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 personified, but so was Woffington, said the old man: and
Abington's voice is thin, Woffington's was sweet and mellow. When 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 gayety; but
still he had the last word: "Woffington was all _she_ is, except her
figure. Woffington was a Hebe; your Nell Jordan is little better than a
dowdy."

Triplet almost reached 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 stage 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,
she told him what burned in that honest heart of hers, the truth about
Mrs. Woffington. The water rushed to his eyes, but his heart was now
wholly his wife's; and gratitude to Mrs. Woffington 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 much."

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
Christmas fires. Abr