stings, as in duty bound, interrupted so jovial a society. But "all
that's bright must fade"--and so the Three Pigeons' scene, and the play,
too, came to an end in due course. The curtain fell amidst universal
applause, modified only by the urgent request, which, as manager, I had
more than once to repeat, that gentlemen would be kind enough to
restrain their feelings for fear of disturbing the dons. The house
resolved itself into its component elements--all went their ways--the
reading men probably to a Greek play, by way of afterpiece--sleepy ones
to bed, and idle ones to their various inventions--and the actors, after
the fatigues of the night, to a supper, which was to be the "finish." It
was to take place in one of the men's rooms which happened to be on the
same staircase, and had been committed to the charge of certain parties,
who understood our notions of an unexceptionable spread. And a right
merry party we were--all sitting down in character, Mrs Hardcastle at
the top of the table, her worthy partner at bottom, with the "young
ladies" on each side. It was the best _tableau_ of the evening; pity
there was neither artist to sketch, nor spectators to admire it! But,
like many other merry meetings, there are faithful portraits of
it--proof impressions--in the memories of many who were present; not yet
obliterated, hardly even dimmed, by time; laid by, like other valuables,
which, in the turmoil of life, we find no time to look at, but not
thrown aside or forgotten, and brought out sometimes, in holidays and
quiet hours, for us to look at once more, and enjoy their beauty, and
feel, after all, how much what we have changed is "_calum non animum_."
I am now--no matter what. Of my companions at that well-remembered
supper, one is a staid and orthodox divine; one a rising barrister; a
third a respectable country gentleman, justice of the peace, "and
quorum;" a fourth, they tell me, a semi Papist, but set us all down
together in that same room, draw the champagne corks, and let some Lethe
(the said champagne, if you please) wash out all that has passed over us
in the last five years, and my word on it, three out of four of us are
but boys still; and though much shaving, pearl powder, and carmine,
might fail to make of any of the party a heroine of any more delicate
class than Meg Merrilies, I have no doubt we could all of us once more
smoke a pipe in character at "The Three Pigeons."

Merrily the evening passed off, an