had better leave the 
 traeredies with me.' 
 ^ ' My dear Madam ! You will read them ?' 
 
 ' Ahem ! I w^ill make poor liich read them.' 
 
 ' But, Madam, he has rejected them.' 
 
 * That is the first step. Ecading them comes 
 after, when it comes at all. What have you got in 
 that green baize ?' 
 
 ' In this green baize ?' 
 
 ' Well, in this green baize, then,' 
 
 ' Oh, ]\Iadam ! nothing — nothing ! To tell the 
 truth, it is an adventurous attempt from memory. I 
 saw you play Silvia, Madam; I was so channed, 
 that 1 came every night. I took your face home 
 with me — Ibrgive my presumption, Madam — and I
 
 102 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 produced this faint adumbration, which I expose 
 with diffidence.' 
 
 So then he took the green baize ofF. 
 
 The colour rushed into her face ; she was evi- 
 dently gratified. Poor, silly Mrs. Triplet was 
 doomed to be right about this portrait. 
 
 ' I will give you a sittuag,' said she. ' You will 
 find painting dull faces a better trade than writing 
 dull tragedies. Work for other people's vanity, not 
 your own ; that is the art of art. And now I want 
 Mr. Triplet's address.' 
 
 ' On the fly-leaf of each work. Madam,' replied 
 that florid author, ' and also at the foot of every 
 page which contains a particularly brilliant passage, 
 I have been carefiil to insert the address of James 
 Triplet, painter, actor, and dramatist, and Mrs. 
 Woffington's humble, devoted servant.' He bowed 
 ridiculously low, and moved towards the door ; but 
 something gushed across his heart, and he returned 
 with long strides to her. ' Madam !' cried he, with 
 a jaimty manner, 'you have inspired a son of 
 Thespis with dreams of eloquence, you have tmied 
 in a higher key a poet's lyre, you have tinged a 
 painter's existence with brighter colours, and — and — ' 
 His mouth worked still, but no more artificial words 
 would come. He sobbed out, ' and God in Heaven 
 bless you, Mrs. Woffington !' and ran out of the room. 
 Mrs. Woffington looked after him with interest,
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 103 
 
 for tliis confirmed her suspicions ; but suddenly lier 
 expression changed, she wore a look we have not 
 yet seen upon her — it was a half-cunning, half- 
 spiteful look; it was suppressed in a moment, she 
 gave herself to her book, and presently Sir Charles 
 Pomander saimtered into the room. 
 
 'Ah! what, Mrs. Woffington here?' said the 
 diplomate. 
 
 ' Sir Charles Pomander, I declare !' said the 
 actress. 
 
 ' I have just parted with an admirer of yours.' 
 
 * I wish I could part with them all,' was the 
 reply. 
 
 ' A pastoral youth, who means to win La Wof- 
 fington by agricultural courtship — As shepherds 
 woo in sylvan shades.' 
 
 * With oaten pipe the rustic maids,' 
 
 quoth the Woffington, improvising. 
 
 The diplomate laughed, the actress laughed, and 
 said, laughingly : ' Tell me what lie says, tvord for 
 word?' 
 
 ' It will only make you laugh.' 
 
 ' Well, and am I never to laugh, who provide so 
 many laughs for you all ?' 
 
 ' C'cst juste. You shall share tlie general merri- 
 ment. Imagine a romantic soul, who adores you 
 for your simplicity F
 
 104 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 * My simplicity ! Am I so very simple ?' 
 
 ' No,' said Sir Charles, monstrous drily. ' He 
 says you are out of place on the stage, and wants to 
 lake the star from its firmament, and put it in a 
 cottage.' 
 
 ' I am not a star,' replied the Woffington, ' I am 
 only a meteor. And what does the man think I am 
 to do without this (here she imitated applause) from 
 my dear public's thousand hands ?' 
 
 ' You are to have this (he mmiickcd a kiss), from 
 a single mouth, instead.' 
 
 ' He is mad ! Tell me what more he says. Oh ! 
 don't stop to invent ; I should detect you ; and you 
 would only spoil this man.' 
 
 He laughed conceitedly. ' I should spoil him ! 
 Well then, he proposes to be your friend rather 
 than your lover, and keep you from being talked of, 
 he ! he ! instead of adding to your eclat.' 
 
 ' And if he is your friend, why don't you tell 
 him my real character, and send liim into the 
 country ?' 
 
 She said this rapidly and witli an appearance of 
 earnest. The diplomatist fell into the traj?. 
 
 ' I do,' said he ; ' but he snaps his fingers at me 
 and common sense and the world. I really think 
 there is only one way to get rid of him, and with 
 him of every annoyance.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that would be nice.'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON-. 105 
 
 ' Delicious ! I had the lionour, Madam, of laying 
 certain proposals at your feet.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes — your letter, Sir Charles. I have only 
 just had time to run my eye down it. Let us 
 examine it together.' 
 
 She took out the letter with a wonderful appear- 
 ance of interest, and the diplomate allowed himself 
 to fall into the absurd position to which she invited 
 him. They put their two heads together over the 
 letter. 
 
 ' " A coacl), a country-house, pin-money " — and 
 I'm so tired of houses and coaches and pins. Oh ! 
 yes, here's something ; what is this you offer me, up 
 in this corner ?' 
 
 Sir Charles inspected the place carefully, and 
 announced that it was ' his heart.' 
 
 ' And he can't even write it !' said she. ' That 
 word is " earth." Ah ! well, you know best. 
 There is your letter, Sir Charles.' 
 
 She curtsied, returned hhn the letter, and re- 
 sumed her study of Lothario. 
 
 ' Favour me with your answer, Madam,' said her 
 suitor. 
 
 ' You have it,' w^as the reply. 
 
 'Madam, I don't understand your answer,' said 
 Sir Charles, stiffly. 
 
 ' I can't find you answers and imderstandings too,' 
 was the lady -like reply. ' You must beat my
 
 106 PEG WOFFINGTOK 
 
 answer into your understanding whilst I beat this 
 man's verse into mine. 
 
 * " And like the birds, &c." ' 
 
 Pomander recovered himself a little ; he laughed 
 with quiet insolence. ' Tell me,' said he, ' do you 
 really refuse ?' 
 
 ' My good soul,' said Mrs. WofEngton, ' why this 
 surprise ? Are you so ignorant of the stage and the 
 world, as not to know that I refuse such offers as 
 yours every week of my life ?' 
 
 ' I know better,' was the cool reply. She left it 
 unnoticed. 
 
 ' I have so many of these,' continued she, ' that I 
 have begun to forget they are insults.' 
 
 At this word the button broke off Sir Charles's 
 foil. 
 
 ' Insults, Madam ! They are the highest compli- 
 ments you have left it in our power to pay you.' 
 
 The other took the bvitton off her foil. 
 
 ' Indeed !' cried she, with well-feigned surprise. 
 ' Oh ! I understand. To be your mistress, could be 
 but a temporary disgrace ; to be your wife, would 
 be a lasting discredit,' she continued. ' And now, 
 Sir, having played your rival's game, and showed 
 me your whole hand (a light broke in upon our 
 diplomate), do something to recover the reputation 
 of a man of the world. A gentleman is somewhere
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 107 
 
 about in whom you have interested nie by your 
 lame satire ; pray tell him I am in the green-room, 
 with no better companion than this bad poet.' 
 
 Sir Charles clenched his teeth. 
 
 'I accept the delicate commission,' replied he, 
 ' that you may see how easily the man of the world 
 drops what the rustic is eager to pick i;p.' 
 
 ' That is better,' said the actress, with a provoking 
 appearance of good hmnour. * You haA^e a woman's 
 tongue, if not her wit ; but, my good soul,' added 
 she, with cool hauteur, 'remember you have some- 
 thing to do of more importance than anything you 
 can say.' 
 
 ' I accept your courteous dismissal, Madam,' said 
 Pomander, grinding his teeth. ' I will send a 
 cai-penter for your swain; and I leave you.' 
 
 He bowed to the ground. 
 
 ' Thanks for the double favour, good Sir Charles.' 
 
 She curtsied to the floor. 
 
 Feminine vengeance ! He had come between 
 lier and her love. All very clever, IMrs. Actress ; 
 but was it wise ? 
 
 ' I am revenged,' thought Mrs. Woffington, with 
 a little feminine smirk. 
 
 ' I will be revenged,' vowed Pomander, clenching 
 his teeth.
 
 108 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Compare a Novcml^cr day with a May day. 
 They arc not more unlike than a beautiful woman 
 in company with a man she is indifferent to or 
 averse, and the same woman with the man of her 
 heart by her side. 
 
 At sight of Mr. Vane, all her coldness and 
 nonchalance gave way to a gentle complacency ; and 
 when she spoke to him, her voice, so clear and 
 cutting in the late assaiit d'armes, sank of its own 
 accord into the most tender, delicious tone imagin- 
 able. 
 
 Mr. Vane and she made love. He pleased her, 
 and she desired to please him. My reader knows 
 her wit, her finesse, her fluency ; but he cannot 
 conceive how god-like was her way of making love. 
 I can put a few of the corpses of her words upon 
 paper, but where are the heavenly tones — now 
 calm and convincing, now soft and melancholy, now 
 thrilling w^lth tenderness, now glowing with the 
 fiery eloquence of passion ? She told him that she 
 knew the map of his face ; that, for some days past, 
 he had been sxibject to an influence adverse to her. 
 She begged him, calmly, for his own sake, to 
 distrust false friends, and judge her by his own heart, 
 eyes, and judgment. He promised her he would.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 109 
 
 * And I do trust you, in spite of them all,' said 
 he ; ' for your face is the shrine of sincerity and 
 candour. I alone know you.' 
 
 Then she prayed him to observe tlic heartlessness 
 of his sex, and to say whether she had done ill to 
 hide the riches of her heart from the cold and 
 shallow, and to keep them all for one honest man, 
 * who will be my friend, I hope,' said she, ' as well 
 as my lover.' 
 
 ' Ah !' said Vane, ' that is my ambition.' 
 
 ' We actresses,' said she, ' make good the old 
 proverb, "Many lovers, but few friends." And, oh ! 
 'tis we who need a friend. Will you be mine ?' 
 
 Whilst he lived, he would. 
 
 In turn, he begged her to be generous, and tell 
 him the way for him, Ernest Vane, inferior in wit 
 and address to many of her admirers, to win her 
 heart from them all. 
 
 This singular woman's answer is, I think, Avorth 
 attention. 
 
 ' Never act in my presence ; never try to be 
 eloquent or clever ; never force a sentiment, or 
 turn a phrase. Eemember, I am the goddess of 
 tricks. Do not descend to competition with me and 
 the Pomanders of the world. At all littlenesses, you 
 will ever be awkward in my eyes. And I am a 
 woman. I must have a superior to love — lie open 
 to my eye. Light itself is not more bcautilul than
 
 110 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 the upright man, whose bosom is open to the day. 
 Oh, yes ! fear not you will be my superior, dear ; 
 for in me honesty has to struggle against the habits 
 of my art and life. Be simple and sincere, and I 
 shall love you, and bless the hour you slione upon 
 my cold, artificial life. Ah, Ernest !' said she, 
 fixing on his eyes her own, the fire of which melted 
 into tenderness as she spoke, ' be my friend. Come 
 between me and the temptations of an unprotected 
 life — the recklessness of a vacant heart.' 
 
 He threw himiself at her feet. He called her an 
 angel. He told her he was unworthy of her, but 
 that he would try and deserve her. Then he 
 hesitated, and trembling, he said : 
 
 ' I will be frank and loyal. Had I not better tell 
 you everything? You will not hate me for a con- 
 fession I make myself?' 
 
 ' I shall like you better — oh ! so much better !' 
 
 ' Then I will own to you — ' 
 
 * Oh ! do not tell me you have ever loved before 
 me ! I coiild not bear to hear it !' cried this incon- 
 sistent personage. 
 
 The other weak creature needed no more. 
 
 ' I see plainly I never loved but you,' said he. 
 
 ' Let me hear that only !' cried she ; ' I am jealous 
 even of the past. Say you never loved but me : 
 never mind whether it is true. My child, you do 
 not even yet knoAV love. Ernest, shall I make you
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. Ill 
 
 love — as none of your sex ever loved — with heart, 
 and brain, and breath, and life, and soul ?' 
 
 With these rapturous words, she poured the soul 
 of love into his eyes ; he forgot everything in the 
 world but her ; he dissolved in present happiness, 
 and vowed himself hers for ever : and she, for her 
 part, bade him but retain her esteem, and no woman 
 ever went farther in love than she would. She was 
 a true epicure : she had learned that passion, vulgar 
 in itself, is god-like when based upon esteem. 
 
 This tender scene was interrupted by the call- 
 boy, who brought Mrs. Woffington a note from 
 the manager, informing her there would be no 
 rehearsal. This left her at liberty,' and she pro- 
 ceeded to take a somewhat abrupt leave of Mr. 
 Vane. He was endeavouring to persuade her to 
 let him be her companion imtil dinner-time, (she was 
 to be his guest,) when Pomander entered the room. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington, however, was not to be per- 
 suaded; she excused herself on the score of a 
 duty which she said she had to perform, and 
 whispering as she passed Pomander, ' Keep your 
 own counsel,' she went out rather precipitately. 
 
 Vane looked slightly disappointed. 
 
 Sir Charles, who had returned to see whether 
 (as he fully expected) she had told Vane every- 
 thing — and who, at that moment, perhaps, would 
 not have been sorry had Llrs. Woffington's lover
 
 112 TEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 called liim to serious account — finding it was 
 not licr intention to make mlscliicf, and not choos- 
 ing to publish his own defeat, dropped quietly 
 into his old line, and determined to keep the 
 lovers in sight, and play for revenge. He smiled 
 and said : ' My good Sir, nobody can hope to 
 monopolize Mrs. Woffington : she has others to 
 do justice to besides you.' 
 
 To his surprise, Mr. Vane turned instantly 
 round upon him, and looking him haughtily in 
 the face, said : ' Sir Charles Pomander, the 
 settled malignity with which you pursue that 
 lady is unmanly and offensive to me, who love 
 her. Let our acquaintance cease here, if you 
 please, or let her be sacred from your venomous 
 tongue.' 
 
 Sir Charles bowed stiffly, and replied, that it 
 was only due to himself to withdraw a protection 
 so little appreciated. 
 
 The two friends were in the very act of separat- 
 ing for ever, when who should rmi in but Pompey, 
 the renegade. He darted up to Sir Charles, and 
 said : " INIassa Pomannah she in a coach, going 
 to 10, Hercules Buildings. I'm in a hurry, Massa 
 Pomannah.' 
 
 ' Where ?' cried Pomander. ' Say that again. 
 * 10, Hercules Buildings, Lambeth. Me in a 
 hurry, Massa Pomannah.'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 113 
 
 * Faithful child, there's a guinea for thee. Fly !' 
 The slave flew, and taking a short cut, caught 
 
 and fastened on to the slow vehicle in the Strand. 
 
 ' It is a house of rendez-vous,' said Sir Charles, 
 half to himself, half to Mr. Vane. He repeated, 
 in triumph : ' It is a house of rendez-vous.' He 
 then, recovering his sang-froid, and treating it 
 all as a matter of course, explained that at 10, 
 Hercules Buildings, was a fashionable shop, with 
 entrances from two streets ; that the best Indian 
 scarfs and shawls were sold there, and that ladies 
 kept their carriages waiting an immense time in 
 the principal street, whilst they were supposed 
 to be in the shop, or the show-room. He then 
 went on to say that he had only this morning 
 heard, that the intimacy between Mrs. WofBng- 
 ton and a Colonel Murthwaite, although publicly 
 broken off for prudential reasons, was still clan- 
 destinely carried on. She had, doubtless, slipped 
 away to meet the Colonel. 
 
 Mr. Vane turned pale. 
 
 ' No ! I will not suspect. I will not dog her 
 like a bloodhound,' cried he. 
 
 ' I will !' said Pomander. 
 
 * You ! By what riglit T 
 
 ' The right of curiosity. I will know whether 
 it is you who are imposed on ; or whether you arc 
 right, and all the world is deceived in this woman.' 
 
 I
 
 114 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 
 
 He ran out ; but for all his speed, when he got 
 into the street, there was the jealous lover at his 
 elbow. They darted with all speeed into the 
 Strand ; got a coach. Sir Charles, on the box, 
 gave Jehu a guhiea, and took the reins — and by 
 a Niagara of whip-cord they attained Lambeth; 
 and, at length, to his delight. Pomander saw 
 another coach before him with a gold-laced black 
 slave behind it. The coach stopped ; and the 
 slave came to the door. The shop in question 
 was a few hundreds yards distant. The adroit 
 Sir Charles not only stopped, but turned his coach, 
 and let the horses crawl back towards London ; 
 he also flogged the side panels to draw the atten- 
 tion of Mr. Vane. That gentleman looked through 
 the little circular, window at the back of the vehicle, 
 and saw a lady paying the coachman. There was 
 no mistaking her figure. This lady, then, followed 
 at a distance by her slave, walked on towards 
 Hercules Buildings ; and it was his miserable fate 
 to see her look uneasily round, and at last glide 
 in at a side door, close to the silk mercer's 
 shop. 
 
 The carriage stopped. Sir Charles came himself 
 to the door. 
 
 ' Now, Vane,' said he ; ' before T consent to go 
 any further in this business, you must promise me 
 to be cool and reasonable. I abhor absurdity ; and
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX, 115 
 
 there must be no swords drawn for this little hypo- 
 crite,' 
 
 ' I submit to no dictation,' said Vane, white as a 
 sheet. 
 
 ' You have benefited so far by my knowledge,' 
 said the otlier, politely ; ' let me, who am self- 
 possessed, claim some influence with you.' 
 
 * Forgive me !' said poor Vane. ' My ang — 
 my sorrow that such an angel should be a monster 
 of deceit.' He could say no more. 
 
 They walked to the shop. 
 
 ' How she peeped, this way, and that,' said 
 Pomander, ' sly little ^Voffy !' 
 
 ' No ! on second thoughts,' 'said, he, ' it is the 
 other street we must reconnoitre ; and if we don't 
 see her there, we will enter the shop, and by dint 
 of this purse, we shall soon untie the knot of the 
 Woffington liddlc.' 
 
 Vane leaned heavily on his tormentor. 
 
 ' I am faint,' said he. 
 
 ' Lean on me, my dear friend,' said Sir Charles. 
 'Your weakness will leave you in the next 
 street.' 
 
 In the next street they discovered — nothing. 
 In the shop, they found — no Mrs. Woffington. 
 They returned to the principal street. Vane 
 began to hope there was no positive evidence. 
 Suddenly three stories up a fiddle was heard. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 PEG WOFFINGTON-. 
 
 Pomander took no notice, but Vane turned red ; 
 this put Sir Charles upon the scent. 
 
 ' Stay !' said he. ' Is not that an Irish tune ?' 
 Vane groaned. He covered his face with his 
 hands, and hissed out : 
 * It is her favourite tune.' 
 ' Aha !' said Pomander. ' Follow me !' 
 They crept up the stairs, Pomander in advance ; 
 they heard the signs of an Irish orgie — a rattling 
 jig played, and danced with the inspiriting inter- 
 jections of that frolicsome nation. These sounds 
 ceased after awhile, and Pomander laid his hand 
 on his friend's shoulder : 
 
 ' I prepare you,' said he, ' for what you are sure 
 to see. This woman was an Irish bricklayer's 
 dau2;hter, and ' what is bred in the bone never 
 comes out of the flesh ;' you will find her sitting 
 on some Irishman's knee, whose limbs are ever 
 so much stouter than yours. You arc the man 
 of her head, and this is the man of her heart. 
 These things would be monstrous, if they were 
 not common; incredible, if we did not see them 
 every day. But this poor fellow, Avhom probably 
 she deceives as well as you, is not to be sacrificed 
 like a dog to yovir unjust wrath ; he is as superior 
 to her, as you are to him.' 
 
 * I will commit no violence,' said Vane. ' I still 
 hope she is innocent.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 117 
 
 Pomander smiled, and said he hoped so too. 
 
 ' And if she is what you think, I will hut show 
 her she is known, and blaming myself as much 
 as her — oh, yes ! more than her ! — I will go down 
 this night to Shropshire, and never speak word 
 to her again in this world or the next.' 
 
 ' Good,' said Sir Charles. 
 
 * " Le bruit est pour Ic fat, la plaintc est pour le sot, 
 L'liounete liomme troinpe s'eloigne et ne dit mot." 
 
 Are you ready ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Then follow me.' 
 
 Turning the handle gently, he opened the door 
 like lightning, and was in the room. Vane's head 
 peered over his shoulder. She was actually there ! 
 
 For once in her life, the cautious artf'id "vvoman 
 was taken by surprise. She gave a little scream, 
 .and turned as red as fire. But Sir Charles surprised 
 somebody else even more than he did poor Mrs. 
 Woffington. 
 
 It would be impertinent to tantalise my reader, 
 but I flatter myself this history is not written with 
 power enovigh to do that, and I may venture to 
 leave him to guess whom Sir Cliarlcs Pomander 
 surprised more than he did the actres^s, while I go 
 back for the lagging sheep.
 
 118 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 James Tiuplet, water in his eye, but fire iii liis 
 heart, went home on wings. Arrived there, he 
 anticipated curiosity by informing all hands he 
 should answer no questions. Only in the intervals 
 of a work, which was to take the family out of all 
 its troubles, he should gradually unfold a tale, 
 verging on the marvellous — a tale whose only fault 
 was, that fiction, by which^ alone the family could 
 hope to be great, paled beside it. He then seized 
 some sheets of paper, fished out some old dramatic 
 sketches, and a list of dramatis ijersonce, prepared 
 years ago, and plunged into a comedy. As he 
 wrote, true to his promise, he painted. Triple t-Avise, 
 that story which we have coldly related, and made it 
 appear to all but Mrs. Triplet, that he was under the 
 tutela, or express protection of Mrs. Woffington, who 
 would push his fortunes until the only difficulty 
 would be to keep arrogance out of the family heart. 
 
 Mrs. Triplet groaned aloud. ' You have brought 
 the picture home, I see,' said she. 
 
 ' Of course I have. She is going to give me a 
 sitting.' 
 
 * At what hour, of what day ? ' said Mrs. Triplet^ 
 with a world of meaning
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 119 
 
 ' She did not say,' replied Triplet, avoiding his 
 wife's eye. 
 
 ' I know she did not,' was the answer. ' I would 
 rather you had brought me the ten shillings than 
 this fine story,' said she. 
 
 ' Wife ! ' said Triplet^ ' don't put me into a frame 
 of mind in which successful comedies are not 
 written.' He scribbled away; but his wife's de- 
 spondency told upon the man of disappointments. 
 Then he stuck fast ; then he became fidgetty. 
 
 ' Do keep those children quiet?' said the father. 
 
 ' Hush my dears,' said the mother ; ' let your 
 father write. Comedy seems to give you more 
 trouble than tragedy, James,' added she soothingly. 
 
 ' Yes,' was his answer. ' Sorrow comes somehow, 
 more natural to me ; but for all that I have got a 
 bright thought, Mrs. Triplet. Listen all of you. 
 You see, Jane, they are all at a sumptuous banquet, 
 all the dramatis per sonce, except the poet.' 
 
