JAMES TRIPLET, water in his eye, but fire in his heart, went home on wings.

Arrived there, he anticipated curiosity by informing all hands he should answer no questions.

Only in the intervals of a work, which was to take the family out of all its troubles, he should gradually unfold a tale, verging on the marvelous--a tale whose only fault was, that fiction, by which alone the family could hope to be great, paled beside it.

He then seized some sheets of paper fished out some old dramatic sketches, and a list of _dramatis personae,_ prepared years ago, and plunged into a comedy.

As he wrote, true to his promise, he painted, Triplet-wise, that story which we have coldly related, and made it appear, to all but Mrs.Triplet, that he was under the tutela, or express protection of Mrs.Woffington, who would push his fortunes until the only difficulty would be to keep arrogance out of the family heart.
Mrs.Triplet groaned aloud.