Pomander laughed in his face; this laugh disconcerted him more than
words; he spoke no more--he sat pensive. He was sorry he had come to this
place, where everybody knew his goddess; yet nobody admired, nobody
loved, and, alas! nobody respected her.

He was roused from his reverie by a noise; the noise was caused by Cibber
falling on Garrick, whom Pomander had maliciously quoted against all the
tragedians of Colley Cibber's day.

"I tell you," cried the veteran, "that this Garrick has banished dignity
from the stage and given us in exchange what you and he take for fire;
but it is smoke and vapor. His manner is little, like his person, it is
all fuss and bustle. This is his idea of a tragic scene: A little fellow
comes bustling in, goes bustling about, and runs bustling out." Here Mr.
Cibber left the room, to give greater effect to his description, but
presently returned in a mighty pother, saying: "'Give me another horse!'
Well, where's the horse? don't you see I'm waiting for him? 'Bind up my
wounds!' Look sharp now with these wounds. 'Have mercy, Heaven!' but be
quick about it, for the pit can't wait for Heaven. Bustle! bustle!
bustle!"

The old dog was so irresistibly funny that the whole company were obliged
to laugh; but in the midst of their merriment Mrs. Woffington's voice was
heard at the door.

"This way, madam."

A clear and somewhat shrill voice replied: "I know the way better than
you, child;" and a stately old lady appeared on the threshold.