 Triplet went on writing, and reading his work 
 out : ' music, sparkling wine, massive plate, rose- 
 water in the hand-glasses, soup, fish — shall I have 
 three sorts of fish ? I will ; they are cheap in this 
 market. Ah ! Fortune, you wretch, here at least I 
 am your master, and I'll make you know it — 
 venison,' wrote Triplet with a malicious grin, ' game, 
 pickles and provocatives in the centre of the table, 
 then up jumps one of the guests, and says he —
 
 120 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' Oh dear, I am so hungry.' 
 
 This was not from the comedy, but from one of 
 the boys. 
 
 ' And so am I,' cried a glrh 
 
 ' That is an absurd remark, Lysimachus,' said 
 Triplet, with a suspicious calmness. 
 
 ' How can a boy be hungry three hours after 
 breakfast ? ' 
 
 ' But father there was no breakfast for break- 
 fast.' 
 
 ' Now I ask you, Mrs. Triplet,' appealed the 
 author, ' how am I to write comic scenes if you let 
 Lysimachus and Roxalana here, put the heavy 
 business in every five minutes ? ' 
 
 ' Forgive them; the poor things are hungry.' 
 
 ' Then let them be hinigry in another room,' said 
 the irritated scribe. ' They shan't cling round my 
 pen, and paralyze it just when it is going to make 
 all our fortunes ; but you women, snapped Triplet 
 the Just, ' have no consideration for people's feel- 
 ings. Send them all to bed ; every man jack of 
 them ! ' 
 
 Finding the conversation taking this turn, the 
 brats raised an unanimous howl. 
 
 Triplet darted a fierce glance at them. ' Hungry, 
 hungry,' cried he ; ' is that a proper expression to 
 use before a father who is sitting down here all 
 gaiety (scratching wildly with his pen) and hilarity.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 121 
 
 (scratcli) to write a com — com — ' he choked a 
 moment ; then in a very difterent voice, all sadness 
 and tenderness, he said : ' "Where's the youngest — 
 where's Lucy? As if I didn't know you are 
 hungry.' 
 
 Lucy came to him directly. He took her on his 
 knee, pressed her gently to his side, and wrote 
 silently. The others were still. 
 
 'Father,' said Lucy, aged five, the germ of a 
 woman, ' I am not tho very hungry.' 
 
 ' And I am not hungry at all,' said bluff Lysima- 
 chus, taking his sister's cue; then going upon his 
 own tact he added, ' I had a great piece of bread 
 and butter yesterday ! ' 
 
 ' Wife, they will drive me mad I ' and he dashed 
 at the paper. 
 
 The second boy explained to his mother, sotto 
 voce : ' Mother, he made us hungry out of his 
 book.' 
 
 ' It is a beautiful book,' said Lucy. 'Is it a 
 cookery book ? ' 
 
 Triplet roared, ' Do you hear that ? ' inquired he, 
 all trace of ill-humour gone. ' Wife,' he resumed, 
 after a gallant scribble, ' I took that sermon I wrote.' 
 
 * And beautiful it was, James. I'm sure it quite 
 cheered me up with thinking, that we shall all be 
 dead before so very long.' 
 
 ' W'^ell the reverend ircntleman would not have it.
 
 122 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 He said it was too hard upon sin. " You run at the 
 devil like a mad bull," said he. " Sell it in 
 Lambeth, Sir ; here calmness and decency are before 
 everything," says he. " My congregation expect to 
 go to Heaven down hill. Perhaps the chaplain of 
 Newgate might give you a crown for it," said he,' 
 and Triplet dashed viciously at the paper. ' Ah ! ' 
 sighed he, ' if my friend Mrs. Woffington would but 
 drop these stupid comedies and take to tragedy, this 
 house would soon be all smiles.' 
 
 ' Oh, James ! ' replied Mrs. Triplet, almost 
 peevishly, ' how can you expect anything but fine 
 words from that woman ? You won't believe what 
 all the world says. You will trust to your own 
 good heart.' 
 
 ' I haven't a good heart,' said the poor, honest 
 fellow. ' I spoke like a brute to you just now.' 
 
 ' Never mind, James,' said the woman ; ' I wonder 
 how you put up with me at all — a sick, useless 
 creature. I often wish to die, for your sake. I 
 know you would do better. I am such a weight 
 round your neck.' 
 
 The man made no answer, but he put Lucy 
 gently down, and went to the woman, and took 
 her forehead to his bosom, and held it there ; and 
 after a while, returned with silent energy to his 
 comedy. 
 
 ' Play us a tune on the fiddle, father.'
 
 TEG WOFFINGTON. 123 
 
 ' Ay, do, husband. That helps you often in your 
 writing.' 
 
 Lysimachus brouglit him the fiddle, and Triplet 
 essayed a merry tune; but it came out so doleful, 
 that he shook his head, and laid the instrument 
 down. Music must be in the heart, or it will come 
 out of the fingers — notes, not music. 
 
 ' No,' said he ; ' let us be serious and finish this 
 comedy slap off. Perhaps it hitches because I 
 forgot to invoke the comic muse. She must be a 
 black-hearted jade, if she doesn't come with mci'ry 
 notions to a poor devil, starving in the midst of his 
 hungry little ones.' 
 
 ' We are past help from heathen goddesses,' said 
 the woman. ' We must pray to heaven to look 
 down upon us and our children.' 
 
 The man looked up with a very bad expression 
 on his countenance. 
 
 ' You forget,' said he, sullenly, ' our street 
 is very narrow, and the opposite houses are very 
 high.' 
 
 * James !' 
 
 ' How can heaven be expected to see what honest 
 folk endure in so dark a hole as this?' cried the 
 man, fiercely. 
 
 ' James,' said the woman, with Icar and sorrow, 
 • what words are these ?' 
 
 The man rose, and flung his pen upon the floor.
 
 124 TEG WOFFINGTON". 
 
 * Have we given honesty a fair trial — yes or no ?' 
 
 * No !' said the woman, without a moment's hesi- 
 tation ; ' not till we die, as we have lived. Heaven 
 is higher than the sky ; children,* said she, lest 
 perchance her husband's words should have harmed 
 their young souls — ' the sky is above the earth, and 
 heaven is higher than the sky ; and Heaven is just.' 
 
 ' I suppose it is so,' said the man, a little cowed 
 by her. ' Everybody says so. I think so, at 
 bottom, myself; but I can't see it. I want to see 
 it, but I can't !' cried he, fiercely. ' Have my 
 children offended Heaven? They will starve — 
 they will die ! If I was Heaven, I'd be just, and 
 send an angel to take these children's part. They 
 cried to me for bread — I had no bread ; so I gave 
 them hard words. The moment I had done that, I 
 knew it was all over. God knows, it took a long 
 while to break my heart ; but it is broken at last ; 
 quite, quite broken ! broken ! broken !' 
 
 And the poor thing laid his head upon the table, 
 and sobbed, beyond all power of restraint. The 
 children cried round him, scarce knowing why; 
 and Mrs. Triplet could only say, ' My poor hus- 
 band !' and prayed and wept upon the couch where 
 she lay. 
 
 It was at this juncture that a lady, who had 
 knocked gently and unheard, opened the door, and 
 with a light step, entered the apartment; but no
 
 TEG WOFFINGTOX. 125 
 
 sooner had she caught sight of Triplet's anguish, 
 than saying hastily, ' Stay, I forgot something,' she 
 made as hasty an exit. 
 
 This gave Triplet a moment to recover himself; 
 and Mrs. Woffington, whose lynx-eye had com- 
 prehended all at a glance, and who had determined at 
 once what line to take, came flying in again, saying: 
 
 ' Wasn't somebody inquiring for an angel ? 
 Here I am. See, Mr. Triplet,' and she showed him 
 a note, which said, ' ]\Iadam, you are an angel. 
 From a perfect stranger,' explained she ; ' so it must 
 be true.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Woffiington,' said Mr. Triplet to his wife. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington planted herself in the middle of 
 the floor, and with a comical glance, setting her 
 arms akimbo, uttered a shrill whistle. 
 
 ' Now you will see another angel — there are two 
 sorts of them.' 
 
 Pompey came in with a basket : she took it from 
 him. 
 
 ' Lucifer, avaunt !' cried she, in a terrible tone, 
 that drove him to the wall ; ' and wait outside the 
 door,' added she, conversationally. 
 
 ' I heard you were ill. Ma'am, and I have brought 
 you some physic — black draughts from Burgundy / 
 and she smiled. And recovered from their first 
 surprise, young and old began to thaw beneath tiiat 
 witching, irresistible smile. 'Mrs. Triplet, I have
 
 126 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 come to give your husband a sitting ; will you allow 
 me to eat my little luncheon with you ? I am so 
 hungry.' Then she clapped her hands, and in ran 
 Pompey. She sent him for a pie she professed to 
 have fallen in love with at the corner of the street. 
 
 * Mother,' said Alcibiades, ' will the lady give me 
 a bit of her pie ?' 
 
 ' Hush ! you rude boy !' cried the mother. 
 
 ' She is not much of a lady if she does not,' cried 
 Mrs. Woffington. ' Now, children, first let us look 
 at — ahem — a comedy. Nineteen dramatis jjersonce 1 
 What do you say, children, shall we cut out seven, 
 or nine? that is the question. You can't bring 
 your armies into our drawing-rooms, Mr. Dagger- 
 and-bowl. Are you the Marlborough of comedy? 
 Can you marshal battalions on a turkey carpet, and 
 make gentlefolks witty in platoons ? What is this 
 in the first act ? A duel, and both wounded ! You 
 butcher !' 
 
 ' They are not to die, Ma'am !' cried Triplet, 
 deprecatingly ; ' upon my honour,' said he, solemnly, 
 spreading his hands on his bosom. 
 
 ' Do you think I'll trust their lives with you ? 
 No ! Give me a pen : this is the way ive run 
 j)eople through the body.' Then she wrote (' busi- 
 ness.' Araminta looks out of the garret window. 
 Combatants drop their swords, put their hands to 
 their hearts, and stagger off 0. P. and P. S.)
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 127 
 
 * Now, cliildren, wlio helps me to lay tlic cloth ?' 
 
 'I!' 
 
 ' And I !' (The children run to the cupboard.) 
 
 Mrs. Triplet (half rising.) — ' Madam, I — can't 
 think of allowing you.' 
 
 Mrs. Wolfington replied : ' Sit down, Madam, or 
 I must use brute force. If you are ill, be ill — till I 
 make you well. Twelve plates, quick ! Twenty- 
 four knives, quicker ! Forty-eight forks, quickest !' 
 She met the children with the cloth and laid it ; 
 then she met them again and laid knives and forks, 
 all at full gallop, which mightily excited the bairns. 
 Pompey came in with the pie, Mrs. Woffington took 
 it and set it before Triplet. 
 
 Mrs. Woffixgtox. — ' Your coat, Mr. Triplet, 
 if you please.' 
 
 Mr. Triplet. — ' jMy coat, Madam !' 
 
 Mrs. Woffixgtox. — 'Yes, off with it — there's 
 a hole in it — and carve. Then she whipped to the 
 other end of the table and stitched like wild-fire. 
 ' Be pleased to cast your eyes on that, Mrs. Triplet. 
 Pass it to the lady, young gentleman. Fire away, 
 Mr. Triplet, never mind us women. WofEngton's 
 housewife, Ma'am, fearful to the eye, only it holds 
 everything in the world, and there is a small space 
 for everything else — to be returned by the bearer. 
 Thank you, Sir,' (Stitches away like lightning at 
 the coat.) ' Eat away, children ! now is your time :
 
 128 TEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 when once I begin, the pie will soon end ; I do 
 everything so quick.' 
 
 RoxALANA. — ' The lady sews quicker than you, 
 mother.' 
 
 WOFFIXGTON. — 'Bless the child, don't come so 
 near my sword-arm ; the needle will go into your 
 eye, and out at the back of your head.' 
 
 This nonsense made the children giggle. 
 
 ' The needle will be lost — the child no more — 
 enter undertaker — house turned topsy-turvy — father 
 shows Woffington to the door — off she goes with a 
 face as long and dismal as some people's comedies — 
 no names — crying fine cha-ney oran-ges,' 
 
 The children, all but Lucy, screeched withlaughter. 
 
 Lucy said, gravely : 
 
 ' Mother, the lady is very funny.' 
 
 ' You will be as funny, when you are as well paid 
 for it' 
 
 This just hit poor Trip's notion of humour ; and 
 he began to choke, with his mouth full of pie. 
 
 ' James, take care,' said Mrs, Triplet, sad and 
 solemn. 
 
 James looked up. 
 
 ' My wife is a good woman, Madam,' said he ; 
 * but deficient in an important particular.' 
 
 ' Oh, James !' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear. I regret to' say you have no 
 sense of humour; nummore than a cat, Jane.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 129 
 
 * What ! because the poor thing can't laugh at 
 your comedy ?' 
 
 ' No, Ma'am ; but she laughs at nothing.' 
 
 ' Try her with one of your tragedies, my lad ?' 
 
 * I am sure, James,' said the poor, good, lack- 
 adaisical woman, ' if I don't laugh, it is not lor 
 want of the Avill. I used to be a very hearty 
 laugher,' whined she ; ' but I havn't laughed this 
 two years.' 
 
 * Oh, indeed 1' said the Woffington. * Then the 
 next two years you shall do nothing else.' 
 
 * Ah, Madam !' said Triplet. * That passes the 
 art, even of the great comedian.' 
 
 ' Docs it ?' said the actress, coolly. 
 
 Lucy. — ' She is not a comedy lady. You don't 
 ever cry, pretty lady ?' 
 
 Woffington (ironically). — ' Oh ! of course not.' 
 
 Lucv (confidentially). — ' Comedy is crying. 
 Father cried all the time he was writing his 
 one.' 
 
 Triplet turned red as fire. 
 
 ' Hold your tongue,' said he ; * I was bursting 
 with merriment. Wife, our children talk too much ; 
 they put their noses into everything, and criticise 
 their own father.' 
 
 ' Unnatural offspring !' laughed tlie visitor. 
 
 ' And when they take up a notion, Socrates 
 couldn't convince them to the contrar}'. For instance, 
 
 K
 
 130 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 Madam, all this morning they thought lit to asstimc 
 tliat they were starving.' 
 
 ' So we were,' said Lysimachus, ' until the angel 
 came ; and the devil went for tlie pie.' 
 
 * There — there — there! Now, you mark 'my 
 words; we shall never get that idea out of their 
 heads — ' 
 
 ' Until/ said Mrs. Woffington, lumping a huge- 
 cut of pie into Eoxalana's plate, ' we put a very 
 different idea into their stomachs.' This and the 
 look she cast on Mrs. Triplet, fairly caught that 
 good, though sombre personage. She giggled ; put 
 her hand to her face, and said : ' I'm sure I ask 
 your pardon, Ma'am?' 
 
 It was no use ; the comedian had determined 
 they should all laugh, and they were made to laugh. 
 Then she rose, and showed them how to drink 
 healths a la Frarigaise ; and keen were her little 
 admirers, to touch her glass with theirs. And the 
 pure wine she had brought did Mrs. Triplet much 
 good, too; though 'not so much as the music, and 
 sunshine of her face and voice. Then, when their 
 stomachs were full of good food, and the soul of the 
 grape tingled in their veins, and their souls glowed 
 imder her cjrcat magnetic power, she suddenly seized 
 the fiddle, and showed them another of her enchant- 
 ments. She put it on her knee, and played a tune 
 that would have made gout, cholic, and plithisick
 
 JPEG WOFFINGTO.V. 131 
 
 dance upon tlieir last legs. Slic played to the eye 
 as well as to the ear, with such a smart gesture of 
 the bow, and such a radiance of face as she looked 
 at them, that whether the music came out of her 
 Avoodcn shell, or her horsehair wand, or her bright 
 self, seemed doubtful. They pranced on their 
 chairs ; they could not keep still. She jumped up ; 
 so did they. She gave a wild Irish horroo. She 
 piit the iiddle in Triplet's hand. 
 
 ' The wind that shakes the barley, ye divil !' cried 
 she. 
 
 Triplet went Itors de lid ; he played like Paganini, 
 or an intoxicated demon. Woffington covered the 
 buckle in gallant style ; slic danced, the children 
 danced. Triplet fiddled and danced, and flung his 
 limbs in wild dislocation ; the wine-glasses danced ; 
 and last, Mrs. Triplet was observed to be bobbing 
 about on her sofa, in a monstrous absurd way, 
 droning out the tunc, and playing her hands with 
 mild enjoyment, all to herself Woffington pointed 
 out this pantomimic soliloquy to the tAVO boys, with 
 a fdance full of fiery mcaninf'-. This was enouidi : 
 witli a fiendish yell, they fell upon her, and tore her, 
 shrieking, off" the sofa. And lo ! when she was once 
 launched, she danced up to her husband, and set to 
 him with a meek deliberation, that Avas as flnmy as 
 any })ait of the scene. So then the mover of all 
 this slipped on one side, and let the stone of mcrri- 
 
 K 2
 
 132 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 mcnt roll — and roll it did ; there was no swimming, 
 sprawling, or irrelevant frisking ; their feet struck 
 the ground for every note of the fiddle, pat as its 
 cclio, their faces shone, their hearts leaped, and their 
 poor frozen natures came out, and warmed themselves 
 at the glowing melody ; a great sunbeam had come 
 into their abode, and these human motes danced in 
 it. The elder ones recovered their gravity first, 
 they sat down breathless, and put their hands to 
 their hearts ; they looked at one another, and then 
 at the goddess who bad revived them. Their first 
 -feeling was wonder ; were they the same, who, ten 
 minutes ago, were weeping together ? Yes ! ten 
 minutes ago they were raylcss, joyless, hopeless. 
 Now, the sun was in their hearts, and sorrow and 
 sighing were fled, as fogs disperse before the God of 
 day. It was magical ; could a mortal play upon the 
 soul of man, woman, and child like this ? Happy 
 Wofiington ! and suppose this was more than half- 
 acting, but sucli acting as Triplet never dreamed of; 
 and to tell the honest simple truth, I, myself, should 
 not have suspected it ; but children are sharper than 
 one would think, and Alcibiades Triplet told, in 
 after years, that when they were all dancing except 
 the lady, he caught sight of her face — and it was 
 quite, quite grave, and even sad ; but as often as 
 slie saw him look at her, she smiled at him so gaily 
 — be couldn't believe it was the same fiice.
 
 TEG WOFFINGTOX. 133 
 
 If it was art, gloiy be to such art so worthily 
 applied ! and honour to such creatures as this, that 
 come like sunshine into poor men's houses, and tune 
 drooping hearts to daylight and hope ! 
 
 The wonder of these worthy people soon changed 
 to gratitude. Mrs. Woffington stopped tlieir mouths 
 at once. 
 
 ' No, no !' cried she ; ' if you really love me, no 
 scenes : I hate them. Tell these brats to kiss me, 
 and let me go. I must sit for my picture after 
 dinner ; it is a long way to Bloomsbury Square.' 
 
 The children needed no bidding ; they clustered 
 round her, and poured out their innocent hearts as 
 children only do. 
 
 ' I shall pray for you after father and mother,' 
 said one. 
 
 ' I shall pray for you after daily bread,' said Lucy, 
 * because we were tJio hungry till you came !' 
 
 ' My poor children !' cried A\'ofEngton, and hard 
 to grown-up actors, as she called us, but sensitive to 
 children, she lairly melted as she embraced them. 
 It was at this precise juncture that the door was un- 
 ceremoniously opened, and the two gentlemen burst 
 upon the scene ! 
 
 My reader now guesses whom Sir Charles Poman- 
 der surprised more than he did Mrs. Woffington. 
 He could not lor the life of him comprehend what 
 she was doing, and what was her ulterior object.
 
 134 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 
 
 The nil ndmirari of" the fine gentleman deserted 
 him, and lie gazed open-mouthed, like the veriest 
 chaw-bacon. 
 
 The actress, unable to extricate herself in a mo- 
 ment from the children, stood tliere like Charity, in 
 Kew College Chapel, whilst the mother kissed h.cr 
 hand, and the fiithcr quietly dropped tears, like 
 some leaden water god in the middle of a fountain. 
 
 Yane turned hot and cold by turns, with joy and 
 shame. Pomander's genius came to the aid of their 
 embarrassmen t. 
 
 'Follow my lead,' whispered he. 'What! Mrs. 
 Woffington here !' cried he ; then he advanced 
 business-like to Triplet. ' We arc aware, Sir, of 
 ■your various talents, and arc come to make a demand 
 on them. I, Sir, am the unfortunate possessor of 
 frescoes ; time has impaired their indelicacy, no 
 man can restore it as 3'ou can.' ' 
 
 ' A ugh ! Sir ! Sir 1' said the gratified goose. 
 
 *My Cupid's bows are walking-sticks, and my 
 Yenus's noses are snubbed. You must set all that 
 straight, on your own terms, j\Ir, Triplet.' 
 
 ' In a single morning all shall bloom, again, Sir ! 
 Whom would you wish them to resemble in feature ? 
 I have lately been praised for my skill in portraiture.' 
 (Glancing at Mrs. Wollington.) 
 
 ' Oh !' said Pomander, carelessly, * you need not 
 go iiir for Yem^ses and Cupids, I suppose ?'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 135 
 
 * I see, Sir : my wife and children. Thank yon, 
 Sir : thank yon.' 
 
 Pomander stared ; Mrs. Woffington laughed. 
 
 Now it was Vane's turn. 
 • * Let mo have a copy of versos from your pen. 
 I shall have five pounds at your disposal for them.' 
 
 ' The world has found me out !' thought Triplet, 
 blinded by his vanit3^ ' TJic subject, Sir?' 
 
 ' No matter,' said Vane : ' no matter/ 
 
 ' Oh ! of course, it docs not matter to me,' said 
 Triplet, with some hauteur, and assuming poetic 
 ouinipotence. ' Only, when one knows the subject, 
 one can sometimes make the verses apply better.' 
 
 'Write then, since you are so confident, upon 
 Mrs. Woffington.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that is a subject ! They shall be ready in 
 an hour !' cried Trip, in whose imagination Par- 
 nassus was a raised counter. He had in a tea-cup 
 some lines on Ycutis and I\Iars, which he could not 
 but feel would fit Thalia and Croesus, or Genius and 
 Envy, equally well. ' In one hour, Sir,' said 
 Triplet, ' the article shall be executed, and delivered 
 at your house.' 
 
 Mrs, Wofiington called Vane to her, with an 
 engaging smile. A nionth ago, he would have 
 hoped she would not have penetrated him and Sir 
 Charles ; but he knew her better now. He came 
 trembling.
 
 136 PEG WOFFINGTO?^. 
 
 ^ ' Look me in the face, Mr. Vane,' said she gently, 
 but firmly. 
 
 ' I cannot !' said he. ' How can I e\er look you 
 in the face again ?' 
 
 ' Ah ! you disarm me ! But I must strike you, 
 or this will never end. Did I not promise that when: 
 you had earned my esteem, I would tell you — what 
 no mortal knows — Ernest, my whole story ? I delay 
 the confession : it will cost me so many blushes — so 
 many tears ! And yet I hope, if you knew all, you 
 would pity and forgive me. Meantime, did I ever 
 tell you a falsehood ?' 
 
 ' Oh no !' 
 
 ' Why doubt me then, when I tell you that I 
 hold all your sex cheap, but you ? Why suspect 
 me of Heaven knows what, at the dictation of a 
 heaitless, brainless fop — on the word of a knowrt 
 liar, like the world?' 
 
