“Sure I know that that's what makes the sting of it so bitter,” said Mr. Daly, shaking his head sadly. “It's only the truly virtuous, madam, that have feelings”--again he pronounced the word “failings.” “Enough, madam,” he continued, after he had flourished his handkerchief and had wiped away an imaginary tear. “Enough! In the name of the citizens of Dublin I offer you the humblest apology in my power for the gross misconduct of that scoundrel in the pit who called out, 'Well done, Sally, my jewel!' after your finest soliloquy; and I promise you that if we can find the miscreant we shall have him brought to justice.” “If you believe that the citizens of Dublin are really conscious of the stigma which they shall bear for ages to come for having insulted one whose virtue has, I rejoice to say, been ever beyond reproach, I will accept your apology, sir,” said Mrs. Siddons with dignity. “I 'll undertake to swear that the citizens feel the matter quite as deeply as I do, Mrs. Siddons,” cried Mr. Daly, with both his hands clasped over his waistcoat. “I dare swear that they do not even now know the enormity of your virtue, madam. It will be my pleasing duty to make them acquainted with it; and so, madam, I am your grateful, humble servant.” With a low bow he made his escape from the green-room, leaving Mrs. Sid-dons seated on a high chair in precisely the attitude which she assumed when she sat for the Tragic Muse of Reynolds. “Thank heavens that 's over!” muttered the manager, as he hurried down Smock Alley to the tavern at the corner kept by an old actor named Barney Rafferty, and much frequented by the Trinity College students, who in the year 1783 were quite as enthusiastic theatre-goers as their successors are in the present year. “For the love of heaven, Barney, give us a jorum,” cried Daly, as he entered the bar parlor. “A jorum of punch, Barney, for I 'm as dry as a lime kiln, making speeches in King Cambyses' vein to that Queen of Tragedy.” “It'll be at your hand in a minute, Mr. Daly, sir,” said Barney, hurrying off. In the parlour were assembled a number of the “college boys,” as the students were always called in Dublin. They greeted the arrival of their friend Daly with acclamation, only they wanted to know what had occurred to detain him so long at the theatre. “Delay and Daly have never been associated before now when there's a jorum of punch in view,” remarked young Mr. Blenerhassett of Limerick, who was reported to have a very pretty wit. “It's lucky you see me among you at all, boys,” said the manager, wiping his brow. “By the powers, I might have remained in the green-room all night listening to homilies on the virtue of wives and the honour of husbands.” “And 't is yourself that would be nothing the worse for listening to a homily or two on such topics,” remarked young Blake of Connaught. “And who was the preacher of the evening, Daly?”