h, fate sent into the room all
in one moment, as if to insult his sorrow, a creature that seemed the
goddess of gayety, 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 spirit and fire, and pace, beyond the conception of our poor
tame actresses of 1852, these lines:

"Now, by the joys Which my soul still has uncontrolled pursued, I would
not turn aside from my least pleasure, Though all thy force were armed
to bar my way; But, like the birds, great Nature's happy commoners,
Rifle 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 the 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, slyly.

"In a small way, madam. I have here three trifles--tragedies."

Mrs. Woffington looked askant at them, like a shy mare.

"Ah, madam!" said Triplet, in one of his insane fits, "if I might but
submit them to such a judgment as yours?"

He laid his hand on them. It was 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 hanged than read a manuscript. Yet what hopeless
trash they will read in crowds, which was manuscript a day ago. _Les
imbeciles!_

"No more is the manager of this theater a judge of such things," cried
the outraged quill-driver, bitterly.

"What! has he accepted them?" said needle-tongue.

"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 they teach it to their audiences. Managers, sir, are
like Eastern monarchs, inaccessible but to slaves and sultanas. Do you
know I called upon Mr. Rich fifteen times before I could see him?"

"You, madam? Impossible!"

"Oh, it was years ago, and he has paid a hundred pounds 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;