 Black lightning flashed from her glorious eyes, as 
 she administered this royal rebuke. Vane felt what 
 a poor creature he was, and his face showed such 
 burning shame and contrition, that he obtained his 
 pardon without speaking. 
 
 ' There,' said she, kindly, ' do not let us torment 
 one another. I forgive you. Let me make you 
 happy, Ernest. Is that a great favour to ask? I 
 can make you happier than your brightest dream of 
 liappiness, if you will let yourself be happy.'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 137 
 
 They rejoined the others ; but Vane turned his 
 back on Pomander, and would not look at him. 
 
 ' Sir Charles,' said Mrs. Woffington, gaily ; for 
 she scorned to admit the fine gentleman to the rank 
 of a permanent enemy, ' you will be of our party, I 
 trust, at dinner ? ' 
 
 ' Why, no. Madam ; I fear I cannot give myself 
 that pleasure to-day.' Sir Charles did not choose to 
 swell the triumph. ' Mr. Vane, good day !' said he, 
 rather drily. ' Mr. Triplet — Madam — your most 
 obedient !' and, self-possessed at top, but at bottom 
 crest-fallen, he bowed himself away. 
 
 Sir Charles, however, on descending the stair and 
 gaining the street, caught sight of a horseman, 
 riding uncertainly about, and making his horse 
 curvet, to attract attention. 
 
 He soon recognized one of his own horses, and 
 upon it the servant he had left behind to dog that 
 poor innocent country lady. The servant sprang oiF 
 liis horse and touched his hat. He informed his 
 master that he had kept with the carriage until ten 
 o'clock this morning, when he had ridden away from 
 it at Barnet, having duly pumped the servants us 
 opportunity offered. 
 
 ' Who is she ?' cried Sir Charles. 
 
 ' Wife of a Cheshire squire. Sir Charles,' Avas the 
 reply. 
 
 * His name ? Whither f'oes she in town ?*
 
 138 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 
 
 * Her name is Mrs. Vane, Sir Charles, She is 
 C[oiiif;r,to lier husband.' 
 
 ' * Curious !' cried Sir Charles. ' I wish she had 
 no husband. No 1 I wish she came from Shropshire,* 
 and he chuckled at the notion. 
 
 * If you please, Sir Charles,' said the man, ' is not- 
 Willoughby in Cheshire ? ' 
 
 ' jS[o,' cried his master ; ' it is in Shropshire. 
 What ! eh ! Five guineas for yoii if that lady comes 
 from Willoughby in Shropshire.' 
 
 *That is whei'e she comes from then, Sir Charles, 
 and she is going to Bloomsbury Square.' 
 
 * How long have they been married ?' 
 
 * Not more than twelve months, Sir Charles.' 
 Pomander gave the man ten guineas instead of 
 
 live on the spot. 
 
 Eeader, it was too true ! Mr. Vane — the good, 
 the decent, the church-ccoer — ]\Ir. Vane, whom Mrs. 
 Woffington had selected ■ to improve her morals — 
 ]\Ir. Vane was a married man !
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 139 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 As soon as Pomander had drawn his breath and 
 realized this discovery he darted np stairs, and with 
 all the demure calmness lie could assume, told Mr, 
 Vane, whom he met descending, that he was happy 
 to find his engagements permitted him to join the 
 party in Bloomsbury Square. He then fliuig him- 
 self upon liis servant's horse. 
 
 Like lago, he saw the indistinct outline of a 
 glorious and a most malicious plot ; it lay cnido ia 
 his head and heart at present ; thus much he saw 
 cleaily, that if" he could time Mrs. Vane's arrival so 
 that she should pomace upon the Woffington at her 
 husband's table, he might be present at and enjoy 
 the public discomfiture of a man and woman who 
 had wounded his vanity. Bidding his servant make 
 the best of his way to Bloomsbury Square, Sir 
 Charles galloped, in that direction himself, intending 
 first to inquire whether JMrs. ^'ane was arrived, and 
 if not, to ride towards Islington and meet her. His 
 plan was frustrated by an accident ; galloping round 
 a corner, his horse did not change his leg cleverly, 
 and the pavement being also loose, slipped and fell 
 on his side, throwing his rider upon the trottoir.
 
 140 PEG WOFFINGTON". 
 
 The horse got up and trembled violently, but was 
 unliurt. The rider lay motionless, except that his 
 legs quivered on the pavement. They took him up 
 and conveyed him into a druggist's shop, the master 
 of which practised chirurgery. He had to be sent 
 for ; and before he could be found, Sir Charles 
 recovered his reason — so much so, that when the 
 chirurgeon approached with his fleam to bleed him, 
 according to the practice of the day, the patient 
 drew his sword, and assured the other he would let 
 out every drop of blood in liis body if he touched 
 him. 
 
 He of the shorter but more lethal weapon hastily 
 retreated. Sir Charles flung a guinea on the counter, 
 and mounting his horse rode him off rather faster 
 than before this accident. 
 
 There was a dead silence ! 
 
 ' I believe that gentleman to be the devil !* 
 said a thoughtful bystander. The crowd (it Avas a 
 century ago) assented nem. cmi. 
 
 Sir Charles arrived in Bloomsbury Square, found 
 that the whole party was assembled. He therefore 
 ordered his servant to parade before the door, and if 
 he saw Mrs. Vane's carriage enter the square, to let 
 him know, if possible, before she should reach the 
 house. On entering he learned that Mr. Vane and 
 his guests were in the garden (a very fine one), and 
 joined them there.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 141 
 
 Mrs. Vane demands anotlier chapter, in wliieh I 
 will tell the reader who she was, and what excuse 
 her husband had for his liaison with Margaret 
 Woffincrton, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mabel Chester was the beauty and toast of South 
 Shropshire. She had refused the hand of half the 
 country squires in a circle of some dozen miles, till 
 at last Mr. Vane became her suitor. Besides a 
 handsome face and person, Mr. Vane had accom- 
 plishments his rivals did not possess. He read 
 poetry to her on mossy banks, an hour before sun- 
 set, and awakened sensibilities, which her other 
 suitors sliocked, and they them. 
 
 The lovely Mabel had a taste for beautiful tilings, 
 without any excess of that severe quality called 
 judgment. 
 
 I v/ill explain. H' you or I, reader, liad read to 
 her in the afternoon, amidst the smell of roses and 
 eglantine, the chirp of the mavis, the hum of bees, 
 the twinkling of butterflies, and the tinkle of distant 
 sheep, something that combined all these sights, and 
 sounds, and smells — say Milton's musical picture of 
 Eden, P. L., lib. 3., and after that ' Triplet on Kew,'
 
 142 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 slie would have instantly pronounced in favour of 
 ' Eden ;' but iC ive had read her ' Milton,' and Mr^ 
 Vane had read her ' Triplet,' she would have as un- 
 hesitatingly preferred ' Kew ' to ' Paradise.' 
 
 She was a true daughter of Eve; the lady who, 
 when an angel was telling her and her husband the 
 truths of heaven in heaven's own music, slipped 
 away into the kitchen, because she preferred hearinir 
 the story at second-hand, encumbered with digres- 
 sions, and in mortal but marital accents. 
 
 When her mother, who guarded Mabel like a 
 dragon, told her Mr. Vane was not rich enough, 
 and she really must not give him so many opportu- 
 nities, Mabel cried and embraced the dragon, and 
 said, ' Oh mother !' The dragon finding her ferocity 
 dissolving, tried to shake her off, but the goose 
 would cry and embrace the dragon till it melted. 
 
 By and by Mr. Vane's uncle died suddenly and 
 left him the great Stoken Church estate, and a trunk 
 full of Jacobuses and Queen Anne's guineas — his 
 own hoard and his father's — then the dragon spake 
 comfortably and said : 
 
 ' My child, he is now the richest man in Shrop- 
 shire. He will not think of you now ; so steel your 
 heart.' 
 
 Then Mabel, contrary to all expectations, did not 
 cry ; but with fluslring cheek, pledged her life upon 
 Ernest's love and honour. And Ernest, as soon as
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 143 
 
 the funeral, &c., left liiai free, galloped to Mabel, to 
 talk of our cfood fortune. The dracfon had done him 
 injustice : that was not his -weak point. So they 
 were married ! and they were very, very happy. 
 But one month after, the dragon died, and that was 
 their first grief; but they bore it together. 
 
 And A^ane was not like the other Shropshire 
 squires. His idea of pleasure was something his 
 wife could share. He still rode, walked, and sat 
 with her, and read to her, and composed songs for 
 her, and about her, vrhich she played and sang 
 prettily enough, in her quiet lady-like way, and in 
 a voice of honey dropping from the comb. Then 
 she kept a keen eye upon him ; and when she 
 discovered what dishes he liked, she superin- 
 tended those herself; and observing that he never 
 failed to eat of a certain lemon-pudding the 
 dragon had originated, she always made this 
 pudding herself, and she ne^•cr told her husband 
 she made it. 
 
 The fii'st scA'en months of their marriage was 
 more like blue sky than brown earth ; and if any 
 one had told I\Iabcl that her husband was a mortal, 
 aaid not an angel, sent to her, that her days and 
 nights might be immixcd, uninterrupted heaven, she 
 could hardly have realised the information. 
 
 AVhen a vexatious litijrant beffan to contest the 
 will by which ^h. Yanc was Lord of Stokcn Church,
 
 144 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 and Mr. Vane Avent np to London to concert the 
 proper means of defeating this attack, Mrs. Vane 
 would gladly have compounded by giving the man 
 two or three thousand acres, or the whole estate, if 
 he wouldn't take less, not to rob her of her husband 
 lor a month ; but she was docile, as she was amo- 
 rous ; so she cried (out of sight) a week ; and let 
 her darling go, with every misgiving a loving heart 
 could have ; but one ! and that one, her own heart 
 told her, was impossible. 
 
 The month rolled away — no symptom of a return. 
 For this, Mr. Vane was not, in fact, to blame ; but, 
 towards the end of the next month, business became 
 a convenient excuse. When tlnree months had 
 passed, Mrs. Vane became unhappy. She thought 
 he too must feel the separation. She offered to 
 come to him. He answered uncandidly. He urged 
 the length, the fatigue of the journey. She was 
 silenced ; but some time later, she began to take a 
 new view of his objections. ' He is so self-denying,' 
 said she. ' Dear Ernest, he longs for me ; but he 
 thinks it selfish to let me travel so far alone to see 
 him.' 
 
 Full of this idea, she yielded to her love. She 
 made her preparations, and wrote to him that if he 
 did not forbid her peremptorily, he must expect 
 to see her at his breakfast-table in a very few 
 days.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOISr. 145 
 
 Mr. Vane concluded this was a jest, and did not 
 answer this letter at all. 
 
 ]\Irs. Vane started. She travelled with all speed ; 
 
 but coining to a halt at , she wrote to her 
 
 husband that she counted on being with him at lour 
 of the clock on Thursday. 
 
 This letter preceded her arrival by a few hours. 
 It was put into his hand at the same time with a 
 note from Mrs. Wellington ; telling him she should 
 be at a rehearsal at Covent Garden. Thinking his 
 wife's letter would keep, he threw it on one side 
 into a sort of a tray ; and after a hurried breakfast, 
 went out of his house to the theatre. He returned, 
 as we are aware, with Mrs. Woffington ; and also, at 
 her request, with Mr. Gibber, for whom they called 
 on their way. He had forgotten his wife's letter, 
 and was entirely occupied with his guests. 
 
 Sir Gharles Pomander joined them, and found Mr. 
 Golander, the head domestic of the London estab- 
 lishment, cutting with a pair of scissors every flower 
 Mrs. Woffington fancied, that lady having a passion 
 for flowers. 
 
 Colander, during his temporary absence from the 
 Interior, had appointed James Burdock to keep the 
 house, and receive the two remaining guests, should 
 they arrive. 
 
 This James Burdock Avas a faithful old country 
 scrvimt, who liad come up with 'Mr. Vane, but left
 
 146 PEG WOFFIXGTON, 
 
 his heart at Willoughby. James Burdock had for 
 some time been ruminating, and his conclusion was, 
 that his mistress, Miss Mabel (as by force of liabit he 
 called her), was not treated as she deserved. 
 
 Burdock had been imported into Mr. Vane's 
 family by Mabel ; he had carried her in his arms 
 when she was a child ; he had held her upon a 
 donkey when she was a little girl ; and when she 
 became a woman, it was he who taught her to stand 
 close to her horse, and give him her foot, and spring 
 while he lifted her steadily but strongly into her 
 saddle, and when there, it was he who had instructed 
 her that a horse was not a machine, that galloping 
 tires it in time, and that galloping it on the hard 
 road hammers it to pieces. ' I taught the girl,' 
 thought James within himself. 
 
 This honest silver-haired old fellow, seemed so 
 ridiculous to Colander, the smooth, supercilious 
 Londoner, that he deigned sometimes to converse 
 with James, in order to quiz him. This very morn- 
 ing they had had a conversation. 
 
 ' Poor Miss Mabel ! dear heart. A tweh-emonth 
 married, and nigh six months of it a widow, or next 
 door.' 
 
 ' We write to her James, and entertain her replies, 
 which are at considerable length.' 
 
 * Ay, but we don't read 'em !' said James, with 
 an uneasy glance at the tray.
 
 PEGr WOFFIXGTOX. 147 
 
 * Invariably, at our leisure ; meantime we make 
 ourselves bappy amongst the wits and the syrens.' 
 
 * And she do make others happy among the poor 
 and the ailing.' 
 
 ' Which shows,' said Colander, superciliously, ' the 
 difference of tastes.' 
 
 Burdock, whose eye had never been off his mis- 
 tress's hand-writing, at last took it up and said : 
 'Master Colander, do if ye please Sir, take this into 
 master's dressing-room, do now?' 
 
 Colander looked down on the missive with dilating 
 eye. ' Not a bill, James Burdock,' said he re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 ' A bill ! bless ye no. A letter from missus.' 
 
 No, the dog would not take it in to his master ; 
 and poor James, with a sigh, replaced it in the 
 tray. 
 
 This James Burdock, then, was left in charge of 
 the hall by Colander, and it so happened that the 
 change was hardly effected, l)efore a hurried 
 knocking came to the street-door. 
 
 ' Ay, ay !' grumbled Burdock, ' I thought it 
 would not be long. London for knocking and 
 ringing all day, and ringing and knocking all night.' 
 He opened the door reluctantly and suspiciously, and 
 in darted a lady, whose features were concealed by a 
 hood. She glided across the hull, as if she was 
 
 L '2
 
 148 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 making for some point, and old James shuffled after 
 her, crying : ' Stop, stop ! young woman. What is 
 your name, young woman?' 
 
 ' Why, James Burdock,' cried the lady, removing 
 her hood, ' have you forgotten your mistress ?' 
 
 ' Mistress ! Why Miss Mabel, I ask your pardon. 
 Madam — here John, Margery !' 
 . ' Hush !' cried Mrs. Vane. 
 
 ' But, where are your trunks, Miss ? And 
 where's the coach, and Darby and Joan ? To think 
 of their drawing you all the way here ! I'll have 
 'em into your room directly, Ma'am. Miss, you've 
 come just in time.* 
 
 ' What a dear, good, stupid, old thing you are 
 James. Where is Ernest — Mr. Vane ? James, is he 
 well and happy ? I want to surprise him.' 
 
 ' Yes, Ma'am,' said James, looking down. 
 
 ' I left the stupid old coach at Islington, James, 
 The something — pin was loose, or I don't kno-\T 
 what. Could I wait two hours there ? So I came 
 on by myself; you wicked old man, you let me 
 talk, and don't tell me how he is.' 
 
 * Master is main well. Ma'am, and thank you,' 
 said old Burdock, confused and uneasy. 
 
 ' But is he happy ? Of course he is. Are we 
 not to meet to-day alter six months ? Ah ! but 
 never mind, they are gone by.'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 149 
 
 ' Lord bless lier !' thouglit tlie faithful old fellow. 
 * If sitting down and crying could lielp her, 1 
 wouldn't be long,' 
 
 By this time they were in the banqueting-room 
 and at the preparations there Mabel gave a start ; 
 she then coloured. ' Oh ! he has invited his friends 
 to make acquaintance. I had rather we had been 
 alone all this day and to-morrow. But he must not 
 know that. No; his friends are my friends, and 
 shall be too,' thought the country wife. She then 
 o^lanced with some miscfivinij at her travellinir 
 attire, and wished she had brought one trunk with 
 her. 
 
 ' James,' said she, ' where is my room ? And 
 mind, I forbid you to tell a soul I am come.' 
 
 « Your room, Miss Mabel ?' 
 
 ' Well, any room where there is looking glass and 
 water.' 
 
 She then went to a door which opened in fact on 
 a short passage leading to a room occupied by ]\Ir. 
 Vane himself. 
 
 ' No, no !' cried James. ' That is master's room.' 
 
 ' Well, is not master's room mistress's room, old 
 man ? But stay ; is he there ?' 
 
 'No Ma'am ; he is in the garden, with a power of 
 fine folks.' 
 
 ' They shall not see me till I have made myself 
 a little more decent,' said the young beauty,
 
 150 TEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 who knew at bottom how little comparatively 
 the colour of her dress could affect her appear- 
 ance, and she opened Mr. Vane's door and glided 
 in. 
 
 Burdock's first determination was, in spite of her 
 injunction, to tell Colander ; but on reflection, he 
 argued : ' And then what will they do ? They will 
 put their heads together, and deceive us some other 
 way. jSTo !' thought James, with a touch of spite, 
 * we shall see how they will all look.' He argued 
 also, that, at sight of his beautiful wife, his master 
 must come to his senses, and the Colander faction be 
 defeated ; and, perhaps, by the mercy of Providence, 
 Colander himself turned off. 
 
 Whilst thus ruminating, a thundering knock at 
 the door almost knocked him off his lea^s. ' There 
 ye go again,' said he, and went angrily to the door. 
 This time it was Hunsdon, who was in a desperate 
 hurry to see his master. 
 
 * Where is Sir Charles Pomander, my honest 
 fellov/ ?' said he. 
 
 ' In the garden, my Jack-a-dandy !' said Bu.rdock, 
 furiously. 
 
 ('Honest fellow,' among servants, Implies some 
 moral inferiority.) 
 
 In the garden went Plunsdon. His master — all 
 whose senses were playing sentinel — saw him, and 
 left tlic company to meet him.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 151 
 
 ' She is in the house, Sir.' 
 
 ' Good ! Go — vanish !' 
 
 Sir Charles looked into the banquet- room ; the 
 haunch was being placed on the table. He returned 
 witli the information. He burned to bring husband 
 and wife together : he counted each second lost tliat 
 postponed this (to him) thrilling joy. Oh, how 
 happy he was ! — happier than the serpent, when he 
 saw Eve's white teeth really strike into the apple ! 
 
 ' Shall we pay respect to this haunch, Mr. Quin ?' 
 said Vane, gaily. 
 
 ' If you please. Sir,' said Quin, gravely. 
 
 Colander ran down a by-path with an immense 
 bouquet, which lie arranged for Mrs. Woffington in 
 a vase at Mr, Vane's left hand. He tlien threw open 
 the windows, which were on the French plan, and 
 shut within a foot of the lawn. 
 
 The musicians in the arbour struck up, and the 
 company, led by Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woffington, 
 entered the room. And a charming room it Avas ! — 
 light, lofty, and large — adorned in the French way 
 with white and gold. The table was an exact oval, 
 and at it everybody could hear what any one said ; 
 an excellent arrangement where ideaed guests only 
 are admitted — which is another excellent arrange- 
 ment, though I see people don't think so. 
 
 The repast was luxurious and elegant. There 
 was no profusion of unmeaning dishes; each was a
 
 152 PEG WOFFINGTON". 
 
 honne-houche — an undeniable delicacy. The glass 
 was beautiful, the plates silver ; the flowers rose like 
 walls from the table ; the plate massive and glorious ; 
 rose-water in the hand-glasses ; music crept in from 
 the garden, deliciously subdued into what seemed a 
 natural sound. A broad stream of southern sun 
 gushed in fiery gold through the open window, and 
 like a red-hot rainbow, danced through the stained 
 glass above it. Existence was a thing to bask in — 
 in such a place, and so happy an hour ! 
 
 The guests were Quin, Mrs. Clive, Mr. Gibber, 
 Sir Charles Pomander, Mrs. Woffington, and Messrs. 
 Soaper and Snarl, critics of the day. This pair, 
 with wonderful sagacity, had arrived from the street 
 as the haunch came from the kitchen. Good 
 humour reigned ; some cuts passed, but as the 
 parties professed wit, they gave and took, 
 
 Quin carved the haunch, and was happy ; Soaper 
 and Snarl eating the same, and drinking Toquay, 
 were mellowed and mitigated into human flesh. 
 Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woflington were happy ; he, 
 because his conscience was asleep ; and she, because 
 she felt nothing now could shake her hold of him. 
 Sir Charles was in a sort of mental chuckle. His 
 head burned, his bones ached ; but he was in a sort 
 of" nervous delight. 
 
 ' Where is she ?' thought he. * What will she do ? 
 Will she send her maid Avith a note ? How blue he
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 153 
 
 will look ! Or, will she come herself? She is a 
 country wife ; there must be a scene. Oh ! why 
 doesn't she come into this room ? She must know 
 we are here ! Is she watching somewhere ?' His 
 brain became puzzled, and his senses were sharpened 
 to a point ; he was all eye, ear and expectation ; and 
 this was why he was the only one to hear a very 
 slight sound behind the door we have mentioned, 
 and next to perceive a lady's glove lying close to 
 that door, Mabel had dropped it in her retreat. 
 Putting this and that together, he was led to hope 
 and believe she was there, making her toilette 
 perhaps, and her arrival at present unknown. 
 
 ' Do you expect no one else ?' said he, with feigned 
 carelessness to Mr. Vane, 
 
 ' No,' said Mr. Vane, with real carelessness. 
 
 ' It must be so ! What fortune !' thought 
 Pomander. 
 
 SOAPER. — Mr. Gibber looks no older than he did 
 five years ago. 
 
 SxAPtL. — There was no room on his face for a 
 fresh wrinkle. 
 
 SoAPER. — He ! he ! Nay, Mr, Snarl ; Mr. Gibber 
 is like old port : the more ancient he grows, the 
 more delicious his perfume. 
 
 Snarl. — And the crustier he gets. 
 
 Glive. — Mr, Vane, you shoidd always separate 
 those two. Snarl, by himself, is just supportable;
 
 154 TEG WOFFINGTOX, 
 
 but when Soapcr paves the way with his hypocritical 
 praise, the pair are too much ; they are a two-edged 
 sword. 
 
 WOFPINGTOX. — Wanting nothing but polish and 
 point. 
 
 Vane. — Gentlemen, we abandon your neighbour, 
 Mr. Quin, to you. 
 
 Quix. — They know better. If they don't keep a 
 civil tongue in their heads, no fat goes from here to 
 them. 
 
 Gibber. — Ah, Mr. Vane ; this room is delightful; 
 but it makes me sad. I knew this house in Lord 
 Longueville's time ; an unrivalled gallant, Peggy. 
 You may just remember him, Sir Charles ? 
 
 Pomander (with his eye on a certain door). — Yes, 
 yes ; a gouty old fellow. 
 
