years; at least I thought so."

"Dead to the stage. There is more heat in her ashes than in your fire,
Kate Clive! Ah! here comes her messenger," continued he, as an ancient
man appeared with a letter in his hand. This letter Mrs. Woffington
snatched and read, and at the same instant in bounced the call-boy.
"Epilogue called," said this urchin, in the tone of command which these
small fry of Parnassus adopt; and, obedient to his high behest, Mrs.
Woffington moved to the door, with the Bracegirdle missive in her hand,
but not before she had delivered its general contents: "The great actress
will be here in a few minutes," said she, and she glided swiftly out of
the room.



CHAPTER II.

PEOPLE whose mind or manners possess any feature, and are not as devoid
of all eccentricity as half pounds of butter bought of metropolitan
grocers, are recommended not to leave a roomful of their acquaintances
until the last but one. Yes, they should always be penultimate. Perhaps
Mrs. Woffington knew this; but epilogues are stubborn things, and
call-boys undeniable.

"Did you ever hear a woman whistle before?"

"Never; but I saw one sit astride on an ass in Germany!"

"The saddle was not on her husband, I hope, madam?"