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"We are going to weigh goose's feathers! to criticise criticism, Trip " "Hush! hush!" A grampus was heard outside the door, and Triplet opened it. There was Quin leading the band. "Have a care, sir," cried Triplet; "there is a hiatus the third step from the door." "A gradus ad Parnassum a wanting," said Mr. Cibber. Triplet's heart sank.
A servant in livery brought him a note from Mr. Vane, dated Covent Garden. Triplet's eyes sparkled, he bustled, wormed himself into a less rusty coat, and started off to the Theater Royal, Covent Garden. In those days, the artists of the pen and the brush ferreted patrons, instead of aiming to be indispensable to the public, the only patron worth a single gesture of the quill. Mr.
The last thing he thought of was poor Triplet; the rich do not dream how they disappoint the poor. Triplet's castle fell as many a predecessor had. When the lights were put out, he left the theater with a bitter sigh.
Woffington drew out her memorandum-book, and took down her summary of the crafty Triplet's facts. So easy is it for us Triplets to draw the wool over the eyes of women and Woffingtons. "Triplet, discharged from scene-painting; wife, no engagement; four children supported by his pen that is to say, starving; lose no time!"
Before he opened it, he looked fearfully over his shoulder, and received a glance of cool, bitter, deadly hostility, that boded ill both for him and his visitor. Triplet's apprehensions were not unreasonable. His benefactress and this sweet lady were rivals! Jealousy is a dreadful passion, it makes us tigers. The jealous always thirst for blood.
The man was laughable, and a goose; and had no genius either for writing, painting, or acting; but in that he resembled most writers, painters, and actors of his own day and ours. He was not beneath the average of what men call art, and it is art's antipodes treadmill artifice. Other fluent ninnies shared gain, and even fame, and were called 'penmen, in Triplet's day.
"My husband!" cried the false Mrs. Vane, and in a moment she rose and darted into Triplet's inner apartment. Mr. Vane and Mr. Triplet were talking earnestly as they came up the stair. It seems the wise Triplet had prepared a little dramatic scene for his own refreshment, as well as for the ultimate benefit of all parties. He had persuaded Mr.
"No more is the manager of this theater a judge of such things," cried the outraged quill-driver, bitterly. "What! has he accepted them?" said needle-tongue. "No, madam, he has had them six months, and see, madam, he has returned them me without a word." Triplet's lip trembled. "Patience, my good sir," was the merry reply. "Tragic authors should possess that, for they teach it to their audiences.
"In short," said Triplet, recapitulating, "being blessed with health, and more tastes in the arts than most, and a cheerful spirit, I should be wrong, madam, to repine; and this day, in particular, is a happy one," added the rose colorist, "since the great Mrs. Woffington has deigned to remember me, and call me friend." Such was Triplet's summary. Mrs.
It was at this juncture that a lady, who had knocked gently and unheard, opened the door, and with a light step entered the apartment; but no sooner had she caught sight of Triplet's anguish, than, saying hastily, "Stay, I forgot something," she made as hasty an exit. This gave Triplet a moment to recover himself; and Mrs.
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