 Gibber fired up. 'I wish you may ever be 
 like him. Oh the beauty, the wit, the iMits- 
 soujMrs that used to be here ! Longueville was 
 a great creature, Mr. Vane. I ha^e known him 
 entertain a fine lady in this room, while her rival 
 was fretting and fuming on the other side of that 
 door.' 
 
 ' Ah, indeed !' said Sir Gharles. 
 
 ' More shame for him,' said Mr. Vane. 
 
 Here was luck ! Pomander seized this opportunity 
 of turning the conversation to his object. With a 
 malicious twinkle in his eye, he inquired of Mr.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 155 
 
 Gibber what made him fancy the house had lost its 
 virtue in Mr. Vane's hands ? 
 
 ' Because,' said Gibber, peerishly, ' you all want 
 the true savoir faire now-a-days, because there is no 
 juste milieu, young gentlemen. The young dogs of 
 the day are all either unprincipled heathen, like 
 yourself, or Amadisses, like our ^Yorthy host.' The 
 old gentleman's face and maimers were like those of 
 a patriarch, regretting the general decay of virtue, 
 not the imaginary diminution of a single vice. He 
 concluded with a sigh, that ' The true 2>^6i<x' des 
 dames went out with the full periwig ; stap my vitals !' 
 
 'A bit of fat, Mr. Gibber?' said Quin, whose 
 jokes were not polished. 
 
 ' Jemmy, thou art a brute,' was the reply. 
 
 * You refuse, Sir?' said Quin, sternly. 
 
 ' No, Sir !' said Gibber, with dignity ; ' I accept.' 
 
 Pomander's eye was ever on the door, 
 
 ' The old are so unjust to the young,' said he. 
 ' You pretend that the Deluge washed away iniquity, 
 and that a rake is a fossil. AVhat,' said he, leaning 
 as it were on every word, ' if I bet you a cool 
 hundred, that Vane has a petticoat in that room, and 
 that Mrs. Woffington shall unearth her ?' 
 
 The malicious dog thought this was the surest way 
 to effect a dramatic exposure ; because, if Peggy 
 found Mabel to all appearances concealed, Peggy 
 would scold her, and betray herself
 
 156 rEO WOFFINGTON. 
 
 'Pomander!' cried Vane, in great heat; then 
 checking himself, he said coolly : ' But you all know 
 Pomander.' 
 
 ' None of yon,' replied that gentleman. ' Bring a 
 chair, Sir,' said he, authoritively, to a servant; who, 
 of course, obeyed. 
 
 Mrs. Clive looked at him, and thought : ' There 
 is something in this !' 
 
 ' It is for the lady,' said he, coolly. Then leaning 
 over the table, he said to Mrs. Woffington, with an 
 impudent affectation of friendly understanding : ' I 
 ran her to earth in this house not ten minutes ago. 
 Of course, I don't know who she is ! But,' smack- 
 ing his lips, " a rustic Amaryllis, breathing all May- 
 buds and Meadow-sweet.' 
 
 ' Have her out, Peggy !' shouted Gibber. ' I 
 know the run — there's the covert ! Hark forward ! 
 Ha, ha, ha !' 
 
 Mr. Vane rose, and Avith a sternness that brought 
 the old beau up with a run, he said : ' Mr. Gibber, age 
 and infirmity are privileged ; but for you , Sir Gharles — ' 
 
 ' Don't be angry,' interposed Mrs. Woffington, 
 "whose terror was lest he should quarrel with so 
 practised a swordsman. ' Don't you see it is a jest ! 
 and, as might be expected from poor Sir Gharles, a 
 very sorry one.' 
 
 ' A jest !' said Vane, white with rage. ' Let it 
 go no farther, or it will be earnest !'
 
 TEG WOFFIXGTOX, 157 
 
 Mrs. Woflington placed her hand on his shoulder, 
 and at that touch he instantly yielded, and sat down. 
 
 It was at this moment, when Sir Charles Iljund 
 himself lor the present baffled — for he could no 
 longer press his point, and search that room ; when 
 the attention of all was drawn to a dispute, which, 
 for a moment, had looked like a quarrel ; whilst 
 Mrs. Woffington's hand still lingered, as only a 
 woman's hand can linirer in leavincr the shoulder of 
 the man she loves ; it was at this moment, the door 
 opened of its own accord, and a most beautiful 
 ■woman stood, with a light step, upon the tlu"eshold ! 
 
 Isobody's back was to her, except ]\Ir. Vane's. 
 Every eye, but his, was spell-bound upon her. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington withdrew her hand, as if a 
 scorpion had touched her. 
 
 A stupor of astonishment fell on them all. 
 
 Mr. Vane, seeing the direction of all their eyes, 
 slewed himself round in his chair into a most awk- 
 ward position, and when he saw the lady, he was 
 utterly dumb-founded ! But she, as soon as he 
 turned his face her way, glided up to him witli a 
 little half sigh, half cry of joy, and taking him 
 round the neck, kissed him deliciously, while every 
 eye at the table met every other eye in turn. One 
 or two of the men rose ; for the lady's beauty Avas 
 as worthy of homage, as her appearing was mar- 
 vellous.
 
 158 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 Mrs. Woflington, too astonished for emotion to 
 take any definite shape, said, in what seemed an 
 ordinary tone : ' Who is this lady ?' 
 
 ' I am his wife. Madam/ said Mabel, in the 
 voice of a skylark, and smiling friendly on the 
 questioner. 
 
 ' It is my wife !' said Vane, like a speaking- 
 machine ; he was scarcely in a conscious state. ' It 
 is my wife !' he repeated, mechanically. 
 
 The words were no sooner out of Mabel's mouth 
 than two servants, who had never heard of Mrs. 
 Vane before, hastened to place on ]Mr. Vane's right 
 hand the chair Pomander had provided, a plate and 
 napkin were there in a twinkling, and the wife 
 modestly, but as a matter of course, curtsied low, 
 with an air of welcome to all her guests, and then 
 glided into the seat her servants obsequiously placed 
 for her. 
 
 The whole thing; did not take half a minute !
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. l59 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mr. Vane, besides being a rich, was a mngnificcut 
 man ; when his features were in repose their beauty 
 had a wise and stately character. Soaper and Snarl 
 had admired, and bitterly envied him. At the 
 present moment no one of his guests envied him — • 
 they began to realize his position. And he, a huge 
 wheel of shame and remorse, began to turn and 
 whiiT before his eyes. He sat between two Euro- 
 pean beaiities, and pale and red by turns, shunned 
 the eyes of both, and looked down at his plate in a 
 x;old sweat of humiliation, mortification, and shame. 
 The iron passed through Mrs. Wellington's soul. 
 So ! this was a villain too, the greatest villain of all 
 — a hypocrite ! She turned very faint, but she was 
 under an enemy's eye, and under a rival's ; the 
 thought drove the blood back from her lieart, and 
 Avith a mighty efibrt she was Woffington again. 
 Hitherto her liaison with Mr. Vane had called up 
 the better part of her nature, and perliaps our 
 reader has been taking her for a good woman ; but 
 now all her dregs were stirred to the surface. The 
 mortified actress gulled by a novice, the wronged 
 and insulted woman, had but two thoughts ; to 
 defeat her rival — to be revenged on her false lover.
 
 160 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 More than one sharp spasm passed over her features 
 before she could master them, and then slie became 
 smiles above, wormwood and red-hot steel below — 
 all in less than half a minute. 
 
 As for the others, looks of keen intelligence 
 passed between them, and they watched with burn- 
 ing interest for the denouement. That interest was 
 stronger than their sense of the comicality of all this 
 (for the humorous view of what passes before our 
 eyes, comes upon cool reflection, not often at the time). 
 
 Sir Charles, indeed, who had foreseen some of 
 this, wore a demvire look, belied by his glittering 
 eye. He offered Gibber snuff, and the two satirical 
 animals grinned over the snuff-box, like a malicious 
 old ape, and a mischievous young monkey. 
 
 The new comer was charming ; she was above the 
 middle height, of a full, though graceful figure, her 
 abundant glossy, bright brown hair glittered here and 
 there like gold in the light ; she had a snowy brow, 
 eyes of the profoundest blue, a cheek like a peach, 
 and a face beaming candour and goodness ; the 
 character of her countenance resembled " the Queen 
 of the May," in Mr. Leslie's famous picture, more 
 than any face of our day I can call to mind. 
 
 ' You are not angry with me for this silly trick?' 
 said she, with some mis2;ivino-. ' After all I am 
 only two hoiu's before my time ; you know, dearest, 
 I said four in my letter — did I not?'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 161 
 
 Vane stammered. AVhat could he say ? 
 
 * And you have had three days to prepare you, 
 for I wrote, like a good wife, to ask leave before 
 starting ; but he never so much as answered my 
 letter, Madam.' (This she addressed to Mrs. Wof- 
 lington, who smiled by main force.) 
 
 * Why,' stammered Vane, * could you doubt ? I — 
 I—' 
 
 ' No ! Silence was consent, was it not ? But I 
 beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you 
 will forgive me. It is six months since 1 saw him — 
 so you understand — I warrant me you did not look 
 for me so soon, ladies ? ' 
 
 ' Some of us did not look for you at all, IMadam,' 
 said Mrs. Woffington. 
 
 * AVhat, Ernest did not tell you he expected 
 me?' 
 
 * No ! He told us this banquet was in honour of 
 a lady's first visit to his house, but none of us 
 imagined that lady to be his wife.' 
 
 Vane began to writhe under that terrible tongue, 
 wliose point hitherto had ever been turned away 
 from him. 
 
 ' He intended to steal a march on us,' said 
 Pomander, drily ; ' and with your help, we steal 
 one on him;' and he smiled maliciously on Mrs. 
 Woffington. 
 
 'But, Madam,' said Mr. Quin, 'the moment you
 
 162 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 did arrive, I kept sacred for you a bit of the fat ; 
 for which, I am sure, you must be ready. Pass her 
 plate ! ' 
 
 ' Not at present, Mr. Quin,' said Mr. Vane, 
 hastily. ' She is about to retire and change her 
 travelling dress.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear ; but you forget, I am a stranger to your 
 friends. Will you not introduce me to them first?' 
 
 ' No, no ! ' cried Vane, in trepidation. ' It is not 
 usual to introduce in the beau mondej 
 
 'We always introduce ourselves,' rejoined Mrs. 
 Woffington ; and she rose slowly, with her eye on 
 Vane. He cast a look of abject entreaty on her ; 
 but there was no pity in that curling lip and awful 
 eye. He closed his own eyes, and waited for the 
 blow. Sir Charles threw himself back in his chair, 
 and chuckling, prepared for the explosion. Mrs. 
 Woffington saw him, and cast on him a look of 
 ineffable scorn ; and then she held the whole com- 
 pany fluttering a long while. At length : ' The 
 Honourable Mrs. Quickly, Madam,' said she, in- 
 dicating Mrs. Clive. 
 
 This turn took them all by surprise. Pomander 
 bit his lip. 
 
 ' Sir John Brute — ^ 
 
 * Falstaff,' cried Quin ; ' hang it.' 
 
 ' Sir John Brute Falstaff,' resumed Mrs. Woffing- 
 ton. ' We call him, for brevity, Brute.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 163 
 
 Vane drew a long breath. ' Your neighbour is 
 Lord Foppington ; a butterfly of some standing, and 
 a little gouty/ 
 
 * Sir Charles Pomander.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried Mrs. Vane. ' It is the good gentle- 
 man who helped us out of the slough, near Hunting- 
 don. Ernest, if it had not been for this gentleman, 
 I should not have had the pleasure of being here 
 now.' And she beamed on the good Pomander. 
 
 Mr. Vane did not rise and embrace Sir Charles, 
 
 'All the company thanks the good Sir Charles,' 
 said Cibber, bowing. 
 
 ' I see it in all their faces,' said the good Sir 
 Charles, drily. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington continued : * Mr. Soaper, Mr. 
 Snarl ; gentlemen, who would butter and slice up 
 their own fathers ! ' 
 
 ' Bless me ! ' cried Mrs. Vane, faintly. 
 
 * Critics ! ' And she dropped, as it were, the 
 word drily, with a sweet smile, into Mabel's 
 plate. 
 
 Mrs. Vane was relieved; she had apprehended 
 cannibals. London they had told her was full of 
 curiosities. 
 
 ' But yourself, Madam?' 
 
 * I am the Lady Betty Modish ; at your service.' 
 A four-inch grin went round the table. The 
 
 dramatical old rascal, Cibber, began now to look at 
 
 M 2
 
 164 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 it as a bit of genteel comedy ; and slipped out liis 
 note-book under the table. Pomander cursed her 
 ready wit, whicli had disappointed him of his catas- 
 trophe. Vane wrote on a slip of paper : * Pity and 
 respect the innocent ! ' and passed it to Mrs. Woffing- 
 ton. He could not have done a more superfluous or 
 injudicious thing. 
 
 ' And now, Ernest,' cried Mabel, ' for the news 
 from Willoughby.' 
 
 Vane stopped her in dismay. He felt how many 
 satirical eyes and ears were upon him and his wife. 
 ' Pray go and change your dress first, Mabel,' cried 
 he, fully determined that on her return she should 
 not find the present party there. 
 
 Mrs. Vane cast an imploring look on Mrs. Woffing- 
 ton. ' My things are not come,' said she. ' And, 
 Lady Betty, I had so much to tell him, and to be 
 sent away;' and the deep blue eyes began to 
 fill. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Woffington was determined that this 
 lady, who she saw was simple, should disgust her 
 husband, by talking twaddle before a band of 
 satirists. So she said warmly : 'It is not fair on 
 us. Pray, Madam, your budget of country news. 
 Clouted cream so seldom comes to London quite 
 fresh.' 
 
 * There, you see, Ernest,' said the unsuspicious 
 soul. * First, you must know that Grey Gillian is
 
 PEG VVOFFINGTOX 165 
 
 turned out for a brood mare, so old George won't let 
 me ride her ; old servants are such tyrants, my lady. 
 And my Barbary hen has laid two eggs; Heaven 
 knows the trouble we had to bring her to it. And 
 Dame Best, that is my husband's old nurse, Mrs. 
 Quickly, has had soup and pudding from the Hall 
 every day : and once she went so far as to say it 
 wasn't altogether a bad pudding. She is not a very 
 grateful woman, in a general way, poor thing ! I 
 made it with these hands.' 
 
 Vane writhed. 
 
 ' Happy pudding ! ' observed Mr. Gibber. 
 
 * Is this mockery, Sir ? ' cried Vane, with a sudden 
 burst of irritation. 
 
 'No, Sir; it is gallantry,' replied Gibber, with 
 perfect coolness. 
 
 * Will you hear a little music in the garden ?' said 
 Vane to Mrs. Woffington, pooh-poohing his wife's 
 news. 
 
 ' Not till I hear the end of Dame Bess.' 
 
 'Best, my lady.' 
 
 ' Dame Best interests me,^ Mr. Vane. 
 
 * Ay ! and Ernest is very fond of her, too, when 
 he is at home. She is in her nice new cottage, 
 dear; but she misses the draughts that were in her 
 old one — they were like old friends. " The only 
 ones I have, I'm thinking," said the dear cross old 
 thing; and there stood I, on her floor, with a flannel
 
 166 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 petticoat in both hands, that I had made for her, 
 and ruined mj finger. Look else, my Lord Fop- 
 pington ? ' She extended a hand the colour of cream. 
 
 * Permit me, Madam ?' taking out his glasses, 
 with which he inspected her finger; and gravely 
 announced to the company : ' The laceration is, in 
 fact, discernible. May I be permitted, Madam,' 
 added he, 'to kiss this fair hand, which I should 
 never have suspected of having ever made itself 
 half so useful? 
 
 ' Ay, my Lord !' said she, colouring slightly, 
 ' you shall, because you are so old ; but I don't 
 say for a young gentleman, unless it was the one 
 that belongs to me ; and he does not ask me.' 
 
 *My dear Mabel; pray remember we are not 
 at Willoughby.' 
 
 'I see we are not, Ernest.' And the dove-like 
 eyes filled brimful ; and all her innocent prattle 
 was put an end to. 
 
 ' Wliat brutes men are,' thought Mrs. Wofiing- 
 ton. 'They are not worthy even of a fool like 
 this.' 
 
 Mr. Vane once more pressed her to hear a little 
 music in the garden ; and this time she consented. 
 Mr. Vane was far from being unmoved by his 
 wife's arrival, and her true affection. But she 
 worried him; he was anxious, above all things, 
 to escape from his present position, and separate
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 167 
 
 the rival queens; and this was the only way he 
 could see to do it. He whispered Mabel, and bade 
 her somewhat peremptorily rest herself for an hour 
 after her journey, and he entered the garden with 
 Mrs. Woffington. 
 
 Now, the other gentlemen admired Mrs. Vane 
 the most. She was new. She was as lovely, in 
 her way, as Peggy ; and it was the young May- 
 mom beauty of the country. They forgave her 
 simplicity, and even her goodness, on account of 
 her beauty; men are not severe judges of beau- 
 tiful women. They all solicited her to come with 
 them, and be the queen of the garden. But the 
 good wife was obedient. Her lord had told her 
 she was fatigued ; so she said she was tired. 
 
 'Mr. Vane's garden will lack its sweetest and 
 fairest flower, Madam,' cried Gibber, ' if we leave 
 you here,' 
 
 * Nay, my Lord, there are fairer than I.' 
 
 'Poor Quin !' cried Kitty Clive; 'to have to 
 leave the alderman's walk for the garden- walk.' 
 
 'All I regret,' said the honest glutton, stoutly, 
 ' is that I go without carving for Mrs. Vane.' 
 
 ' You are very good. Sir John ; I will be more 
 troublesome to you at supper-time.' 
 
 When they were all gone, she could'nt help 
 sighing. It almost seemed as if everybody was 
 kinder to her than lie Avhose kindness alone she
 
 168 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 valued. 'And lie must take Lady Betty's hand 
 instead of mine,' thought she. ' But that is good 
 breeding, I suppose. I wish there was no such 
 thing : we arc very happy without it in Shrop- 
 shire.' Then this poor little soul was ashamed of 
 herself, and took herself to task. ' Poor Ernest,' 
 said she, pitying the wrong-doer, like a woman, 
 *he was not pleased to be so taken by surprise. 
 No wonder; they are so ceremonious in London. 
 How good of him not to be angry I' Then she 
 sighed; her heart had received a damp. His 
 voice seemed changed, and he did not meet her 
 eyes with tlie look he wore at Willoughby. She 
 looked timidly into the garden. She saw the gay 
 colours of beaux, as well as of belles — for in these 
 days broadcloath had not displaced silk and velvet 
 — (rlancinw and shininf]: amonsr the trees; and she 
 sighed, but presently brightening up a little, she 
 said : ' I will go and see that the coffee is hot and 
 clear, and the (chocolate Avell mixed for them,' 
 The poor child wanted to do something to please 
 her husband. Before she could carry out this act 
 of domestic virtue, her attention was drawn to a 
 strife of tongues in the hall. She opened the 
 folding doors, and there was a fine gentleman 
 obstructing the entrance of a sombre rusty figure, 
 with a portfolio and a manuscript under each 
 arm.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 169 
 
 The fine gentleman was Colander. The seedy 
 personage was the eternal Triplet, come to make 
 hay with his five-foot rule while the sun shone. 
 Colander had opened the door to him, and he had 
 shot into the hall. The major-domo obstructed 
 the farther entrance of such a coat. 
 
 ' I tell you my master is not at home,' remon- 
 strated the major-domo. 
 
 ' How can you say so,' cried Mrs. Vane, in sur- 
 prise, ' when you know he is in the garden ?' 
 
 ' Simpleton !' thought Colander. 
 
 * Show the gentleman in.' 
 
 ' Gentleman !' muttered Colander. 
 
 Triplet thanked her for her condescension; he 
 would wait for Mr. Yane in the hall. ' I came 
 by appointment. Madam; this is the only excuse 
 for the importunity you have just witnessed.' 
 
 Hearinw this, Mrs. Vane dismissed Colander to 
 inform his master. Colander bowed loftily, and 
 walked into the servants' hall without deignincr to 
 take the last proposition into consideration. 
 
 ' Come in here, Sir,' said Mabel ; ' Mr. Vane will 
 come as soon as he can leave his company.' Trip- 
 let entered in a series of obsequious jerks. * Sit 
 down and rest you, Sir.' And Mrs. Vane seated 
 herself at the table, and motioned with her white 
 hand to Triplet to sit beside her. 
 
 Triplet bowed, and sat en the edge of a chair, and
 
 170 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 
 
 smirked and dropped his portfolio, and instantly- 
 begged Mrs. Vane's pardon ; in taking it up, lie 
 let fall his manuscript, and was again confused; 
 but in the middle of some superfluous and absurd 
 excuse his eye fell on the haunch ; it straightway- 
 dilated to an enormous size, and he became sud- 
 denly silent and absorbed in contemplation. 
 
 ''You look sadly tired, Sir.' 
 
 *Why, yes, Madam. It is a long way from 
 Lambeth Walk, and it is passing hot, Madam.' 
 He took his handkerchief out, and was about to 
 wipe his brow, but returned it hastily to his pocket. 
 ' I beg your pardon, Madam,' said Triplet, whose 
 ideas of breeding, though speculative, were severe, 
 * I forgot myself.' 
 
 Mabel looked at him, and coloured, and slightly 
 hesitated. At last, she said : ' I'll be bound you 
 came in such a hurry you forgot — you rausn't be 
 angry with me — to have your dinner first ?' 
 
 For Triplet looked like an absurd wolf — all bene- 
 volence and starvation ! 
 
 * What divine intelligence !' thought Trip. ' How 
 strange. Madam,' cried he, ' you have hit it ! This ac- 
 counts, at once, for a craving I feel. Now you remind 
 me, I recollect carving for others, I did forget to 
 remember myself. Not that I need have forgot it 
 to-day. Madam ; but being used to forget it, I 
 did not remember not to forget it to-day, Madam,
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 171 
 
 that was all/ And the author of this intelligent 
 account smiled, very, very, very, absurdly. 
 
 She poured him out a glass of wine. He rose 
 and bowed ; but peremptorily refused it, with his 
 tongue — his eye drank it. 
 
 ' But you must,' persisted this hospitable lady. 
 
 'But, Madam, consider I am not entitled to — 
 Nectar, as I am a man !' 
 
 The white hand was filling his plate with part- 
 ridge pie : ' But, Madam, you don't consider how 
 you overwhelm me with your — Ambrosia, as I 
 am a poet !' 
 
 ' I am sorry Mr. Vane should keep you waiting.' 
 
 * By no means, Madam ; it is very fortunate — 
 I mean it procures me the pleasure of — ' (here 
 articulation became obstructed) ' your society. 
 Madam. Besides, the servants of the Muse are 
 used to waiting. Wliat we are not used to is' 
 (here the white hand filled his glass) ' being 
 waited upon by Hebe and the Twelve Graces, 
 whose health I have the honour — ' (Deglutition.) 
 
 'A poet!' cried ]\Iabel; 'oh! I am so glad! 
 Little did I think ever to see a living poet I Dear 
 heart ! I should not have known, if you had not 
 told vac. Sir, I love poetry !' 
 
