Mr.
Vane was carried to this notion by passion and ignorance.
On the evening of our tale he was at his post patiently sitting out one of those sanguinary discourses our rude forefathers thought were tragic plays.

_Sedet aeternumque Sedebit Infelix Theseus,_ because Mrs.
Woffington is to speak the epilogue.
These epilogues were curiosities of the human mind; they whom, just to ourselves and _them,_ we call our _forbears,_ had an idea their blood and bombast were not ridiculous enough in themselves, so when the curtain had fallen on the _debris_ of the _dramatis personae,_ and of common sense, they sent on an actress to turn all the sentiment so laboriously acquired into a jest.
To insist that nothing good or beautiful shall be carried safe from a play out into the street was the bigotry of English horseplay.

Was a Lucretia the heroine of the tragedy, she was careful in the epilogue to speak like Messalina.

Did a king's mistress come to hunger and repentance, she disinfected all the _petites maitresses_ in the house of the moral, by assuring them that sin is a joke, repentance a greater, and that she individually was ready for either if they would but cry, laugh and pay.

Then the audience used to laugh, and if they did not, lo! the manager, actor and author of heroic tragedy were exceeding sorrowful.
While sitting attendance on the epilogue Mr.Vane had nothing to distract him from the congregation but a sanguinary sermon in five heads, so his eyes roved over the pews, and presently he became aware of a familiar face watching him closely.