oad, she shone upon the poor like the sun. She led
her beloved husband by the hand to Heaven. She led her children the same
road; and she was leading her grandchildren when the angel of death came
for her; and she slept in peace.

Many remember her. For she alone, of all our tale, lived in this present
century; but they speak of her as "old Madam Vane"--her whom we knew so
young and fresh.

She lies in Willoughby Church--her mortal part; her spirit is with the
spirits of our mothers and sisters, reader, that are gone before us;
with the tender mothers, the chaste wives, the loyal friends, and the
just women of all ages.

RESURGET.

I come to her last, who went first; but I could not have stayed by the
others, when once I had laid my darling asleep. It seemed for a while as
if the events of our tale did her harm; but it was not so in the end.

Not many years afterward, she was engaged by Mr. Sheridan, at a very
heavy salary, and went to Dublin. Here the little girl, who had often
carried a pitcher on her head down to the Liffey, and had played Polly
Peachum in a booth, became a lion; dramatic, political and literary, and
the center of the wit of that wittiest of cities.

But the Dublin ladies and she did not coalesce. They said she was a
naughty woman, and not fit for them morally. She said they had but two
topics, "silks and scandal," and were unfit for her intellectually.

This was the saddest part of her history. But it is darkest just before
sunrise. She returned to London. Not long after, it so happened that she
went to a small church in the city one Sunday afternoon. The preacher
was such as we have often heard; but not so this poor woman, in her day
of sapless theology, ere John Wesley waked the snoring church. Instead
of sending a dry clatter of morality about their ears, or evaporating
the Bible in the thin generalities of the pulpit, this man drove God's
truths home to the hearts of men and women. In his hands the divine
virtues were thunderbolts, not swans' down. With good sense, plain
speaking, and a heart yearning for the souls of his brethren and his
sisters, he stormed the bosoms of many; and this afternoon, as he
reasoned like Paul of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come,
sinners trembled--and Margaret Woffington was of those who trembled.

After this day, she came ever to the narrow street where shone this
house of God; and still new light burst upon her heart and conscience.
Here she