 'It is in your face, Madam.' Triplet instantly 
 whipped out his manuscript, put a plate on one 
 corner of it, and a decanter on the other, and
 
 172 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 
 
 begged her opinion of tliis trifle, composed, said 
 lie, ' In honour of a lady Mr. Vane entertains to- 
 day.' 
 
 ' Oh !' said Mrs. Vane, and coloured with plea- 
 sure. How ungrateful she had been ! Here was 
 an attention ! — For, of course, she never doubted 
 that the verses were m honour of her arrival. 
 
 * " Bright being—" ' 
 
 sang out Triplet. 
 
 •Nay, Sir,' said Mabel; 'I think I know the 
 lady, and it would be hardly proper of me — ' 
 
 * Oh ! Madam !' said Triplet solemnly ; ' strictly 
 correct, Madam !' And he spread his hand out over 
 his bosom. * Strictly ! — " Blunderbuss " (my poetical 
 name, Madam) never stooped to the taste of the 
 town. 
 
 * " Bright being, thou—" ' 
 
 ' But you must have another glass of wine first, 
 and a slice of the haunch.' 
 
 * With alacrity. Madam.' He laid in a fresh stock 
 of provisions. 
 
 Strange it was, to see them side by side ! he, a 
 Don Quixote, with cordage instead of lines in his 
 mahogany face, and clothes hanging upon him : she, 
 smooth, duck-like, delicious, and bright as an open- 
 ing rose fresh with dew ! 
 
 She watched him kindly, archly and demurely ;
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 173 
 
 and still plied him, country wise, with every mortal 
 thing on the table. 
 
 But the poet was not a boa-constrictor, and even a 
 boa-constrictor has an end. Hunger satisfied, his 
 next strongest feeling, simple vanity, remained to be 
 contented. As the last morsel went in out came : 
 
 ' " Bright being, thou whose ra — " ' 
 
 * No ! no !' said she, who fancied herself (and not 
 without reason) the bright being. * Mr. Vane in- 
 tended them for a surprise.' 
 
 ' As you please. Madam ;' and the disappointed 
 bore sighed. ' But you would have liked them, for 
 the theme inspired me. The kindest, the most 
 generous of women ! Don't you agree with me. 
 Madam ?' 
 
 Mabel Vane opened her eyes. ' Hardly, Sir,' 
 laughed she. 
 
 ' If you knew her as I do.' 
 
 * I ought to know her better. Sir.' 
 
 * Ay, indeed ! Well, Madam, now her kindness 
 to me, for instance — a poor devil like me. The 
 expression, I trust, is not disagreeable to you. 
 Madam ? If so, forgive me, and consider it with- 
 drawn.' 
 
 * La, Sir ! civility is so cheap, if you go to that.' 
 
 * Civility, Ma'am ? Why she has saved me iioni 
 despair — from starvation, perhaps.*
 
 174 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' Poor thing ! Well indeed, Sir, you looked — 
 you looked — what a shame ! and you a poet.' 
 
 ' From an epitaph to an epic, Madam.' 
 I At this moment a figure looked in upon them 
 from the garden, but retreated imobserved. It Avas 
 Sir Charles Pomander, who had slipped away, with 
 the heartless and malicious intention of exposing the 
 husband to the wife, and profiting by her indig- 
 nation and despair. Seeing Triplet, he made an 
 extemporaneous calculation that so infernal a chatter- 
 box could not be ten minutes in her company 
 without telling her everything, and this would serve 
 his turn very well. He therefore postponed his 
 purpose, and strolled away to a short distance. 
 
 Triplet justified the Baronet's opinion. Without 
 any sort of sequency, he now informed Mrs. Vane 
 that the benevolent lady was to sit to him for her 
 portrait. 
 
 Here was a new attention of Ernest's. How good 
 he was, and how wicked and ungrateful she ! 
 
 ' What ! are you a painter too ?' she inquired. 
 
 ' From a house front to an historical composition. 
 Madam.' 
 
 ' Oh, what a clever man ! And so Ernest com- 
 missioned you to paint a portrait ?' 
 
 ' No, Madam ; for that I am indebted to the lady 
 herself.' 
 
 ' The lady herself?'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 175 
 
 ' Yes, Madam ; and I expected to find her here. 
 Will you add to your kindness by informing me 
 whether she has arrived ? Or she is gone — ' 
 
 'Who, Sir? (Oh dear! not my portrait! Oh, 
 Ernest !)' 
 
 ' Who, Madam !' cried Triplet ; ' why Mrs. Wof- 
 fington !' 
 
 ' She is not here,' said Mrs. Vane, who remem- 
 bered all the names perfectly well. ' There is one 
 charming lady among our guests, her face took me 
 in a moment ; but she is a titled lady : there is no 
 Mrs. Woffington amongst them.' 
 
 ' Strange !' replied Triplet ; ' she was to be 
 here ; and in fact that is why I expedited these lines 
 in her honour.' 
 
 ' In Tier honour, Sir ?' 
 
 ' Yes, Madam. Allow me : 
 
 < " Bright being, thou whose radiant brow — " ' 
 
 ' No I no ! I don't care to hear them now, for I 
 don't know the lady.' 
 
 ' Well, Madam — but at least you have seen her 
 act?' 
 
 ' Act ! you don't mean all this is for an 
 actress ?' 
 
 ' An actress ? The actress ! And you have 
 never seen her act? What a pleasure you have 
 to come ! To see her act is a privilege ; but to act
 
 176 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 witli lier, as / once did ! But she does not remem- 
 ber that, nor shall I remind her, Madam,' said 
 Triplet, sternly. ' On that occasion I Avas hissed, 
 owing to circumstances which, for the credit of our 
 common nature, I suppress.' 
 
 ' What ! are you an actor, too ? You arc every- 
 thing.' 
 
 * And it was in a farce of my own. Madam, which, 
 by the strangest combination of accidents, was 
 damned !' 
 
 ' A play writer ? Oh, what clever men there 
 are in the wojld — in London, at least ! He is a 
 play-writer, too. I wonder my husband comes not. 
 Docs Mr. Vane — does Mr. Vane admire this 
 actress ?' said she, suddenly. 
 
 ' Mr. Vane, Madam, is a gentleman of taste,' said 
 he, pompously. 
 
 ' Well, Sir,' said the lady, languidly, 'she is not 
 here.' Triplet took the hint and rose. * Good-bye,' 
 said she, sweetly ; and thank you kindly for your 
 company, ]\Ir. — Mr. — ' 
 
 ' Triplet, Madam — James Triplet, of 10, Hercules 
 Buildings, Lambeth. Occasional verses, odes, 
 cpithalamia, elegies, dedications, squibs, impromptus, 
 and hymns, executed with spirit, punctuality and 
 secrecy. Portraits painted, and instruction in de- 
 clamation, sacred, profane, and dramatic. The 
 card. Madam,' (and he drew it as doth a theatrical
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 177 
 
 fop his rapier), ' of him who, to all these qiialifi- 
 cations, adds a prouder still — that of being, 
 ' Madam, 
 * Yovir humble, devoted, and grateful servant, 
 
 ' Ja:mes Triplet,' 
 
 He bowed in a line from his right shoulder to his 
 left toe, and moved off. But Triplet could not go 
 all at one time out of such company ; he was given 
 to return in real life, he had played this trick so 
 often on the stage. He came back, exuberant with 
 gratitude. 
 
 ' The fact is. Madam,' said he, ' stnyige as it may 
 appear to you, a kind hand has not so often been 
 held out to me, that I should forget it, especially 
 when that hand is so fair and gracious. May I be 
 permitted. Madam — you will impute it to gratitude, 
 rather, than audacity — I — I — ' (whimper), ' Madam' 
 (with sudden severity,) ' I am gone !' 
 
 These last words he pronounced with the right 
 arm at an angle of forty-five degrees, and the 
 fino-ers pointing horizontally. The stage had taught 
 him this grace also. In his day, an actor who had 
 three words to say, such as, ' My Lord's carriage is 
 waiting,' came on the stage with the right arm thus 
 elevated, delivered his message in the tone of a 
 falling dynasty, wheeled like a soldier, and retired 
 with the left arm pointing to the sky. and the right 
 extended behind him like a setter's tail. 
 
 N
 
 178 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 Left to herself, Mabel was uneasy. ' Ernest is so 
 warm-hearted,' This was the way she put it even 
 to herself. He admired lier acting, and wished to 
 pay her a compliment. ' What if I carried him the 
 verses ?' She thought she should siirely please him, 
 by showing she was not the least jealous or doubtful 
 of him. The poor child wanted so to win a kind 
 look from her husband ; but ere she could reach 
 the window, Sir Charles Pomander had entered it. 
 
 Now, Sir Charles was naturally welcome to Mrs. 
 Vane ; for all she knew of him was, that he had 
 helped her on the road to her husband. 
 
 PoMANDEE, — ' What, Madam ! all alone here as 
 in Shropshire ?' 
 
 Mabel, — ' For the moment, Sir.' 
 
 Pomander. — ' Force of habit. A husband vnth. a 
 wife in Shropshire is so like a bachelor.' 
 
 Mabel.—' Sir !' 
 
 Pomander. — ' And our excellent Ernest is such 
 a favourite !' 
 
 Mabel. — ' No wonder, Sir.' 
 
 Pomander. — ' Few can so pass from the larva 
 state of country squire to the butterfly nature of 
 beau.' 
 
 Mabel. — ' Yes,' (sadly) ' I find him changed.' 
 
 Pomander. — ' Changed ! Transformed. He is 
 now the prop of the " Cocoa Tree," the star of Eane- 
 lagh, the Lauzim of the green room.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 179 
 
 Mabel. — ' The green room ! Where is that ? 
 You mean kindly, Sir ; but you make me un- 
 happy.' 
 
 P01LA.XDER. — ' The green-room, my dear Madam, 
 is the bower where houris put oif their wings, and 
 goddesses become dowdies ; where Lady Macbeth 
 weeps over her lap-dog, dead from repletion ; 
 and Belvidera soothes her broken heart with a 
 dozen of oysters.: in a word, it is the place where 
 actors and actresses become men and women, and 
 act their own parts with skill, instead of a poet's, 
 cUimsily.' 
 
 Mabel. — ' Actors ! actresses ! Does Mr. Yane 
 irequent such — ' 
 
 Pomander, — ' He has earned in six months a re- 
 putation many a fine gentleman would give his ears 
 for. Not a scandalous journal his initials have not 
 figured in ; not an actress of reputation gossip has 
 not given him for a conquest.' 
 
 ' How dare you say this to me ?' cried Mrs Vane, 
 with a sudden flash of indignation, and tlien the 
 tears streamed over her lovely cheeks ; and even a 
 Pomander might have forborne to torture her so ; 
 but Sir Charles had no mercy. 
 
 * You would be sure to learn it,' said he ; ' and 
 with malicious additions. It is better to hear the 
 truth from a friend.' 
 
 • A friend ? He is no fi-iend to a house who 
 
 X 2
 
 180 TEG WOFFINGTON'. 
 
 calumniates the husband to the wife. Is it the part 
 of a friend to distort dear Ernest's kindliness and 
 gaiety into ill morals ; to pervert his love of poetiy 
 and plays into an unworthy attachment to actors and 
 — oh !' and the tears would come. But she dried 
 them, for now slie hated this man; with all the 
 little power of hatred she had, she detested him. 
 ' Do you suppose I did not know Mrs. Woffington 
 was to come to us to-day?' cried she, struggling 
 passionately against her own fears and Sir Charles's 
 inuendoes. 
 
 ' What !' cried he ; ' you recognised her ? You 
 detected the actress of all work imder the airs of 
 Lady Betty Modish?' 
 
 ' Lady Betty Modish !' cried Mabel : * that good, 
 beautiful face !' 
 
 * Ah !' cried Sir Charles, ' I see you did not. 
 Well, Lady Betty was Mrs. Woffington !' 
 
 ' Whom my husband, I know, had invited here 
 to present her with these verses, which I shall take 
 him for her ;' and her poor little lip trembled. 
 * Had the visit been in any other character, as you 
 are so base, so cruel as to insinuate (what have I 
 done to you that you kill me so, you wicked gentle- 
 man?) would he have chosen the day of my 
 arrival ?' 
 
 'Not if he knew you were coming,' was the cool 
 reply.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOIT, 181 
 
 * And he did know — I wrote to him,' 
 
 * Indeed !' said Pomander, fairly puzzled. 
 
 Mrs. Vane caught sight of her handwriting on tlie 
 tray and darted to it, and seized her letter, and said, 
 triumphantly : 
 
 ' My last letter, written upon the road — see !' 
 
 Sir Charles took it with surprise, but turning it 
 in his hand a cool satirical smile came to his face. 
 He lianded it back, and said coldly : 
 
 'Read me the passage, ]Madam, on which you 
 argue.' 
 
 Poor Mrs. Vane turned the letter in her hand, 
 and her eye became instantly glazed ; the seal Avas 
 unbroken ! She gave a sharp cry of agony, like a 
 wounded deer. Slie saw Pomander no longer ; she 
 was alone with her great anguish. ' I had but my 
 husband, and my God in the world,' cried she. 
 ' ]My mother is gone. My God, have pity on me ! 
 my husband does not love me.' 
 
 The cold villain was startled at the mighty storm 
 his mean hand had raised. This creature had not 
 only more feeling, but more passion than a hundred 
 libertines. He muttered some villain's common- 
 places ; while this unhappy young lady raised her 
 hands to heaven, and sobbed in a way ^'ery terrible 
 to any manly heart. 
 
 * He is unworthy you,' muttered Pomander. * He 
 has forfeited your love : he has left you nothing but
 
 182 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 revenge. Be comforted. Let me, who have learned 
 already to adore you — ' 
 
 * So,' cried she, turning on him in a moment (for 
 on some points, woman's instinct is the lightning of 
 wisdom); 'this. Sir, was your object? I may no 
 longer hold a place in my husband's heart ; but I 
 am mistress of his house. Leave it. Sir ! and never 
 return to it whilst I live.' 
 
 Sir Charles, again discomfited, bowed reveren- 
 tially. ' Your wish shall ever be respected by me, 
 Madam ! But here they come. Use the right of a 
 wife. Conceal yourself in that high chair. See, I 
 turn it ; so that they cannot see you. At least, you 
 will find I have but told you the truth.' 
 
 'No!' cried Mabel, violently. 'I will not spy 
 upon my husband at the dictation of his treacherous 
 friend.' 
 
 Sir Charles vanished. He was no sooner gone 
 than Mrs. Vane, crouched, trembling, and writhing 
 with jealousy in the large, high-backed chair. She 
 heard her husband and the soi-disant Lady Betty 
 Modish enter. During their absence, Mrs. Wof- 
 fington had doubtless been playing her cards with 
 art ; for it appeared that a reconciliation was now 
 taking place. The lady, however, was still cool 
 and distant. It was poor Mabel's fate to hear 
 these words : ' You must permit me to go alone, 
 Mr. Vane. 1 insist upon leaving this house alone.*
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 183 
 
 On this, he wliispered to her. 
 
 She answered : ' You are not justified.' 
 
 * I can explain all,' was his reply. ' I am ready 
 to renounce credit, character, all the world for you.' 
 
 They passed out of the room before the unhappy 
 listener could recover the nmnbing influence of these 
 deadly words. 
 
 But the next moment she started wildly up, and 
 cried as one drowning cries vaguely for help : 
 * Ernest ! oh, no — no ! you cannot use me so ! 
 Ernest — husband ! Oh, mother ! mother !' 
 
 She^ rose, and would have made for the door, but 
 nature had been too cruelly tried. At the first step 
 she could no longer see anything ; and the next 
 moment swooning dead away, she fell back insen- 
 sible, Avith her head and shoulders resting on the 
 chair.
 
 184 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Mr. Vane was putting Mrs. "Woffington into her 
 chair, when he thought he heard his name cried. 
 He bade that lady a mournful farewell, and stepped, 
 back into his own hall. He had no sooner done so, 
 than he heard a voice, the accent of which alarmed 
 hiin, though he distinguished no word. He hastily 
 crossed the hall, and flew into the banquet-room. 
 Coming rapidly in at the folding-doors he almost fell 
 over his wife, lying insensible, half upon the floor^ 
 and half upon the chair. When he saw her pais 
 and motionless, a terrible misgiving seized him ; he 
 fell on his knees. 
 
 ' Mabel, Mabel !' cried he, * my love ! my inno- 
 cent wife ! Oh, God ! what have I done ? Perhaps 
 it is the fatigue — pcrliaps she has fainted.' 
 
 ' No, it is not the fatigue !' screamed a voice near 
 him. It was old James Burdock, who, with his 
 white hair streaming, and his eye gleaming witk 
 fire, shook his list in his master's face. ' No, it is 
 not the fatigue, you villain ! It is you who have 
 killed her, with your jezebcls and harlots, you 
 scoundrel !' 
 
 ' Send the women here, James, for God's sake !' 
 cried Mr. Vane, not even noticing the insult he had
 
 PEG WOFFIXCxTOX. 185 
 
 received from a servant. He stamped furiously, and 
 cried for help. The whole household was round her 
 in a moment. They carried her to bed. 
 
 The remorse-stricken man, his own knees trem- 
 bling imder him, flew, in an agony of fear and self- 
 reproach, for a doctor I 
 
 A doctor ? 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 During the garden scene, Mr. Vane had begged 
 Mrs. Woffington to let him accompany her. She 
 peremptorily refused, and said in the same breath 
 slie was going to Triplet, in Hercules Buildings, to 
 have her portrait finished. 
 
 Had Mr. Vane understood the sex, he would not 
 have interpreted her refusal to the letter; when 
 there was a postscript, the meaning of which was so 
 little cnicfmatical. 
 
 Some three hours after the scene we have de- 
 scribed, Mrs. Woffington sat in Triplet's apartment ; 
 and Triplet, palette in hand, painted away upon her 
 portrait. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington was in that languid state which 
 comes to women after their hearts have received 
 a blow. She felt as if life was ended, and but the
 
 186 PEG WOFFINGTON. ' 
 
 dregs of existence remained ; but at times a flood of 
 bitterness rolled over her, and she resigned all hope 
 of perfect happiness in this world — all hope of 
 loving and respecting the same creature ; and at 
 these moments she had but one idea — to use her 
 own power, and bind her lover to her by chains 
 never to be broken ; and to close her eyes, and glide 
 down the precipice of the future. 
 
 * I think you are master of this art,' said she, 
 very languidly, to Triplet, ' you paint so rapidly.' 
 
 ' Yes, Madam,' said Triplet, gloomily ; and 
 painted on. ' Confound this shadow ! ' added he ; 
 and painted on. 
 
 His soul, too, was clouded. Mrs. Woffington, 
 yawning in his face, had told him she had invited 
 all Mr. Vane's company to come and praise his 
 work; and ever since that he had been morne et 
 silencieux. 
 
 ' You are fortunate,' continued Mrs. Woffington, 
 not caring what she said ; ' it is so difficvilt 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.'
 
 PEG "VVOFFIXGTOX. 187" 
 
 * 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 hall-hour it wall be 
 for me, when they all come 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 cai\!t sit quiet, Ma'am ? — then never 
 mind ! ' (This resignation was intended as a sting- 
 ing reproach.) ' Mr. Gibber, with his sneering 
 snuff-box ! Mr. Quin, with his humorous bludgeon ! 
 Mrs. Clive, with her tongue ! Mr. Snarl, with his 
 abuse I And Mr. Soapcr, with his praise ! — arsenic 
 in treacle I call it ! 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 the lightning of expression plays 
 continually — to this stony, detestable, dead daub ! — 
 I could — And I will, too ! Imposture ! dead carica- 
 ture of life and bcautv, take that ! ' and lie dashed
 
 188 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 his palette-knife through the canva?. ' Libellous lie 
 against nature and Mrs. Woffington, take that !' and 
 he stabbed the canvas again ; then, with sudden 
 humility : ' I beg your pardon, Ma'am,' said he, 
 ' for this apparent outrage, which I trust you will 
 set down to the excitement attendant upon failure. 
 The fact is, I am an incapable ass, and no painter ! 
 Others have often hinted as much; but I never 
 observed it myself till now ! ' 
 
 * Eight through my pet dimple ! ' said Mrs. Wof- 
 fington, 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 little control I had over you, 
 j\Iadam.' 
 
 So they sat opposite each other, in mournful 
 silence. At length, the actress 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, I will 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
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 189 
 
 slie thought ! — her body seemed bristling with 
 mind ! At last, her thoughtful gravity was illu- 
 mined by a smile ; she had thought 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 Du- 
 niesnil, one of the actors of the Theatre Fran9ais 
 had his portrait painted, by a rising artist. The 
 others were to come and see it. They determined, 
 beforehand, to mortify the painter and the sitter, by 
 abusing the work in good set terms. But somehow 
 this got wind, and the patients resolved to be the 
 physicians. They put their heads together, and 
 contrived that the living face should be in the 
 canvas, surrounded by the accessories : these, of 
 course, were painted. Enter the actors, who played
 
 190 PEG WOFFINGTO:sr. 
 
 their little pre-ai-ranged farce ; and when they had 
 each given the picture a slap, the picture rose and 
 laughed in their faces, and discomfited them ! By 
 the bye, the painter did not stop there : he was not 
 content with a short laugh, he laughed at them five 
 hundred years ! ' 
 
 ' Good gracious, Mrs. Wofiington !' 
 
 ' 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 those rash 
 little satirists. Well, Trip, what is sauce for the 
 gander is sauce for the goose ; so give me the 
 sharpest knife in the house.' 
 
 Triplet gave her a knife, and looked confused, 
 while she cut away the face of the picture, and by 
 dint of scraping, cutting and measuring, got her face 
 two parts through the canvas. She then made him 
 take his brush and paint all round her face, so that 
 the transition might not be too abrupt. Several 
 yards of green baize were also produced. This was 
 to be disposed behind the easel, so as to conceal 
 her. 
 
 Triplet painted here, and touched and re-touched 
 there. Whilst thus occupied, he said, in his calm 
 resigned way: 'It won't do, Madam, I suppose 
 you know that ?' 
 
 ' I know nothing,' was the reply. ' Life is a 
 guess. I don't think we could deceive Roxalana
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 191 
 
 and Lucy this way, because their eyes are without 
 coloured spectacles; but when people have once 
 begun to see by prejudices 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 offence, Sir ; I am used to that. And I beg, 
 if you can't tone the rest of the picture up to me, 
 that you will instantly tone me down to the rest. 
 Let us be in tune, whatever it costs, Sir.' 
 
 ' I will avail myself of the privilege, Madam, but 
 sparingly. Failure, Avhich 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 eyes into bottled gooseberries. Well, Peg 
 Woffington will turn hers into black currants. 
 Havn't you done ? I wonder they have not come. 
 Make haste ! ' 
 
 ' They will know by its beauty I never did 
 it.' 
 
 'That is a sensible remark. Trip. Pnit I think 
 they will rather argue backwards ; that as you did 
 it, it cannot be beautiful, and so cannot be me. Your 
 reputation will be our shield.
 
 192 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' Well Madam, now you mention it, they are like 
 enough to take that ground. They despise all I do ; 
 if they did not — ' 
 
 * You would despise them.' 
 
 At this moment the pair were startled by the 
 somid of a coach. Triplet turned as pale as ashes. 
 Mrs. Woffinsjton had her misOTvino-s ; but not 
 choosing to increase the diflPiculty, she would not let 
 Triplet, whose self-possession she doubted, see any 
 sign of emotion in her. 
 
