emselves at the glowing
melody; a great sunbeam had come into their abode, and these human motes
danced in it. The elder ones recovered their gravity first, they sat
down breathless, and put their hands to their hearts; they looked at
one another, and then at the goddess who had revived them. Their first
feeling was wonder; were they the same, who, ten minutes ago, were
weeping together? Yes! ten minutes ago they were rayless, joyless,
hopeless. Now the sun was in their hearts, and sorrow and sighing were
fled, as fogs disperse before the god of day. It was magical; could
a mortal play upon the soul of man, woman and child like this? Happy
Woffington! and suppose this was more than half acting, but such acting
as Triplet never dreamed of; and to tell the honest, simple truth, I
myself should not have suspected it; but children are sharper than one
would think, and Alcibiades Triplet told, in after years, that, when
they were all dancing except the lady, he caught sight of her face--and
it was quite, quite grave, and even sad; but, as often as she saw him
look at her, she smiled at him so gayly--he couldn't believe it was the
same face.

If it was art, glory be to such art so worthily applied! and honor to
such creatures as this, that come like sunshine into poor men's houses,
and tune drooping hearts to daylight and hope!

The wonder of these worthy people soon changed to gratitude. Mrs.
Woffington stopped their mouths at once.

"No, no!" cried she; "if you really love me, no scenes; I hate them.
Tell these brats to kiss me, and let me go. I must sit for my picture
after dinner; it is a long way to Bloomsbury Square."

The children needed no bidding; they clustered round her, and poured out
their innocent hearts as children only do.

"I shall pray for you after father and mother," said one.

"I shall pray for you after daily bread," said Lucy, "because we were
_tho_ hungry till you came!"

"My poor children!" cried Woffington, and hard to grown-up actors,
as she called us, but sensitive to children, she fairly melted as she
embraced them.

It was at this precise juncture that the door was unceremoniously
opened, and the two gentlemen burst upon the scene!

My reader now guesses whom Sir Charles Pomander surprised more than he
did Mrs. Woffington. He could not for the life of him comprehend what
she was doing, and what was her ulterior object. The _nil admirari_ of
the fine gentleman deserted him, and he gazed