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"Gentlemen," said Triplet, "does it never occur to you that the fine arts are tender violets, and cannot blow when the north winds " "Blow!" inserted Quin. "Are so cursed cutting?" continued Triplet. "My good sir, I am never cutting!" smirked Soaper. "My dear Snarl," whined he, "give us the benefit of your practiced judgment. Do justice to this ad-mirable work of art," drawled the traitor.
John brought the hot water at eight; but his master had taken advantage of this interval in his toilet to die! to avoid shaving? Snarl and Soaper conducted the criticism of their day with credit and respectability until a good old age, and died placidly a natural death, like twaddle, sweet or sour. The Triplets, while their patroness lived, did pretty well.
"Ah!" thought Triplet, "he means to quiz them, as well as expose me. He is hanging back; and, in point of fact, a mighty satirist like Snarl would naturally choose to quiz six people rather than two." "Now I call it beautiful!" said the traitor Soaper. "So calm and reposeful; no particular expression." "None whatever," said Snarl.
MR. VANE, besides being a rich, was a magnificent man; when his features were in repose their beauty had a wise and stately character. Soaper and Snarl had admired and bitterly envied him. At the present moment no one of his guests envied him they began to realize his position. And he, a huge wheel of shame and remorse, began to turn and whir before his eyes.
Putting this and that together, he was led to hope and believe she was there, making her toilet, perhaps, and her arrival at present unknown. "Do you expect no one else?" said he, with feigned carelessness, to Mr. Vane. "No," said Mr. Vane, with real carelessness. "It must be so! What fortune!" thought Pomander. Soaper. "Mr. Cibber looks no older than he did five years ago." Snarl.
This pair, with wonderful sagacity, had arrived from the street as the haunch came from the kitchen. Good-humor reigned; some cuts passed, but as the parties professed wit, they gave and took. Quin carved the haunch, and was happy; Soaper and Snarl eating the same, and drinking Toquay, were mellowed and mitigated into human flesh. Mr. Vane and Mrs.
A broad stream of southern sun gushed in fiery gold through the open window, and, like a red-hot rainbow, danced through the stained glass above it. Existence was a thing to bask in in such a place, and so happy an hour! The guests were Quin, Mrs. Clive, Mr. Cibber, Sir Charles Pomander, Mrs. Woffington, and Messrs. Soaper and Snarl, critics of the day.
And she beamed on the good Pomander. Mr. Vane did not rise and embrace Sir Charles. "All the company thanks the good Sir Charles," said Cibber, bowing. "I see it in all their faces," said the good Sir Charles, dryly. Mrs. Woffington continued: "Mr. Soaper, Mr. Snarl; gentlemen who would butter and slice up their own fathers!" "Bless me!" cried Mrs. Vane, faintly. "Critics!"
At last some of them spoke as follows: Soaper. "Ah!" Quin. "Ho!" Clive. "Eh!" Cibber. "Humph!" These interjections are small on paper, but as the good creatures uttered them they were eloquent; there was a cheerful variety of dispraise skillfully thrown into each of them. "Well," continued Soaper, with his everlasting smile. Then the fun began.
"I will try and not deserve it, Mr. Soaper," was the prompt reply. "Serve 'em right," said Mr. Cibber, as soon as the door had closed upon them; "for a couple of serpents, or rather one boa-constrictor. Soaper slavers, for Snarl to crush. But we were all a little too hard on Triplet here; and, if he will accept my apology "
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