 ' Lock the door,' said she, firmly, * and don't be 
 silly. Inow hold up my green baize petticoat, and 
 let mc be in a half-light. Is'ow put that table and 
 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. Say it 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 will swallow 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 one countenance. 
 Look at me, Sir. Make your face like the Book of 
 Daniel in a Jew's back parlour. Vol to Sciolto is 
 your cue.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 193 
 
 * Madam, Madam, how your tongue goes ! I hear 
 them on the stairs : pray don't speak !' 
 
 ' Do you know what we are going to do ?' con- 
 tinued 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 was Quin leading the 
 band. 
 
 ' Have a care. Sir,' cried Triplet ; ' there is a 
 hiatus the third step from the door.' 
 
 ' A gradus ad Parnasmm a wanting,' said Mr. 
 Gibber. 
 
 Triplet's heart sank. The hole had been there 
 six months, and he had found nothing witty to say 
 about it, and at first sight Mr. Gibber had done its 
 business. And on such men he and his portrait 
 were to attempt a preposterous delusion. Tlien 
 there was Snarl, who wrote critiques on painting, 
 and guided the national taste. The unlucky ex- 
 hibitor was in a cold sweat. He led the way like a 
 thief going to the gallows. 
 
 ' The picture being unfinished, gentlemen,' said 
 lie, ' must, if you would do me justice, be seen 
 from a — a focus : must be judged from here, I mean.' 
 
 ' Wliere, Sir?' said Mr. Gibber. 
 
 ' About here, Sir, if you please,' said poor Triplet, 
 faintly.
 
 194 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' 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 along with the rest : he was a little 
 surprised. The actress had flattened her face ! She 
 had done all that could be done, and more than he 
 had conceived possible, in the way of extracting life 
 and the atmosphere of expression from her coun- 
 tenance. She was ' dead still !' 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 Triplet fluttered. At last some of them spoke as 
 follows : 
 
 SOAPEE. — ' Ah !' 
 
 Qmw—' Ho !' 
 
 Clive.— 'Eh!' 
 
 CiBBEii. — ' Humph !' 
 
 These interjections are small on paper, but as the 
 good creatures uttered them they Avere eloquent ; 
 there was a cheerful variety of dispraise skilfully 
 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. Gibber, slily. 
 
 ' I distinctly told you, it was to be Peg Woffing- 
 ton's,' said Mrs. Clive. 'I think you might take 
 my word.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX 195 
 
 ' 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 pretty face ; and not at all like Peg 
 WofSngton's.' 
 
 ' Compare paint with paint,' said Quin. ' Are 
 you sure you ever saw down to Peggy's real face ?' 
 
 Triplet had seen with alarm, that Mr. Snarl spoke 
 not ; many satirical expressions crossed his face, but 
 he said nothing. Triplet gathered from this, that 
 he had at once detected the trick. ' Ah !' thought 
 Triplet, ' he means to quiz them, as well as expose 
 me. He is hanging back ; and, in point of llict, a 
 mighty satirist like Snarl would naturally choose to 
 quiz six people rather than two.' 
 
 ' Now, I call it beautiful !' said the traitor 
 Soaper. ' So calm and reposeful ; no particular 
 expression.' 
 
 ' None whatever,' said Snarl. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' said Triplet, ' does it never occur to 
 you, that the fine arts 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 
 
 2
 
 196 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 Soaper, ' My dear Snarl,' whined lie, ' give us tlic 
 benefit of your practised judgment. Do justice to 
 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, he has found us out.' 
 
 Mr. Snarl delivered a short critique. Mr. Snarl's 
 intelligence was not confined to his phrases ; all 
 critics use intelligent phrases and philosophical 
 truths. But this gentleman's manner was very 
 intelligent ; it was pleasant, quiet, assured, and very 
 convincing. Had the reader or I 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,' said Mr. Snarl. ' But you are some- 
 what deficient, at present, in the great principles of 
 your art ; the first of which is a loyal adherence to 
 truth. Beauty itself is but one of the forms of truth, 
 and nature is our finite exponent of infinite truth.' 
 
 His auditors gave him a marked attention. They 
 could not but acknowledge, that men who go to the 
 bottom of things like this should be the best in- 
 structors. 
 
 ' Now, in nature, a woman's face at this distance — 
 ay, even at this short distance— melts into the air.
 
 TEG WOFFIN'GTOX. 197 
 
 There is none of that sharpness ; but, on the con- 
 trary, a softness of outline.' He made a lorgnette of 
 his two hands ; the others did so too, and found 
 they saw much better — oh, ever so much better! 
 ' Whereas, yours,' resumed Snarl, ' is hard ; and, 
 forgive me, rather tea-board like. Then your cldaro 
 scuro, my good Sir, is very defective ; lor instance, 
 in nature, the nose intercepting the light on cue side 
 the face, throws, of necessity, a shadow under the 
 eye. Caravaggio, Venetians generally, and the 
 Bolognese masters, do particular justice to this. Xo 
 such shade appears in this portrait.' 
 
 ' 'Tis so, stop my vitals !' observed Colley Gibber. 
 And they all looked, and having looked, wagged 
 their heads in assent — as the fat, Avhite lords at 
 Christie's waggle fifty pounds more out for a copy of 
 Kembrandt, a brown levitical Dutchman, visible in 
 the pitch dark by some sleight of sun Xewton had 
 not wit to discover. 
 
 Soaper dissented from the mass. 
 
 ' But, my dear Snarl, if there are no shades, there 
 arc lights, loads of lights.' 
 
 ' There are,' replied Snarl ; ' only they are im- 
 possible, 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, ]\Ir. Triplet ; but your Woffington is not a 
 woman, nor nature.'
 
 198 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 They all nodded and waggled assent; but this 
 sagacious motion was arrested as by an earth- 
 quake. 
 
 The picture rang out, in the voice of a clarion, an 
 iinswer that outlived the speaker : ' She's a woman ! 
 for she has taken four men in ! She's nature ! for a 
 fluent dunce doesn't know her when he sees her !' 
 
 Imacrine the tableau ! It was charming I Such 
 opening of eyes and mouths ! Gibber fell by second 
 nature into an attitude of the old comedy. And all 
 were 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 from the back of the late picture, 
 stood in person before them ; while they looked 
 alternately at her and at the hole in the canvas. 
 She then came at 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 without blushing, Mr. Quin.' 
 
 Quin, a good-humoured fellow, took the wisest 
 view of his predicament, and burst into a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 ' For all this,' said Mr. Snarl, peevishly, ' I main- 
 tain, upon the unalterable principles of art — ' At
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 199 
 
 this tliey 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 laugh died away to a 
 quaver. ' I shall sit on your pictures one day, Mr. 
 Brush.^ 
 
 ' Don't sit on them with your head downAvards, 
 or you'll addle them,' said Mr. Brush, fiercely. 
 This was the first time Triplet had ever answered a 
 foe. Mrs. Woffington gave him an eloquent glance 
 of encouragement. He nodded 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 good word, Mr. Triplet.' 
 
 ' I will try — and not deserve it, Mr. Soaper,' was 
 the prompt reply. 
 
 ' Serve 'em right,' said Mr. Gibber, as soon as the 
 door had closed upon them, ' for a couple of serpents, 
 or rather one boa-constrictor. Soaper slavers, for 
 Snarl to crush. But vvc were all a little too luird on 
 Triplet here ; and if he will accept my apology — ' 
 
 ' Why, Sir,' said Triplet, half trembling, but 
 driven on by looks from Mrs. Woffington, ' " Gib- 
 ber's Apology" is found to be a trifle wearisome.' 
 
 ' Gonfbund his impertinence !' cried the astounded 
 Laui'eate, * Gome along. Jemmy.'
 
 200 PEG WOFflNGTO^r. 
 
 ' Oh, Sir !' said Quin, good liuraouredlj, ' we 
 must give a joke and take a joke. 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. Gibber,' added he, in huge 
 dudgeon. 
 
 Away went the two old boys. 
 
 ' Mighty well !' said waspish Mrs. Clive. ' I 
 did intend you should have painted Mrs. Clive. 
 But after this impertinence — ' 
 
 ' ^ou will continue to do it yourself, Ma'am !' 
 
 This was Triplet's hour of triumph. His exult- 
 ation 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, or had not fired into each a part- 
 ing shot, as they sheered ofif? To repair which, it 
 might be advisable for them to put into friendly ports. 
 
 ' Tremendous !' was the reply. ' And when 
 Snarl and Soaper sit on your next play, they won't 
 forget the lesson you have given them.' 
 
 ' I'll be sworn they won't !' chuckled Triplet. 
 But reconsidering her words, he looked blank, and 
 muttered : ' Then, perhaps, it would have been more 
 prudent to let them alone !' 
 
 ' Incalculably more prudent !' was the reply.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 201 
 
 ' Then why did you set me on, Madam ?' said 
 Triplet, reproachildly. 
 
 '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 real criticism I respects 
 honour, and bow to. Such as yours. Madam ; 
 or such as that sweet lady's at Mr. Vane's would 
 have been ; or, in fact, anybody's who appreciates 
 me. Oh ! Madam, I wanted to ask you, was it 
 not strange your 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 own hand to every- 
 thing on the table. What wine that gentleman pos- 
 sesses !' 
 
 ' Was it a yoimg lady, Triplet ?' 
 
 ' Not more than two-and-twenty, I should say.' 
 
 ' In a travelling-dress ?' 
 
 ' I could not see her dress. Madam, for her beauty 
 — brown hair, blue eyes, charming in conversa- 
 tion — '
 
 202 PEG WOFPINGTON. 
 
 ' Ah ! What did she tell you ?' 
 
 ' She told rae, Madam — Ahem 1' 
 
 'Well, what did you tell her? And what did 
 she answer ?' 
 
 ' I told her that I came with A'erses for you, 
 ordered by Mr. Vane. That he admired you. I 
 descanted. Madam, on your virtues, which had made 
 him your slave.' 
 
 ' Go on,' said Mrs. WofEngton, encouraging him 
 with a deceitful smile. ' Tell me all you told 
 her.' 
 
 ' That you were sitting to me for your portrait, 
 the destination of which was not doubtful. That I 
 lived at 10, Hercules Buildings.' 
 
 ' You told that lady all this ?' 
 
 ' I give you my honour. She was so kind, I 
 opened my heart to her. But tell me now. Madam,' 
 said Triplet, joyously dancing round the Woffington 
 volcano, ' do you know this charming lady ?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' I congratulate you, Madam. An acquaintance 
 worthy even of you ; and there are not many such. 
 Who is she, Madam ?' continued Triplet, lively with 
 curiosity. 
 
 'Mrs. Vane,' was the quiet, grim answer. 
 
 ' Mrs. Vane ? His mother ? No — am I mad ? 
 His sister ! Oh ! I see, his — ' 
 
 ' His wife !'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 203 
 
 ' His wife ! Wliy, then jMr. Vane's married ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Oh, look there ! — oh, look here now ! Well, 
 but, good Heavens 1 she wasn't to 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 fliult ?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' I've played the deuce with their married hap- 
 piness ?' 
 
 ' 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 back upon him. She walked 
 hastily to the window, threw it open, and looked 
 out of it ; leaving poor Triplet to very unpleasant 
 reflections. She was so angry with him, she dared 
 not trust herself to speak. 
 
 ' Just my luck,' thought he. ' I had a patron 
 and a benefactress — I have betrayed them both.' 
 Suddenly an idea struck him : ' Madam,' said he, 
 timorously, 'see wliat these fine gentlemen are!
 
 204 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 What business had he, with a wife at home, to come 
 and fall in love with you ? I do it for ever in 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, with- 
 out moving, ' that I am an actress — a plaything for 
 the impertinence of puppies, and the treachery of 
 hypocrites. Fool ! to think there was an honest 
 man in the world, and that he had shone on me !' 
 
 With these words she turned, and Triplet was 
 shocked to see the change in her face. She Avas 
 pale, and her black, louring brows were gloomy and 
 terrible. She walked like a tigress to and fro, and 
 Triplet dared not speak to her : indeed, she seemed 
 but half-conscious of his presence. He went for 
 nobody with her. How little we know the people 
 we eat, and go to church, and flirt with ! Triplet 
 had imagined this creature an incarnation of gaiety, 
 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, her bosom a boiling gulf of fiery 
 lava. She walked like some wild creatm'c ; she 
 flung her hands up to heaven with a passionate 
 despair, before which the feeble spirit of her com- 
 panion shrank and cowered ; and with quivering lips 
 and blazing eyes, she burst into a torrent of passion- 
 ate bitterness : 
 
 ' But who is Margaret Woflington,' she cried.
 
 TEG WOFFINGTOX. 205 
 
 ' tliat she should pretend to honest love, or feel 
 insulted by the proffer of a stolen regard? And 
 what have we to do with homes, or hearts, or fire- 
 sides? Have we not the play-house, its paste 
 diamonds, its paste feelings, and the loud applause 
 of 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 I 
 These men applaud us, cajole us, swear to us, flatter 
 lis ; 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 his passion an insult. Oh, Triplet ! 
 I could have loved this man — really loved him ! and 
 I longed so to be good. Oh, God ! oh, God !' 
 
 ' Thank Heaven, you don't love him !' cried 
 Triplet, hastily. ' Thank Heaven for that !' 
 
 ' Love him ? Love a man who comes to me with 
 a silly second-hand affection from his insipid baby- 
 face, and offers me half, or two-thirds, or a third 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, witli a weak attempt to soothe her. 
 Then break with him at once, and all will be well' 
 ' Break with liim ? Are you mad ? No ! Since
 
 206 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 lie plays with the tools of my trade I shall fool him, 
 worse than he has me. I will feed his passion full, 
 tempt him, torture him, play with him, as the angler 
 plays a fish upon his hook. And when his very life 
 depends on me, then by degrees he shall see me 
 cool, and cool, and freeze into bitter aversion. Then 
 he shall rue the hour he fought with the devil 
 against my soul, and played false 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, and break ? His wife must 
 defend herself It is not from me that mercy can 
 come to her, nor from her to me. I loathe her, and 
 I shall not forget that 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 / mine.' 
 
 ' Ah, Madam ! she cannot fight, she is a dove.' 
 ' You are a fool ! What do you know about 
 women ? You were with her five minutes, and she 
 turned you inside out. My life on it, whilst I have 
 been fooling 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 endeavour to convert 
 her to his view of her rival, when a knock suddenly 
 came to his door. A slovenly girl, one of his own
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 207 
 
 neighbours, brought him a bit of paper, with a line 
 written in pencil. 
 
 ' 'Tis from a lady, who waits below,' said the 
 girl. 
 
 Mrs. WofEngton went again to the window, and 
 there she saw getting out of a coach, and attended 
 by James Burdock, Mabel Vane, who had sent up 
 her name on the back of an old letter. 
 
 ' What shall I do ?' said Triplet, as soon as he 
 recovered the first stunning effects of tliis contre- 
 temps. To his astonishment, Mrs. Woffington bade 
 the girl show the lady up-stairs. The girl went 
 down on this errand. 
 
 ' But you are here,' remonstrated Triplet. ' Oh ! 
 to be sure, you can go into the other room. There 
 is plenty of time to avoid her,' said Triplet, 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 me all.' 
 
 ' I don't know,' cried poor Triplet, in dismay ; 
 ' and I think the devil brings her here to confound 
 me. For Heaven's sake, retire ! What will be- 
 come of us all? There will be murder, I know 
 there will !' 
 
 To hivS lionor, Mrs. Woffington would not move. 
 ' You are on her side,' said she, slowly, with a con-
 
 208 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 centration of spite and suspicion. She looked fright- 
 ful at this moment. ' All the better for me,' added 
 she, with a world of female inalignitj. 
 
 Triplet could not make head against this blow ; 
 he gasped, and pointed piteously to the inner door. 
 * No ; I will know two things : the course she means 
 to take, and the terms you two are upon ?' 
 
 By this time, Mrs. Yane's light foot was heard on 
 the stair, and Triplet sank 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 speedily turned from an angel to a 
 fiend ; and saw with dismay, that she had actually 
 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 looked fearfully over his shoulder, and 
 received a glance of cool, bitter, deadly hostility, that 
 boded ill both for him and his visitor. Triplet's ap- 
 prehensions were not unreasonable. His benefactress 
 and this sweet lady were ri-^^als ! 
 
 Jealousy is a dreadful passion, it makes us tigers. 
 The jealous always thirst for blood. At any moment, 
 when reason is a little weaker than usual, they are 
 ready to kill the thing they hate, or the thing they 
 love.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 209 
 
 Any open collision between these ladies would 
 scatter ill consequences all round. Under such 
 circumstances, we are pretty sure to say or do some- 
 thing wicked, silly, or unreasonable. But what 
 tortured Triplet more than anything was his own 
 particular notion, that fate doomed him to Avitness 
 a formal encounter between these two women ; and 
 of course an encounter of such a nature, as we in 
 our day illustrate by ' Kilkenny cats.' 
 
 To be sure Mrs. Vane had appeared a dove, but 
 doves can peck on certain occasions, and no doubt 
 she had a spirit at bottom. Her coming to him 
 proved it. And had not the other been a dove all 
 the morning and afternoon? Yet jealousy had 
 turned her to a fiend before his eyes. Then if 
 (which was not probable) no collision took place, 
 Avhat a situation was 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 ^'Eneas in 
 the storm. 
 
 ' Olim et hac meminisse juvabit — ' 
 
 ' Eut wliilc present, such things don't please any one 
 a bit.' 
 
 It was the sort of situation we can laugh at, and sec 
 the fun of it six months after, if not shipwrecked on 
 it at the time. 
 
 P
 
 210 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 With a ghastly smile the poor quaking hyprocrite 
 "welcomed Mrs. Vane, and professed a world of 
 innocent delight, that she had so honoured his 
 humble roof. 
 
 She interrupted his compliments, and begged him 
 to see whether she was followed 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 mount the stairs he changed his 
 mind, for he suddenly went off round the corner 
 with a business-like air, real or fictitious. 
 
 ' He is gone. Madam,' said Triplet. 
 
 Mrs. Vane, the better to escape detection or ob- 
 servation, wore a thick mantle and a hood, that 
 concealed her features. Of these Triplet de- 
 barrassed her. 
 
 ' Sit down, Madam,' and he hastily drew a chair, 
 so that her back was to the picture. 
 
 She was pale, and trembled a little. She hid her 
 face in her hands a moment, then recovering her 
 courage, ' she begged Mr. Triplet to pardon her for 
 coming to him. He had inspired her with con- 
 fidence,' she said ; ' he had offered her his services, 
 and so she had come to him, for she had no other 
 firiend to aid her in her sore distress.' She might 
 have added, that with the tact of her sex she had
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON". 211 
 
 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 
 warmlj his offers of service. 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 honoured by her acquaintance.' 
 
 ' You will take me to the theatre where she 
 acts ?' 
 
 ' Yes, Madam : to the boxes, I presume ?' 
 
 ' No ! oh no ! How could I bear that ? To the 
 place where the actors and actresses are.' 
 
 Triplet demurred. This woidd be courting that 
 very collision, the dread of which even now op- 
 pressed him. 
 
 At the first faint sign of resistance she began to 
 supplicate him, as if he was some great stern 
 tyrant. 
 
 * Oh, you must not, you cannot refuse me. You 
 do not know Avhat I risk to obtain this. I have 
 risen from my bed to come to you. I have a fire 
 here !' She pressed her hand to her brow. ' Oh, 
 take me to her !' 
 
 ' Madam, I will do anything for you. But be 
 advised ; trust to my knowledge of human nature. 
 What you require is madness. Gracious Heavens ! 
 
 p 2
 
 212 TEG WOFFIXGTO^r. 
 
 you two arc rivals, and wlien rivals meet there's 
 murder or deadly miscliief.' 
 
 ' All ! if you knew my sorrow, you would not 
 thwart me. Oli, Mr. Triplet ! little did I think 
 you were as cruel as the rest.' So then this cruel 
 monster 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 she poured in his ear her simple tale, im- 
 adorned and touching as Judah's speech to Joseph. 
 She told him how she loved her husband ; how he 
 had loved her; how happy they were for the first 
 six months ; how her heart sank when he left her ; 
 how he had promised she should join him, and on 
 that hope she lived. ' But for two months he had 
 ceased to speak of this, and I grew heart-sick waiting 
 for the smnmons that never came. At last I felt 
 I should die if I did not see him ; so I plucked up 
 courage and wrote that I must come to him. He 
 did not forbid me, so I left our country home. Oh, 
 Sir ! I cannot make you know how my heart burned 
 to be by 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 
 little sorry, but I said : " His friends shall be wel- 
 come, right welcome. He has asked them to welcome 
 his wife." '
 
 TEG WOFFIXGTOX. 213 
 
 ' Poor thing !' muttered Triplet. 
 
 ' Oh, ]\Ir. Triplet ! they were there to do honour 
 
 to , and the wife was neither expected nor 
 
 desired. There lay my letters with their seals 
 xmbroken. I know all his letters by heart, Mr. 
 Triplet. The seals unbroken — unbroken ! Mr. 
 Triplet.' 
 
 ' It is abominable !' cried Triplet, fiercely. 
 
 ' And she who sat in my seat — in his house, and 
 in his heart — was this lady, the actress you so 
 praised to me ?' 
 
 ' That lady, ]\Ia'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 her talents and sweetness, she has a 
 fiery temper ; yes, a very fiery temper,' continued 
 Triplet, stoutly, though with an imeasy glance in a 
 certain direction ; ' and I have reason to believe she 
 is angry, and thinks more of her own ill-usage than 
 yours. Don't you go near her. Trust to my know- 
 ledge of the sex, Madam ; 1 am a dramatic writer. 
 Did you ever read the " Rival Queens ?" ' 
 
 *No.' 
 
 ' I thought not. Well, Madam, one stabs the 
 other, and the one that is stabbed says things to the 
 other that are more biting than steel. The prudent 
 course for you, is to keep apart, and be always cheer-
 
 214 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ful, and welcome him with a smile — and — have you 
 read "The way to keep him?" ' 
 
 ' No, Mr. Triplet,' said Mabel, firmly, ' I cannot 
 feign. Were I to attempt talent and deceit, I 
 should be weaker than I am now. Honesty and 
 right are all my strength. I will cry to her for 
 justice and mercy. And if 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 can read faces. I always could, 
 and so could my Aunt Deborah before me. I read 
 you right, Mr. Triplet, and I have read her too. 
 Did not my heart warm to her amongst them all? 
 There is a heart at the bottom of all her acting, and 
 that heart is good and noble.' 
 
 * She is. Madam ! she is ! and charitable too. I 
 know a family she saved from 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 have no father nor mother, Mr. 
 Triplet ; my husband is all I have in the world — 
 all I Jiad, I mean.' 
 
 Triplet, deeply affected himself, stole a look at 
 Mrs. Woffington. She was pale ; but her face was 
 composed into a sort of dogged obstinacy. He was
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 215 
 
 disgusted with her. ' Madam,' said he, sternly, 
 ' there is a wild beast more cniel and savage than 
 wolves and bears ; it is called " a rival," and don't 
 you get in its way.' 
 
 At this moment, in spite of Triplet's precaution, 
 Mrs. Vane, casting her eye accidentally round, 
 caught sight of the picture, and instantly started up, 
 crying : ' She is there !' Triplet was thunderstruck. 
 ' AVhiat a likeness !' cried she, and moved towards 
 the supposed picture. 
 
