in which what ought to be, viz., truth, plot, situation and dialogue,
were not; and what ought not to be, were--_scilicet,_ small talk, big
talk, fops, ruffians, and ghosts. 

His three mediocrities fell so short of one talent that he was sometimes
_impransus._ 

He slumbered, but uneasily; the dramatic author was uppermost, and his
"Demon of the Hayloft" hung upon the thread of popular favor. 

On his uneasy slumber entered from the theater Mrs.  Triplet. 

She was a lady who in one respect fell behind her husband; she lacked his
variety in ill-doing, but she recovered herself by doing her one thing a
shade worse than he did any of his three.  She was what is called in grim
sport an actress; she had just cast her mite of discredit on royalty by
playing the Queen, and had trundled home the moment the breath was out of
her royal body.  She came in rotatory with fatigue, and fell, gristle,
into a chair; she wrenched from her brow a diadem and eyed it with
contempt, took from her pocket a sausage, and contemplated it with