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e 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 parlor. Volto Sciolto is your cue." "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?" continued the tormenting Peggy. "We are going to weigh goose's feathers! to criticise criticism, Trip--" "Hush! hush!" A grampus was heard outside the door, and Triplet opened it. There was Quin leading the band. "Have a care, sir," cried Triplet; "there is a hiatus the third step from the door." "A _gradus ad Parnassum_ a wanting," said Mr. Cibber. 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. Cibber had done its business. And on such men he and his portrait were to attempt a preposterous delusion. Then there was Snarl, who wrote critiques on painting, and guided the national taste. The unlucky exhibitor was in a cold sweat. He led the way, like a thief going to the gallows. "The picture being unfinished, gentlemen," said he, "must, if you would do me justice, be seen from a--a focus; must be judged from here, I mean." "Where, sir?" said Mr. Cibber. "About here, sir, if you please," said poor Triplet faintly. "It looks like a finished picture from here," said Mrs. Clive. "Yes, madam," groaned Triplet. They all took up a position, and Triplet timidly raised his eyes 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 countenance. She was "dead still!" There was a pause. Triplet fluttered. At last some of them spoke as follows: _Soaper._ "Ah!" _Quin._ "Ho!" _Clive._ "Eh!" _Cibber._ "Humph!" These interjections are small on paper, but as the good creatur
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