“It looks like a finished picture from here,” said Mrs. Clive. “Yes, madam,” groaned Triplet. They all took up a position, and Triplet timidly raised his eyes along with the rest. He was a little surprised. The actress had flattened her face! She had done all that could be done, and more than he had conceived possible, in the way of extracting life and the atmosphere of expression from her countenance. She was “dead still!” There was a pause. Triplet fluttered. 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. “May I be permitted to ask whose portrait this is?” said Mr. Cibber slyly. “I distinctly told you, it was to be Peg Woffington's,” said Mrs. Clive. “I think you might take my word.” “Do you act as truly as you paint?” said Quin. “Your fame runs no risk from me, sir!” replied Triplet. “It is not like Peggy's beauty! Eh?” rejoined Quin. “I can't agree with you,” cried Kitty Clive. “I think it a very pretty face; and not at all like Peg Woffington's.” “Compare paint with paint,” said Quin. “Are you sure you ever saw down to Peggy's real face?” Triplet had seen with alarm that Mr. Snarl spoke not; many satirical expressions crossed his face, but he said nothing. Triplet gathered from this that he had at once detected the trick. “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. “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. “I will!” said Mr. Snarl; and placed himself before the picture. “What on earth will he say?” thought Triplet. “I can see by his face he has found us out.” Mr. Snarl delivered a short critique. Mr. Snarl's intelligence was not confined to his phrases; all critics use intelligent phrases and philosophical truths. But this gentleman's manner was very intelligent; it was pleasant, quiet, assured, and very convincing. Had the reader or I been there, he would have carried us with him, as he did his hearers; and as his successors carry the public with them now.