 ' Don't go to it !' cried Triplet, aghast ; ' the 
 colour is wet.' 
 
 She stopped ; but her eye, and her very soul, 
 dwelt upon the supposed picture ; and Triplet 
 stood quaking. ' How like ! It seems to breathe. 
 You are a great painter, Sir. A glass is not 
 truer.' 
 
 Triplet, hardly knowing what he said, muttered 
 something about ' critics, and lights and shades.' 
 
 ' Then they are blind !' cried Mabel, never for 
 a moment removing her eye from the object. ' Tell 
 me not of lights and shades. The pictures I sec, 
 have a look of paint ; but yours looks like life. Oh ! 
 that she were here, as this luonderful image of hers 
 is. I would speak to her. I am not wise or 
 learned ; but orators never pleaded as I would plead 
 to her for my Ernest's heart.' Still her eye glanced 
 upon the picture ; and, I suppose, her heart realized
 
 216 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 an actual presence, though her judgment did not; 
 for by some irresistible impulse she sank slowly 
 down and stretched her clasped hands towards it, 
 while sobs and words seemed to break direct from 
 her burstmg heart. ' Oh, yes ! you are beautiful, 
 you are gifted, and the eyes of thousands wait upon 
 your every word and look. "VVliat wonder that 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 him from you. 
 Oh, be generous to the weak ! oh, give him back to 
 me ! What is one heart more to you ? You are so 
 rich, and I am so poor, that without his love I have 
 nothinsr, and can do nothinsr but sit me down and 
 cry till my 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 I 
 will love you longer perhaps than men can love. 
 I will kiss your feet, and Heaven above will bless 
 you ; and 1 will bless you and pray for you to my 
 dying day. Ah ! it is alive ! I am frightened ! I 
 am frightened !' She ran to Triplet and seized his 
 arm. ' No !' cried she, quivering close to him ; ' 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, 
 
 Wliat was it had betrayed Mrs. Woffington ? A 
 tear !
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 217 
 
 During the whole of this interview (which had 
 taken a turn so unlooked for by the listener) she 
 might have said with Beatrice, ' What fire is in 
 mine ears?' and Avhat self-reproach and chill mis- 
 giving in her heart too. She had jDassed through a 
 hundred emotions, as the young innocent wife told 
 her sad and simple story. But anxious now above all 
 things to escape without being recognised — for she 
 had long repented having listened at all, or placed 
 herself in her present position, she fiercely mastered 
 her countenance ; but though she ruled her features, 
 she could not rule her heart. And when the young 
 Avife, instead of inveighing against 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 proved her 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 in a despairing attitude, with 
 one hand upon her brow. For a single moment her 
 impulse was to fly from the apartment, so ashamed 
 was she of having listened, and of meeting her rival 
 in this way ; but she conquered this feeling, and as 
 soon as she saw Mrs. Vane too had recovered some 
 composure she said to Triplet, in a low but firm 
 voice :
 
 218 TEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 '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 help it ;' and so he entered his inner 
 room, where he sat and listened nervously, for he 
 could not shake off all apprehension of a personal 
 encounter. 
 
 In the room he had left, there was a long uneasy 
 silence. Both ladies were greatly embarrassed. It 
 was the actress who spoke first. All trace of emo- 
 tion, except a certain pallor, was driven from her 
 face. She spoke with very marked courtesy, but 
 in tones that seemed to freeze as they dropped one 
 by one from her mouth. 
 
 ' I trust, Madam, you will do me the justice to 
 believe I did not know Mr. Vane was married ?' 
 
 ' I am sure of it !' said Mabel, warmly. ' I feel 
 you are as good as you are gifted.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Vane, I am not !' said the other, almost 
 sternly. ' You are deceived !' 
 
 ' Then Heaven have mercy on me ! No ! I 
 am not deceived, you pitied me. You speak 
 coldly now ; but I know your face and your heart 
 — you pity me !'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 219 
 
 * I do respect, admire, and pity you,' said Mrs, 
 WofEngton, sadly ; ' and I could consent never 
 more to communicate with your — with Mr. Vane.' 
 
 ' Ah !' cried Mabel ; ' Heaven wiU bless you ! 
 But will you give me back his heart ?' 
 
 'How can I do that?' said Mrs. Woffington, 
 uneasily ; she had not bargained for this. 
 
 ' The magnet can repel as well as attract. Can 
 you not break your own spell? 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 
 say to me "Do so," I should do it.' Again she 
 paused, and spoke with difficulty ; for the bitter 
 struggle took away her breath. ' Mr. Vane thinlcs 
 better of me than I deserve. I have — only — to 
 make him believe me — worthless — worse than I 
 am — and he will drop me like an adder — and love 
 you better, far better — for having known — admired 
 — and despised Margaret 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 lier. 
 
 But Mabel reflected. ' Ivob you of your good
 
 220 PEG WOFFINGTON'. 
 
 name ?' said tliis pure creature. ' Ah, Mabel 
 Vane ! you think but of yourself'.' 
 
 ' I thank you, Madam,' said Mrs. Woffington, 
 a little touched by this unexpected trait; 'but 
 some one must suffer here, and — ' 
 
 Mabel Vane interrupted her. ' This Avould be 
 cruel and base,' said she, firmly, ' No woman's 
 forehead shall be soiled by me. Oh, Madam ! 
 beauty is admired, talent is adored; but virtue is 
 a woman's crown. With it, the poor are rich ; 
 Avithout it, the rich are poor. It Avalks through life 
 upright, and never hides its head for high or low.' 
 
 Her face was as the face of an angel now ; and the 
 actress, conquered by her beauty and her goodness, 
 actually bowed her head and gently kissed the 
 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 her heart was gone there for help in 
 a sore stru^ci^le. 
 
 ' 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 my hands 
 unstained ; for so my humble life has passed.'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 221 
 
 How beautiful, great and pure goodness is ! It 
 paints lieaven on the face that has it ; it wakens 
 the sleeping souls that meet it. 
 
 At the bottom of Margaret Woffington's heart 
 lay a soul, unknown to the world, scarce known 
 to herself — a heavenly harp, on which ill airs of 
 passion had been played — but still it was there, 
 in tunc with all that is true, pure, really great 
 and good. And now the flush that a great heart 
 sends to the brow, to herald great actions, came 
 to her cheek and brow. 
 
 ' Humble !' she cried. ' Such as you are the 
 diamonds of oiu- race. You angel 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 both overrated shall be 
 yours again, and yours for ever. In my hands 
 it is painted glass ; in the lustre of a love like 
 yours it may become a priceless jewel.' She turned 
 her head away and pondered a moment, then sud- 
 denly offered to Mrs. Vane her hand with nobleness 
 and majesty : ' Can yovi trust me ?' The actress 
 too was divinely beautiful now, for her good angel 
 shone througti her. 
 
 ' I could trust you with my life !' was the 
 reply. 
 
 ' Ah ! if I might call you friend, dear lady, what
 
 222 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 would I not do — suffer — resign — to be worthy 
 that title !' 
 
 ' No, not friend !' cried the warm, innocent Mabel ; 
 ' sister ! I will call you sister. I have no sister.' 
 
 ' Sister !' said Mrs. Woffington. ' Oh, do not 
 mock me ! Alas ! you do not know 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 I begged you to 
 — to let me kiss you V 
 
 The words were scarce spoken before Mrs. Vane's 
 arms were wreathed round her neck, and that inno- 
 cent cheek laid sweetly to hers. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington strained her to her bosom, and 
 two great hearts, whose grandeur the world, wor- 
 shipper of charlatans, never discovered, had found 
 each other out and beat against each other. A 
 great heart is as quick to find another out as 
 the world is slow. 
 
 Mrs. Woffington burst into a passion of tears 
 and clasped Mabel tighter and tighter, in a half- 
 despairing way. Mabel mistook the cause, but 
 she kissed her tears away. 
 
 ' Dear sister,' said she, ' be comforted. I love 
 you. My heart warmed to you the first moment 
 I saw you. A woman's love and gratitude are 
 something. Ah! you will never find me change. 
 This is for life, look you.'
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 223 
 
 ' God grant it !' cried the otlicr poor woman 
 'Oil, it is not that, it is not that; it is because I 
 am so little worthy of this. It is a sin to deceive 
 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 hearer the words seemed to 
 come from heaven. ' I read faces,' said Mabel. 
 ' I read yours at sight, and you are what I set you 
 down ; and nobody must breathe a word against 
 you, not even yourself. Do you think I am blind? 
 You are bcautifiil, you are good, you are my sister, 
 and I love you !' 
 
 ' Heaven forgive me !' thought the other. 'How 
 can I resign this angel's good opinion? Surely 
 Heaven sends this blessed dew to my parched heart !' 
 And now she burned to make good her promise, 
 and earn this virtuous wife's love. She folded her 
 once more in her arms, and then taking her by the 
 hand, led her tenderly into Triplet's inner room. 
 She made her lie down on the bed, and placed 
 pillows high for her like a mother, and leaned 
 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 that this 
 pure and candid soul should take no lessons of 
 deceit. ' Lie there,' said she, ' till I open the 
 door, and then join us. Do you know what I am
 
 224 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 going to do? I am not going to restore you your 
 husband's heart, but to show you it never really 
 left you. You read faces ; well, I read circum- 
 stances. Matters are nut as you thought,' said 
 she, with all a Avoman'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 until the preconcerted signal. 
 
 Mrs. Vane was, in fact, so exhausted by all she 
 had gone through, that she was in no condition to 
 resist. She cast a look of child-like confidence 
 upon her rival, and then closed her eyes, and tried 
 not to tremble all over and listen like a frightened 
 hare. 
 
 It is one great characteristic of genius to do 
 great things with little things. Paxton could see 
 that so small a matter as a green-house could be 
 dilated into a crystal palace, and with two com- 
 mon materials — glass and iron — he raised the palace 
 of the genii ; the brightest idea and the noblest 
 ornament added to Europe in this century, — the 
 koh-i-nor of the west. Livy's definition of Archi- 
 medes goes on the same ground. 
 
 Peg Woffins^ton was a eenius in her wav. On
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 225 
 
 entering Triplet's studio her eye fell upon three 
 trifles — Mrs. Vane's hood and mantle, the back 
 of an old letter, and Mr. Triplet. (It will be 
 seen how she worked these slight materials.) On 
 the letter was written, in pencil, simply these two 
 words, ' Mabel Vane.' Mrs. Woffington wrote 
 above these words two more, ' Alone and unpro- 
 tected.' She put tliis into Mr. Triplet's hand, 
 and bade him take it down stairs and give it Sir 
 Charles Pomander, whose retreat, she knew, must 
 have been fictitious. ' You will find him round 
 the corner,' said she, ' or in some shop that looks 
 this way.' Whilst uttering these words she had 
 put on Mrs. Vane's hood and mantle. 
 
 Ko 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 jmnp out of that window. Madam ; bid 
 me kill those two gentlemen, and I will not rebel. 
 You are a gi'cat lady, a talented lady ; you have 
 been 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 you to render me a service. I 
 have no right to dictate to you.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! ' cried Triplet, ' don't talk in that 
 
 Q
 
 226 PEG WOFFIXGTON. 
 
 way. I owe you my life, but I think of your own 
 peace of mind, for you are not one to be bappy if 
 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 from despair, and anotlier angel from 
 a great crime.' 
 
 * Well, I suppose you are wiser than I,' said 
 she. ' But if you are in earnest, you had better be 
 quick, for somehow I am rather changeable about 
 these people.' 
 
 ' You can't help that, Madam, it is your sex ; you 
 are an angel. May I be permitted to kiss your 
 hand ; you are all goodness and gentleness at bottom. 
 I fly to Mr. Vane, and we will be back before you 
 have time to repent, and give the devil the upper 
 hand again, my dear, good, sweet lady !' 
 
 Away flew Triplet, all unconscious that he was 
 not Mrs. Woflington's opponent, but puppet. He 
 ran, he tore, animated by a good action, and spurred 
 by the notion that he was in direct competition 
 with the fiend for the possession of his benefactress. 
 
 He had no sooner turned the corner, than Mrs. 
 Woffington looking out of the window observed 
 Sir Charles Pomander on the watch, as she had 
 expected. She remained at the window with Mrs.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON'. 227 
 
 Vane's hood on, until Sir Charles's eye in its 
 wanderings lighted on her, and then dropping Mrs. 
 Vane's letter from the window she hastily with- 
 drew. 
 
 Sir Charles eagerly picked it up. His eye 
 brightened when he read the short contents. \\ ith 
 a self-satisfied smile he mounted the stair. He 
 found in Triplet's house a lady, who seemed startled 
 at her late hardihood. She sat with her back to 
 the door, her hood drawn tightly down, and wore an 
 air of trembling consciousness. Sir Charles smiled 
 again. He knew the sex, at least he said so. (It is 
 an assertion often ventured upon.) Accordingly 
 Sir Charles determined to come down from his 
 height and court nature and innocence in their own 
 tones. This he rightly judged must be the proper 
 course to take with Mrs. Vane. He fell down with 
 mock ardour upon one knee. 
 
 The supposed Mrs. Vane gave a little sf[ueak. 
 
 'Dear Mrs. Vane,' cried he, 'be not ahu-mcJ, 
 loveliness neglected, and simplicity 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 like yours fall into hands 
 that would have cherished it as it deserves? Had 
 Heaven bestowed on me this hand, which I take — ' 
 
 ' Oh, please Sir — ' 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' With tlie profoundest respect, would I have 
 abandoned such a treasure for an actress ? — a Wof- 
 fington ! as artificial and hollow a jade as ever 
 winked at a side box ! ' 
 
 ' Is she, Sir ? ' 
 
 ' Notorious, Madam. Your husband is the only 
 man in London who does not see through her. 
 How diiFerent are you! Even I, who have no 
 taste for actresses, found myself revived, refreshed, 
 ameliorated by that engaging picture of innocence 
 and virtue you drew this morning ; yourself the 
 bright and central figure. Ah, dear angel ! I re- 
 member all your favourites, and envy them their 
 place in your recollections. Your Barbary mare — ' 
 
 'Hen, Sir!' 
 
 ' Of course I meant hen ; and Grey Grillian, 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 back to those inno- 
 cent days which fleet too soon — days when an angel 
 like you might have weaned me from the wicked 
 pleasures of the town, to the placid delights of a 
 rural existence ! ' 
 
 * Alas, Sir!'
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 229 
 
 * You sigh. It is not yet too late. I am a 
 convert to you ; I swear it on this white hand. 
 Ah ! how can I relinquish it, pretty fluttering 
 prisoner?' ' 
 
 ' Oh, Sir, please — ' 
 
 * Stay awhile.' 
 
 * No ! please Sir — * 
 
 ',While I fetter thee with a worthy manacle.' 
 Sir Charles slipped a diamond ring of great value 
 upon his pretty prisoner. 
 
 * La, Sir, how pretty ! ' cried innocence. 
 
 Sir Charles then undertook to prove that the 
 lustre of the ring was faint, compared with that 
 of the present wearer's eyes. This did not suit 
 innocence; she hung her head and fluttered, and 
 showed a bashful repugnance to look her admirer 
 in the fiice. Sir Charles playfully insisted, and 
 Mrs. WofEngton was beginning to be a little at a 
 loss, when suddenly voices were heard upon the 
 stairs. 
 
 ' My husband 1 ' cried the false Mrs. Vane, and in 
 a moment she rose, and darted into Triplet's inner 
 apartment. 
 
 Mr. Vane and Mr. Triplet were talking earnestly 
 as they came up the stair. It seems the wise 
 Triplet had prepared a little dramatic scene for his 
 own refreshment, as well as for the ultimate benefit 
 of all parties. He had persuaded Mr. Vane to
 
 '230 PEG WOFFIXGTON'. 
 
 accompany him by warm, mysterious promises of 
 a happy denouement; and now, having conducted 
 that gentleman 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. 
 
 TSTow it is to be observed, that Mr. Vane had not 
 long ago seen his wife lying on her bed, to all 
 appearance incapable of motion. 
 
 Mr. Vane, before Triplet could recover his sur- 
 prise, inquired of Pomander 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 of what the fact was o-oinir 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
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 231 
 
 now I think of it,' resmned Triplet, ' why not tell 
 the simple truth ? — it is not a play ! She I brought 
 you 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 
 Yai^. 
 
 ' Gentlemen, gentlemen ! how can I do both ? ' 
 remonstrated Triplet. 
 
 ' Enough, Sir ! ' cried Pomander. * It is a lady's 
 secret. I am the guardian of that lady's 
 honour.' 
 
 ' She has chosen a strange guardian of her 
 honour ! ' said Vane, bitterly. 
 
 ' Gentlemen ! ' cried poor Triplet, who did not at 
 all like the turn tilings were taking, ' I give you my 
 word, she does not even know of Sir Charles's 
 presence here ! ' 
 
 ' Who ? ' cried Vane, furiously. ' Man alive I 
 who are you speaking of?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Vane!' 
 
 ^ My wife ! ' cried Vane, trembling with anger 
 and jealousy. ' She here ! — and with this man ? ' 
 
 * No ! ' cried Triplet. ' With me, with me ! Kot 
 with him, -of course.' 
 
 'Boaster!' cried Vane, contemptuously. 'But 
 that is a part of your profession !'
 
 232 PEG VVOFFIXGTOX. 
 
 Pomander, irritated, scornfully drew from his 
 pocket the ladies' joint production, which had fallen 
 at his feet from Mrs. Woffington's hand. He pre- 
 sented this to Mr. Vane, who took it very uneasily ; 
 a mist swam before his eyes as he read the words : 
 ' Alone and unprotected — Mabel Vane.' He had 
 no sooner read these words, than he found he loved 
 his wife : when he tampered with his treasui^, he 
 did not calculate on another seeking it. 
 
 This was Pomander's hour of triumph ! He pro- 
 ceeded coolly to explain to Mr. Vane, that Mis. 
 Woffington having deserted him for Mr. Vane, and 
 Mr. Vane his wife for Mrs. Woffington, the be- 
 reaved parties had, according to custom, agreed to 
 console each other. 
 
 This soothing little speech was interrupted by 
 Mr. Vane's sword flashing suddenly out of its 
 sheath ; while that gentleman, white with rage and 
 jealousy, bade him instantly take to his guard, or be 
 run through the body like some noxious animal. 
 
 Sir Charles drew his sword, and in spite of 
 Triplet's weak interference, half a dozen passes were 
 rapidly exchanged, when suddenly the door of the 
 inner room opened, and a lady in a hood pronounced, 
 in a voice which was an excellent imitation of Mrs. 
 Vane's, the word, ' False !' 
 
 The combatants lowered their points. 
 
 ' You hear, Sir !' cried Triplet.
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTOX. 233 
 
 * 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 treachery 
 you 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 infatuation that brought me to the feet 
 of another !' 
 
 The lady replied not, though Vane's soul appeared 
 to hang upon her answer. But she threw the door 
 open, and there appeared another lady, the real 
 Mrs. Vane ! Mrs. Woffington then threw oiF her 
 hood, and to Sir Charles Pomander's consternation, 
 revealed the features of that ingenious person, who 
 seemed born to outwit him. 
 
 ' You heard that fervent declaration. Madam ?' 
 said she to Mrs. Vane. ' I present to you, i\Iadam, 
 a gentleman, who regi'ets that he mistook the real 
 direction of his feelings. And to you, Sir,' con- 
 tinued she, with great dignity, ' I present a lady 
 who will never mistake either her feelings or her 
 duty.' 
 
 ' Ernest ! dear Ernest !' cried Mrs. Vane, blu,-^hing, 
 as if she was the culprit. And she came forward, 
 all love and tenderness.
 
 234 PEG WOFFIN.GTON. 
 
 Her truant husband kneeled at her feet of course. 
 No ! he said rather sternly, ' How came you here, 
 Mabel?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Vane,' said the actress, ' fancied you had 
 mislaid tliat weather-cock, your heart, in Covent 
 Garden, and that an actress had seen in it a fit com- 
 panion 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's name. The fact is, Mr. 
 Vane — I can hardly look you in the face — I had a 
 little wager with Sir Charles here ; his diamond 
 ring — which you may see has become my diamond 
 ring — ' a horrible wry face from Sir Charles — ' against 
 my left glove, that I could bewitch a country 
 gentleman's imagination, and make him think me an 
 angel. Unfortunately the owner of his heart ap- 
 peared, and like poor Mr. Vane, took our play for 
 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 at last, by a mighty eubrt, he 
 mastered himself, and coming to Mrs. Woffington 
 with a quivering lip, he held out his hand suddenly 
 in a very manly way. ' I have been the dupe of 
 my own vanity,' said he, ' and I thank you for this
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 235 
 
 lesson.' Poor IVIrs. Woffington's Ibrtitudc had well- 
 nigh left her at this. 
 
 ' Mabel,' he cried, ' is this humiliation any punish- 
 ment for my folly? any guarantee for my repent- 
 ance ? Can you forgive me T 
 
 ' It is all forgiven, Ernest, But, oh ! you are 
 mistaken.' She glided to Mrs. WofEngton. ' What 
 do we not owe you, sister ?' whispered she. 
 
 'I^othing! that word pays all,' was the reply. 
 She then slipped her address into Mrs. Vane's hand. 
 and curtseying to all the company, she hastily left 
 tlie room. 
 
 Sir Charles Pomander followed; but lie was 
 not quick enough; she got a start, and purposely 
 avoided him, and for three days neither the 
 public nor private friends saw this poor woman's 
 face. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vane prepared to go also ; but 
 Mrs. Vane would thank good Mr. Triplet and JMrs. 
 Triplet for tlieir kindness to her. 
 
 Triplet the benevolent blushed, was confused and 
 delighted ; but suddenly turning somewhat sorrow- 
 ful, he said : ' Mr. Vane, Madam, made use of an 
 expression which caused a momentary pang. He 
 called this a den of iniquity. Kow this is my 
 studio ! But never mind.' 
 
 Mr. Vane asked his pardon for so absurd an error, 
 and the pair left Triplet in all the enioyment which
 
 236 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 does come now and then to an honest man, whether 
 this dirty little world will or not. 
 
 A coach was called, and they went home to 
 Bloomsbury. Few words were said ; but the re- 
 pentant husband often silently pressed this angel to 
 his bosom, and the tears which found their way to 
 her beautiful eyelashes were tears of joy. 
 
 This weahish, and consequently villainous, though 
 not ill-disposed person would have gone down to 
 Willoughby that night ; but his wife had great good 
 sense. She would not take her husband off, like a 
 school-boy caught out of bounds. She begged him to 
 stay while she made certain purchases ; but for all 
 that, her heart burned to be at home. So in less 
 than a week after the events we have related, they 
 left London. 
 
 Meantime, every day Mrs. Vane paid a quiet 
 visit to Mrs. Woffington (for some days, the actress 
 ■admitted no other visitor), and was with her but 
 two hours before she left London. On that occasion, 
 she found her very sad. 
 
 ' I shall never see you again in this world,' said 
 she ; ' but I beg of you to write to me, that my 
 mind may be in contact with yours.' 
 
 She then asked Mabel, in her half-sorrowful, half- 
 bitter way, how many months it would be ere she 
 was forgotten ? 
 
