y passion and ignorance.

On the evening of our tale he was at his post patiently sitting out one
of those sanguinary discourses our rude forefathers thought were
tragic plays. _Sedet aeternumque 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,_ we call our _forbears,_ had an idea their blood
and bombast were not ridiculous enough in themselves, so when the
curtain had fallen on the _debris_ of the _dramatis personae,_ 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 horseplay. 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 disinfected all the _petites maitresses_ in the house
of the moral, by assuring them that sin is a joke, repentance 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.

While sitting attendance on the epilogue Mr. Vane had nothing to
distract him from the congregation but a sanguinary sermon in five
heads, so his eyes roved over the pews, and presently he became aware of
a familiar face watching him closely. The gentleman to whom it belonged
finding himself recognized left his seat, and a minute later Sir Charles
Pomander entered Mr. Vane's box.

This Sir Charles Pomander was a gentleman of 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
theater; 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?" Then he soon
discovered this man must be in love with some actress; then it became
his business