“Nelly--Nelly--Nell! Now, where's the wench?” cried Mrs. Gwyn, before she had more than passed the threshold of her daughter's house in St. James's Park--the house with the terrace garden, where, as the sedate Evelyn records, the charming Nelly had stood exchanging some very lively phrases with her royal lover on the green walk below, giving the grave gentleman cause to grieve greatly. But, alas! the record of his sorrow has only made his untold readers mad that they had not been present to grieve, also, over that entrancing tableau. “Nelly--Nell! Where's your mistress, sirrah?” continued the somewhat portly and undoubtedly overdressed mother of the “impudent comedian,” referred to by Evelyn…
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