 , Mabel answered by quietly crying. So then
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 237 
 
 they embraced; and Mabel assured her friend slie 
 was not one of those who change their minds. ' It 
 is for life, dear sister ; it is for life,' cried she. 
 
 ' Swear this to me,' said the other, almost sternly. 
 'But no. I have more confidence in that candid 
 face and pure nature than in a human being's oath. 
 If you are happy, remember you owe me something. 
 If you are unhappy, come to nie, 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 new 
 sister; and that sister was surprised and grieved, 
 and pitied her truly and deeply, and they wept on 
 each other's neck ; and at last they were fain to part. 
 They parted ; and true it was, they never met 
 again in this world. They parted in sorrow ; but 
 when they meet again, it shall be with joy. 
 
 Women are generally such faitliless, unscrupulous, 
 and pitiless humbugs in their dealings with their 
 own sex — which, whatever they may say, they 
 despise at heart — that I am happy to be able to 
 say, Mrs. Vane proved true as steel. She was a 
 noble-minded, simple-minded creature ; she was also 
 a constant creature. Constancy is a rare, a beauti- 
 ful, a God-like virtue. 
 
 Four times every year she wrote a long letter to 
 Mrs. Woffington; and twice a-ycar, in the cold
 
 238 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 
 
 weather, she sent her a hamper of country (lelicacies, 
 that would have victualled a small garrison. And 
 when her sister left this earthly scene — a humble, 
 pious, long-repentant Christian — Mrs. Vane Avore 
 mourning for her, and sorrowed over her ; but not 
 as those who cannot hope to meet again. 
 
 My story as a work of art — good, bad, or in- 
 different — ends with that last sentence. If a reader 
 accompanies me farther, I shall feel flattered, and 
 he does so at liis own risk. 
 
 My reader knows that all this befel long ago. 
 That Woffington is gay, and Triplet sad no more. 
 That Mabel's, and all the bright eyes of that day 
 have Ion w been dim, and all its cvmnincj voices hushed. 
 Judge then whether I am one of those happy story- 
 tellers who can end with a wedding. No ! this 
 story must wind up, as yours and mine must — to- 
 morrow — or to-morrow — or to-morrow ! when our 
 little sand is run. 
 
 Sir Charles Pomander lived a man of pleasure 
 until sixty. He then became a man of pain; he 
 dracrsred the chain about ei^ht years, and died mise- 
 rably, 
 
 Mr. Cibber not so much died as 'slipped his 
 wind ' — a nautical expression, tliat conveys the idea
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOy. 239 
 
 of an easy exit. He went off quiet and genteel. 
 He was past eighty, and had lived fast. His servant 
 called hiin at seven in the morninsr. ' I will shave 
 at eijrht,' said Mr. Gibber. John brousrht the hot 
 water at eight ; but his master had taken advantage 
 of this inter\'al in his toilette, to die ! — to avoid 
 shaving ? 
 
 Snarl and Soaper conducted the criticism of their 
 day with credit and respectability 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 a tragedy of his accepted at 
 her theatre. She made him send her a copy, and 
 with her scissors cut out about half; sometimes 
 thinning, sometimes cutting bodily away. But, lo ! 
 the inherent vanity of Mr. Triplet came out strong. 
 Submissively, but obstinately, he fought for the dis- 
 carded beauties. Unluckily, he did this one day 
 that his patroness was in one of her bitter humours. 
 So she instantly gave him back his manuscript, with 
 a sweet smile owned herself inferior in judgment to 
 him, and left him unmolested. 
 
 Triplet breathed freely ; a weight was taken ofl 
 him. The savage steel (lie applied this title to the 
 actress's scissors) had spared his purpurei panni. 
 He was played, pure and intact, a calamity the rest 
 of us gnimbling escape.
 
 240 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 But it did so happen that the audience were of 
 the actress's mind, and found the words too exube- 
 rant, and the business of the play too scanty in pro- 
 portion. At last their patience was so sorely tried 
 that they supplied one striking incident to a piece 
 deficient in facts. They gave the manager the 
 usual broad hint, and in the middle of Triplet's 
 third act a huge veil of green baize descended upon 
 ' The Jealous Spaniard.' 
 
 Failing here, Mrs. WofSngton contrived often to 
 befriend him in his other arts, and moreover she 
 often sent Mr. Triplet, what she called a snug in- 
 vestment, a loan of ten pounds, to be repaid at 
 Doomsday, with interest and compound interest, 
 according to the Scriptures ; and although she 
 laughed, she secretly believed she was to get her ten 
 pounds back, double and treble. And I believe so 
 too. 
 
 Some years later Mrs. Triplet became eventful. 
 She fell ill, and lay a dying : but one fine morning, 
 after all hope had been given up, she suddenly rose 
 and [dressed herself. She was quite well in body 
 now, but insane. 
 
 She continued in this state a month, and then by 
 God's mercy she recovered her reason ; but now the 
 disease fell another step, and lighted upon her 
 temper — a more athletic vixen was not to be found. 
 She had spoiled Triplet lor this by being too tame,
 
 PEG WOFFINGTOX. 241 
 
 SO wlien tlic dispensation came they sparred daily. 
 They were now thoroughly unhappy. They were 
 poor as ever, and their benefactress was dead, and 
 they had learned to snap. A speculative tour had 
 taken this pair to Bristol, then the second city in 
 England. They sojourned in the suburbs. 
 
 One morning the postman brought a letter for 
 Triplet, who was showing his landlord's boy how to 
 plant onions. (N.B. Triplet hud never planted an 
 onion, but he was one of your a priori gentlemen, 
 and could show anybody how to do anything.) 
 Triplet held out his hand for the letter, but the post- 
 man held out liis hand for half-a-crown first. Trip's 
 profession had transpired, and his clothes inspired 
 diffidence. Triplet appealed to his good feeling. 
 
 He replied with exultation, ' That he had none 
 left.' (A middle-aged postman, no doubt.) 
 
 Triplet then suddenly started from entreaty to 
 King Cambyses' vein. In vain ! 
 
 Mrs. Triplet came down, and essayed the bland- 
 ishments of the softer sex. In vain ! And as there 
 were no assets, the postman marched off down the road. 
 
 Mrs. Triplet glided after him like an assassin, 
 beckoning on Triplet, who followed, doubtful of her 
 designs. Suddenly (truth compels me to relate this) 
 she seized the obdurate official Irom behind, pinned 
 both his arms to his side, and with her nose furiously 
 telegraphed her husband. 
 
 R
 
 242 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 He, animated by her example, plunged upon the 
 man and tore the letter from his hand, and opened 
 it before his eyes. 
 
 It happened to be a very windy morning, and 
 when he opened the letter an enclosure, printed on 
 much finer paper, was caught into the air, and went 
 down the wind. Triplet followed in kangaroo leaps, 
 like a dancer making a flying exit. 
 
 The postman cried on all good citizens for help. 
 Some collected and laughed at him ; Mrs, Triplet 
 oxplaining that they were poor, and could not pay 
 half-a-crown for the freight of half an ounce of 
 paper. She held him convulsively until Triplet re- 
 appeared. 
 
 That gentleman on his return was ostentatiously 
 calm and dignified. ' You are, or were, in pertur- 
 bation about half-a-crown,' said he, * There, Sir, is 
 a twenty pound note, oblige me with nineteen 
 pounds, seventeen shillings and sixpence. Should 
 your resources be unequal to such a demand, meet 
 me at the ' Green Cat and Brown Frogs,' after 
 •dinner, when you shall receive your half-crown, and 
 drink another upon the occasion of my sudden acces- 
 sion to imbounded affluence.' 
 
 The postman was staggered by the sentence, and 
 overawed by the note, and chose the ' Cat and Frogs,' 
 and liquid half-crown. 
 
 Triplet took his wife down the road and showed
 
 PEG WOFFINGTO^T. 243 
 
 her tKe letter and enclosure. The letter ran 
 thus : 
 
 ' Sh-, 
 ' We beg respectfully to inform you that our late 
 friend and client, James Triplet, Merchant, of the 
 Minories, died last August, "without a will, and that 
 you are his heir. 
 
 ' His property amounts to about twenty thousand 
 pounds, besides some reversions. Having possessed 
 the confidence of your late imcle, we should feel 
 honoured and gratified if you should think us worthy 
 to act professionally for yourself. 
 
 ' We enclose twenty poimds, and beg 'you will 
 draw upon us as far as five thousand pounds, should 
 you have unmediate occasion. 
 
 ' We are, Sir, 
 
 ' Your humble servants, 
 'James and John Allmitt.' 
 
 It was some time, before these children of mis- 
 fortune could realize this enormous stroke of com- 
 pensation ; but, at last, it worked its way into tlieir 
 spirits, and they began to sing, to triumph, and dance 
 upon the king's liighway. 
 
 Mrs. Triplet was the first to pause, and take 
 better views. * Oh, James !' she cried, ' wc have 
 
 K 2
 
 244 PEG WOFFINGTON. ' 
 
 suffered much ! we have been poor, but honest, and 
 the 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 many years !' 
 
 * No, no !' cried Triplet, with tears in his eyes. 
 ' It is I who have been rough and brutal. Poverty 
 tried us too hard ; but we were not like the rest of 
 them — we were always faithful to the altar. And 
 the Almighty has seen us, though we often doubted 
 it.' 
 
 ' I never doubted that, James.' 
 
 So then the poor things fell on their knees upon 
 the public road, and thanked 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 as the parish bull's. And then 
 they rose, and formed their little plans. 
 
 Triplet was for devoting four-fifths to charity, and 
 living like a prince on the remainder. But Mrs. 
 Triplet thought the poor were entitled to no more 
 than two-thirds, and they themselves ought to bask 
 in a third, to make iip for what they had gone 
 through ; and then suddenly she sighed, and burst 
 into tears. ' Lucy ! Lucy !' sobbed she. 
 
 Yes, reader, God had taken little Lucy ! And 
 her mother cried to think all this wealth and com- 
 fort had come too late for her darling child.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 245 
 
 * Do not cry. Lucy is richer, a tliousand times, 
 than you are, with your twenty thousand pounds.' 
 
 Their good resolutions were carried out, for a 
 wonder. Triplet lived for years, the benefactor of 
 all the loose fish that swim in and round theatres ; 
 and indeed the unfortunate seldom appealed to him 
 in vain. He now predominated over the arts, 
 instead of climbing them. In his latter day, he 
 became an oracle, as far as the science of acting was 
 concerned ; and, what is far more rare, he really got 
 to know something about it. This was owing to two 
 circumstances : first, ho ceased to run blindfold in a 
 groove behind the scenes ; second, he became a fre- 
 quenter of the first row of the pit, and that is where the 
 whole critic, and two-thirds of the true actor, is made. 
 
 On one point, to his dying day, his feelings guided 
 his judgment. He never could see an actress equal 
 to his Woffington. Mrs. Abington was grace per- 
 sonided, but so was Woflington, said the old man. 
 And Abington's voice is thin, Woffington's was 
 sweet and mellow. Wiien Jordan rose, with her 
 voice of honey, her dewy freshness, and her heavenly 
 laugh, that melted in along with her words, like the 
 gold in the quartz, Triplet was obliged to own her 
 the goddess of beautiful gaiety : but still he had the 
 last Avord : ' Woffington was all she is, except her 
 figure. Woffington was a Hebe — your Kell Jordan 
 is little better than a dowdv.'
 
 246' FEG WOFFIXGTON-. 
 
 I I'riplet almost readied the present century. He 
 passed through great events, but they did not excite 
 him ; his eye was upon the arts. When Napoleon 
 drew his conquering sword on England, Triplet's 
 remark was : ' Now we shall be driven upon native 
 talent, thank Heaven !' The storms of Europe shook 
 not Triplet. The fact is, nothing that happened on 
 the great stajre of the world seemed real to him. 
 He believed in nothing, where there was no curtain 
 visible. But even the grotesque are not good in 
 vain. Many an eye was wet round his dying bed, 
 and many a tear fell upon 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 am tossing at sea — he is in port. 
 
 A straightforward character like Mabel's becomes 
 a firm character with years. Long ere she was 
 forty, her hand gently but steadily ruled Willoughby 
 House — and all in it. She and Mr. Vane lived 
 very happily ; he gave her no fresh cause for 
 uneasiness. Six months after their return, slie told 
 him what burned in that honest heart of hers, the 
 truth about Mrs. Woffington. The Avater rushed to 
 his eye^, but his heart was now wholly his wife's .
 
 PEG \N'OFFIXGTON. 247 
 
 and fjratitucle to Mrs. "Wofifinfrton for her noble 
 conduct, was the only sentiment awakened. 
 
 ' You must repay her, dearest,' said he. ' I know 
 you love her, and until to-day it gave me pain ; now 
 it gives me pleasure. We owe her muck' 
 
 The happy innocent life of Mabel Vane is soon 
 summed up. Frank as the day, constant as the sun, 
 pure as the dew, she passed the golden years 
 preparing herself and others for a still brighter 
 eternity. At home, it was she who warmed and 
 cheered the house, and the hearth, more than all the 
 Christmas fires. Abroad, she shone upon the poor 
 like the sun. She led her beloved husband by the 
 hand to heaven. She led her children the same 
 road ; aud she was leading her grandchildren when the 
 angel of death came for her ; and she slept in peace. 
 
 Many remember her. For she alone, of all our 
 tale, lived in this present century ; but they speak 
 of her as ' old Madam Vane,' her whom we knew so 
 young and fresh. 
 
 She lies in Willoughby Church — her mcn'tal part ; 
 her spirit is with the spirits of our mothers and 
 sisters, reader, that arc gone before us ; with the 
 tender mothers, the chaste wives, the loyal iriends, 
 and the just women of all ages. 
 
 RESURGET.
 
 248 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 I come to her last, who went first ; but I could 
 not have stayed by the others, when once "I had 
 laid my darling asleep. It seemed for awhile, as if 
 the events of our tale did her harm ; but it was not 
 so in the end. 
 
 Not many years afterwards, she was engaged by 
 Mr. Sheridan, at a very heavy salary, and went to 
 Dublin. Here the little girl, who had often carried 
 a pitcher on her head down to the LifFey, and had 
 played Polly Peachum in a booth, became a lion ; 
 dramatic, political and literary, and the centre of 
 the wit of that wittiest of cities. 
 
 But the Dublin ladies and she did not coalesce. 
 They said she was a naughty woman, and not fit for 
 them morally. She said they had but two topics, 
 'silks and scandal,' and were unfit for her in- 
 tellectually. 
 
 This was the saddest part of her history. But it 
 is darkest just before sunrise. She returned to 
 London. Not long after, it so happened, that she 
 went to a small church in the city one Sunday after- 
 noon. The preacher was such as we have often 
 heard ; but not so this poor woman, in her day of 
 sapless theology, ere John Wesley waked the snoring 
 church. Instead of sending a dry clatter of morality 
 about their ears, or evaporating the Bible in the 
 thin generalities of the pulpit, this man drove God's 
 truths home to the hearts of men and women. In.
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 249 
 
 liis hands the divine virtues were thunderbohs, not 
 swans' down. With good sense, plain speaking, and 
 a heart yearning for the souls oi" his brethren and his 
 sisters, he stormed the bosoms of many ; and this 
 afternoon, as he reasoned like Paul of righteousness, 
 temperance, and judgment to come, sinners trembled 
 — and Margaret AVoffinfrton was of those who 
 trembled. 
 
 After this day, she came ever to the narrow street 
 where shone this house of God ; and still, new light 
 burst upon her heart and conscience. Here she 
 learned why slie was unhappy ; here she learned 
 how alone she could be happy ; here she learned to 
 know herself; and the moment she knew herself, 
 she abhorred herself, and repented in dust and ashes. 
 
 This strong and straightforward character made no 
 attempt to reconcile two tilings that an average 
 Cliristian would have continued to reconcile. Her 
 interest fell in a moment before her new sense of" 
 right. She flung her profession from her like a 
 poisonous weed. 
 
 Long before this, IVIrs. Yane had begged her to 
 leave the stage. She had replied, that it was to her 
 what wine is to weak stomachs. ' But,' added she, 
 ' do not fear that I will ever crawl down-hill, and 
 unravel my own reputation ; nor will I ever do as I 
 have seen others — stand groaning at the wing, to go 
 on giggling, and come oil gasping. No ! the first
 
 250' PEG WOFFIXGTON. 
 
 night tlie boards do not spring beneath mj feet, and 
 the pulse of the public beat under my hand, I am 
 gone ! Next day, at rehearsal, instead of Woffington, 
 a note will come, to tell the manager that henceforth 
 Woffington is herself — at Twickenham, or Richmond, 
 or Harrow-on-the-Hill — far from his dust, his din, 
 and his glare — quiet, till God takes her : amidst 
 grass, and flowers, and charitable deeds.' 
 
 This day had not come : it was in the zenith of 
 her charms and her fame, that she went home one 
 night, after a play, and never entered a theatre, by 
 front door or back door, again. She declined all 
 leave-taking and ceremony. 
 
 ' When a publican shuts up shop and ceases to 
 diffuse liquid poison, he does not invite the world to 
 put up the shutters ; neither will I. Actors 
 overrate themselves ridiculously,' added she; 'I am 
 not of that importance to the world, nor the world 
 to me. I fling away a dirty old glove instead of 
 soiling my fingers filling it with more guineas, and 
 the world loses in me, what ? another old glove, full 
 of words ; half of them idle, the rest wicked, untiaie, 
 silly or impure. Rougissons, taisons-7ious, et partonsj 
 
 She now changed her residence, and withdrew 
 politely from her old associates, courting two classes 
 only, the good and the poor. She had always sup- 
 ported her mother and sister ; but now charity 
 became her system. The following is characteristic :
 
 PEG WOFFIXGTON-. 251 
 
 A gentleman wlio had greatly admired this dash- 
 ing actress, met one day, in the suburbs, a lady in 
 an old black silk gown and a grey shawl, with a 
 large basket on her arm. She showed him its contents 
 — worsted stockings of prodigious thickness — wliich 
 she was carrying to some of her 'proUgls. 
 
 * But surely that is a waste of your valuable 
 time,' remonstrated her admirer. ' Much better 
 buy them.' 
 
 ' But, my good soul,' replied the representative of 
 Sir Harry Wildair, ' ycu can't buy them. Kobody 
 in this wretched town can knit worsted hose except 
 Woffington.' 
 
 Conversions like this arc open to just suspicion, 
 and some did not fail to confound her with certain 
 great sinners, who have turned austere self-deceivers 
 when sin smiled no more. But this was mere con- 
 jecture. The facts were clear, and speaking to the 
 contrary. This woman left iblly at its brightest, 
 and did not become austere : on the contrary, though 
 she laughed less, she was observed to smile far 
 oftener than before. She was a humble and peni- 
 tent, but cheerful, hopeful Christian. 
 
 Another class of detractors took a somewhat oppo- 
 site ground : they accused her of bigotry, for advis- 
 ing a young female friend against the stage as a busi- 
 ness. But let us hear herself. This is wliat she 
 said to the cfirl :
 
 252 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' At tlic bottom of my heart, I always loved and 
 honoured virtue. Yet the tendencies of the stasre 
 so completely overcame my good sentiments, that I 
 was for years a worthless woman. It is a situation 
 of tincommon and incessant temptation. Ask your- 
 selfj my child, whether there is nothing else you can 
 do, but this. It is, I think our duty and our 
 wisdom to fly temptation whenever we can, as it is 
 to resist it when we cannot escape it.' 
 
 Was this the tone of bigotry ? 
 
 Easy in fortune, penitent, but cheerful, Mrs, 
 Woffington had now but one care ; to efface the 
 memory of her former self, and to give as many 
 years to purity and piety, as had gone to folly and 
 frailty. This was not to be ! The Almighty did 
 not permit, or perhaps I should say, did not require 
 this. 
 
 Some unpleasant symptoms had long attracted 
 her notice, but in the bustle of her profession had 
 received little attention. She was now persuaded 
 by her own medical attendant to consult Dr. Bowdler, 
 who had a great 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 he saw at once that her days were numbered. 
 
 Dr. Bowdler 's profession and experience had not 
 steeled his heart as they generally do and must do. 
 He could not tell her this sad news, so he asked her
 
 PEG WOFFINGTON. 253 
 
 for pen and paper, and said, I will write a prescrip- 
 tion to Mr. . He then wrote, not a prescrip- 
 tion, but a few lines, begging Mr. to convey 
 
 the cruel intelligence by degrees, and with care and 
 tenderness. ' It is all we can do for her,' said he. 
 
 He looked so grave while writing the supposed 
 prescription, that it unluckily occurred to Mrs. 
 Woffington to look over him. She stole archly 
 behind 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 doomed to the 
 tomb looking earnestly and anxiously at him, and 
 very pale and grave. He was sliocked, and, strange 
 to say, she, whose death-warrant he had signed, ran 
 and brought him a glass of wine, for he was quite 
 overcome. Then she gave him her hand in her 
 own sweet way, and bade him not grieve for her, 
 for she was not afraid to die, and had long learned 
 that ' life is a walking shadow, a poor poor player, 
 who frets and struts 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 the 
 world, and she had hoix.'d to wipe out her former 
 self.
 
 254 PEG WOFFINGTON. 
 
 ' Alas ! ' she said to heir sister, ' I have done more 
 harm than I can ever hope to do good now ; and 
 my long life of folly and wickedness will be remem- 
 bered — will be what they call famous ; my short life 
 of repentance who will know, or heed, or take to profit ?' 
 But she soon ceased to repine. She bowed to 
 the will of Heaven, and set her house in order, 
 and awaited her summons. The tranquillity of her 
 life and her courageous spirit were unfavourable to 
 the progress of disease, and I am glad to say she was 
 permitted to live nearly three years after this, and 
 these three years were the happiest period of her 
 whole life. Works of piety and love made the days 
 eventful. She was at home now — she had never 
 been at home in folly and loose living. All her 
 bitterness was gone now, with its cause. 
 
 Eeader, it was with her as it is with many an 
 autumn day : clouds darken the sun, rain and wind 
 sweep over all — till day declines. But then comes 
 one heavenly hour, when all ill things seem spent. 
 There is no more wind, 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 the hearts of Inen with hope, as parting 
 with us for a little space, he glides slowly and peace- 
 fully to rest. 
 
 So fared it with this humble, penitent, and now 
 happy Christian.
 
 TEG WOFFINGTON. 2 00 
 
 A part of her desire was given her. She lived 
 long enough to read a firm recantation of her former 
 self, to show the world a great repentance, and to 
 leave upon indelible record one more proof, what 
 alone is true wisdom, and where alone true joys are 
 to be found. 
 
 She endured some physical pain, as all must who 
 die in their prime. But this never wrung a sigh 
 from her great heart ; and within she had the peace 
 of God, which passes all understanding. 
 
 I am not stron^f enouo-h to follow her to her last 
 hour ; nor is it needed. Enough that her o^vn 
 words came true. When the great sumuions came, 
 it found her full of hope, and peace, and joy ; 
 sojourning, not dwelling, upon earth ; liir from dust, 
 and din and vice ; the Bible in her hand, the Cross 
 in her heart; quiet; amidst grass, and flowers, and 
 charitable deeds. 
 
 "NON OMXEM I\IORITURAM."
 
 LOXDON : 
 
 rrJKTED BT W. CLOWES AKD SOKS, STAMFORD STREET, AICD 
 CHAEIKG CliOSS.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 001 423 669 9