emendously effective, through force of
contrast; while his sympathetic voice gave great value to the last tender
words of pardon.

And that ancient couple--that never-to-be-forgotten pair, Mr. Stoddard
and Mrs. Wilkins! The latter's husband, belonging to the English bar, had
been Sergeant Wilkins, a witty, well-living, popular man, who quite
adored his pretty young wife and lavished his entire income upon their
ever-open house, so that his sudden taking off left her barely able to
pay for a sea of crape--with not a pound left over for a life-preserver
or raft of any kind. But on her return to the stage, her knowledge of
social amenities, the dignity and aplomb acquired by the experienced
hostess, remained with her, in a certain manner, an air of suave and
gentle authority, that was invaluable to her in the performance of
gentlewomen; while the good-fellowship, the downright jollity of her
infectious laugh were the crown of her comedy work. Who can forget the
Multon tea-table scene between Mrs. Wilkins and Mr. Stoddard. How the
audience used to laugh and laugh when, after his accusing snort: "More
copperas!" he sat and glared at her pretty protesting face framed in its
soft white curls. He was so ludicrously savage I had to coin a name for
him; and one night when the house simply would not stop laughing, I
remarked: "Oh, doesn't he look like a perfect old Sardonyx?"

"Yes-m!" quickly replied the property boy beside me; "yes-m, that's the
very beast he reminds _me_ of!"

Certainly, I never expect to find another _Dr. Osborne_ so capable of
contradicting a savage growl with a tender caress.

Mr. Parselle, as the gentle old Latin scholar, tutor, and acting
godfather, was beyond praise. He admitted to me one night, coming out of
a brown study, that he believed _Belin_ was a character actually beyond
criticism, and that, next to creating it as author, he ranked the honor
of acting it; but there spoke the old-school actor who respected his
profession.

And those children--were they not charming? That _Sister Jane_, given so
sweetly, so sincerely by the daughter of the famous Matilda Heron, who,
christened Helene, was known only by the pet name Bijou, in public as
well as in private life. And the boy _Paul_, her little brother. Almost,
I believe, Mabel Leonard was herself created expressly to play that part.
Never did female thing wear male clothes so happily. All the impish
perversity, all the wriggling restlessness of th