"Tell her," gaily replied the latter, "that for her peace of mind's sake, I'll get a real divorce, marry her myself, and give her my bond she shall be a real widow in less than a fortnight." Poor fellow! He was faithful to Mistress Farquhar unto the end, but who shall say that he had forgotten the old days which began so fairly at the Mitre Tavern?
[Illustration: MRS.

BRACEGIRDLE As the Sultaness] Soon there will be another theatrical revolution by which the rival companies of the Haymarket and Drury Lane will be united under one management at the latter house, while Owen Swiney will be left free to devote his attention to Italian opera.

This union comes about through the efforts of Colonel Brett[A], a very _debonnaire_ gentleman from Gloucestershire, whom Cibber, his warmest admirer, trots out for our inspection in the perennial "Apology." It appears that Sir Thomas Skipwith, who has a share in the Drury Lane Patent, becomes so disgusted with the antics of Rich and his refusal to make any accounting of the profits of the house, that he presents Brett with his interest.[B] To the Colonel the gift is a congenial one; he has passed many a pleasant hour behind the scenes at Drury Lane, and doubtless thinks that in doing so he writes himself down a very knowing dog.
[Footnote A: Colonel Brett was the father of Anne Brett, who became a very dear friend of George I.] [Footnote B: Sir Thomas afterwards asserted that he only gave his share to Brett strictly "in trust."] Probably he is, for Cibber says that though he spent some time at the Temple, "he so little followed the Law there that his neglect of it made the Law (like some of his fair and frail admirers) very often follow him." As he had an uncommon share of social wit and a handsome person, with a sanguine bloom in his complexion, no wonder they persuaded him that he might have a better chance of fortune by throwing such accomplishments into the gayer world than by shutting them up in a study.
* * * * * "The first view that fires the head of a young gentleman of this modish ambition just broke lose from business is to cut a figure (as they call it)in a side box at the play, from whence their next step is to the Green Room behind the scenes, sometimes their _non ultra_.
Hither at last, then, in this hopeful quest of his fortune, came this gentleman-errant, not doubting but the fickle dame, while he was thus qualified to receive her, might be tempted to fall into his lap.

And though possibly the charms of our theatrical nymphs might have their share in drawing him thither, yet in my observation the most visible cause of his first coming was a more sincere passion he had conceived, for a fair full-bottom'd perriwig which I then wore in my first play of the 'Fool in Fashion' in the year 1695." * * * * * This love affair would suggest what Mr.Gilbert calls: "A Passion a la Plato For a bashful young potato." were we not to remember that in Anne's time handsome full-bottomed periwigs were regarded with an enthusiasm far too fervid to be called Platonic.

Actors made it a point to have this indispensable headgear as elaborate as possible, and it is even related that Barton Booth and Wilks actually paid forty guineas each "on the exorbitant thatching of their heads." * * * * * But let loquacious Colley have his say: "For it is to be noted that the _Beaux_ of those days were of a quite different cast from the modern stamp, and had more of the stateliness of the peacock in their mein than (which now seems to be their highest emulation) the pert air of a lap-wing.