Woffington, of whom he spoke slightingly to Vane;
second, he had made a disingenuous purchase.
This purchase was Pompey, Mrs. Woffington's little black slave. It is a
horrid fact, but Pompey did not love his mistress. He was a little
enamored of her, as small boys are apt to be, but, on the whole, a
sentiment of hatred slightly predominated in his little black bosom.
It was not without excuse.
This lady was subject to two unpleasant companions--sorrow and
bitterness. About twice a week she would cry for two hours; and after
this class of fit she generally went abroad, and made a round of certain
poor or sick _proteges_ she had, and returned smiling and cheerful.
But other twice a week she might be seen to sit upon her chair,
contracted into half her size, and looking daggers at the universe in
general, the world in particular; and on these occasions, it must be
owned, she stayed at home, and sometimes whipped Pompey.
Pompey had not the sense to reflect that he ought to have been whipped
every day, or the _esprit de corps_ to be consoled by observing that this
sort of thing did his mistress good. What he felt was, that his mistress,
who did everything well, whipped him with energy and skill; it did not
take ten seconds, but still, in that brief period, Pompey found himself
dusted and polished off.
The sacred principle of justice was as strong in Mrs.
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