CHAPTER XII.HERMIONE.
It sends a pang through our heart as we hear Mrs. Siddons say in later life, with a sigh, to Rogers the poet: “After I became famous, none of my sisters loved me so well.” What a price to pay for fame! “Conversation” Sharp was frequently consulted by her upon private affairs. She wept to him over the ingratitude her sisters showed her. Money was lent and never repaid; the prestige of her name was borrowed to obtain theatrical engagements, but she never was thanked; every obligation seemed only to cause a feeling of bitterness. Perhaps the fault lay a little on her side as well as on theirs. Tact and graciousness were not her strong points. She was absent-minded, all her attention being concentrated on the study and comprehension of her profession, which gave her a proud, self-contained manner, alienating unconsciously those who surrounded her and were dependent on her. Her children adored her, but her brothers and sisters stood, to a certain extent, in awe of her. All of them, stimulated by the examples of the two eldest, went on the stage, but none possessed her genius, or John Kemble’s talent and industry. The affectionate comradeshipin art that existed between Mrs. Siddons and John Kemble is one of the pleasantest features in both their lives.
He was educated, as we have seen, principally at the Roman Catholic College at Douay, where he became remarkable for his elocution, every now and then astonishing his masters and schoolfellows by delivering speeches in scholastic Latin, and learning with the greatest facility books of Homer and odes of Horace. We are told that his noble cast of countenance, his deep melodious voice, and the dignity of his delivery, impressed his comrades considerably; especially in the scene between Brutus and Cassius, which he got up for their benefit. It is a curious proof of his want of facility that, although he was extremely fond of the study of language, grammar being all his life his favouritelight reading, he never was able to master any language but his own. He read Italian, Spanish, and French, but spoke none of them, in spite of his education in France and his long residence later at Lausanne. He had no ear, and it never could have been an easy task to him to learn the rhythm of Shakespeare. We know the story of old Shaw, conductor of the Covent Garden orchestra, who vainly endeavoured to teach him the song in the piece ofRichard Cœur de Lion, “O Richard—O mon roi!” “Mr. Kemble, Mr. Kemble, you are murdering the time, Sir!” cried the exasperated musician; on which Kemble made one of the few jokes ever perpetrated by him: “Very well, Sir, and you are for ever beating it.”
After six years’ residence at Douay he made up his mind that he was not suited to the church, and left for England, determined to follow his father’s profession. He landed at Bristol in that very December,1775, that his sister made her unfortunate “first appearance” before the London public. Dreading his parents’ wrath, he made his way to Wolverhampton, and there joined a company under the direction of a Mr. Crump and a Mr. Chamberlain. After going through all the humiliations and privations of a penniless actor, but also after enjoying the valuable hours of study and stern discipline of a stroller’s life, we find the future Hamlet, by the aid of his sister, Mrs. Siddons, enabled to get his foot on the first round of the ladder. Mr. Younger, manager of the Liverpool Theatre, gave him an engagement in 1778. We find him afterwards playing at Wakefield with Tate Wilkinson’s York company, and actually permitted to act Macbeth at Hull. By the aid of quiet industry and determination he was working his way to the goal he had in view. He perpetrated a tragedy,Belisarius, that was given on the same occasion at Hull, wrote poetry which he burnt, gave lectures on oratory, and, in fact, passed through the curriculum necessary to the full completion of his powers.
On the 30th September 1783, John Kemble first appeared in London, at Drury Lane, as Hamlet. The fiery criticisms launched against this performance by the press, show that at least it was distinguished by originality. Whatever its faults might be, they were unanimous in declaring his reading to be scholarly and refined. He is said, in studying the part of Hamlet, to have written it out no less than forty times. Some time elapsed before he appeared in the same piece as his sister; other actors had possession of the parts, and he had to bide his time. That patient waiting on opportunity, however, was one of the great Kemblegifts; there was no impatience, no complaining, but a steady, dogged power of perseverance, with the profound conviction of their own capabilities to make use of fortune when it came. At last he appeared as Stukeley to his sister’s Mrs. Beverley, inThe Gamester. Finely as the part was played, the sister, not the brother, carried away the honours of the performance.
After this, on several benefit nights they were able to appear together, Kemble replacing Smith in the character of Macbeth to Mrs. Siddons’s Lady Macbeth, and both of them acting later inOthello, he as the Moor, she as Desdemona. This was not a distinct success. At last, however, his power found its legitimate development. On the occasion of his sister’s benefit in January 1788, he acted Lear to her Cordelia. The town was electrified, and declared him equal to Garrick. Boaden tells us “that he never played it so grandly or so touchingly as on that night.”
His really great gift was his large and cultivated understanding, that enabled him to grasp the spirit of the author he sought to interpret, giving a new emphasis and truth to scenes that were hackneyed and stale by a conventional method of rendering. This was particularly the case with Shakespeare, whose beauties he and his sister first revealed to their generation. The difference, however, between them was that he possessed superlative talent, she possessed genius. In speaking to Reynolds the dramatist, she defined completely the difference between them, “My brother John, in his most impetuous bursts, is always careful to avoid any discomposure of his dress or deportment, but in the whirlwind of passion I lose all thoughts of such matters.”
He is said to have nourished a tender affection forthe “Muse”—beautiful, clever, fascinating, stuttering Mrs. Inchbald. When her husband died, it was universally said he would marry her. Fanny Kemble tells an incident that occurred long after Kemble was married. Mrs. Inchbald and Miss Mellon were sitting by the fire-place in the green-room, waiting to be called upon the stage. The two were laughingly discussing their male friends and acquaintances from the matrimonial point of view. John Kemble, who was standing near, at length jestingly said to Mrs. Inchbald, who had been comically energetic in her declarations of whom she could or would or never could or would have married, “Well, Mrs. Inchbald, would you have had me?” “Dear heart,” said the stammering beauty, turning her sweet sunny face up to him, “I’d have j-j-j-jumped at you!”
The lady he did eventually marry was no beauty and no “Muse,” but, much to the indignation of Mrs. Siddons, as people said at the time, a very ordinary young woman, daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins, prompter and actress at Drury Lane. Priscilla, however, made him a good wife, and he never had cause to regret his choice.
The next brother to John, Stephen, although almost born on the stage, had none of the requisites either of talent or facility to make him a good actor. Only a few days before John’s first appearance in London, Stephen appeared before the public as Othello. It was said that the manager had made a mistake, and had engaged the “big” instead of the “great” Mr. Kemble. Stephen’s great boast all his life was that he was the only actor who could play Falstaff “without stuffing.” His qualifications were those of a boon companion rather than of an actor. He very soonquitted the London stage and became manager of a provincial theatre.
Frances, the great actress’s second sister, inherited a considerable portion of the family beauty, but little dramatic power, and what she had was rendered inoperative by her unconquerable shyness. Mrs. Siddons first brought her out at Bath. The papers vented their spleen against the elder sister on the younger. It was natural, they said, that she should wish to bring her forward, but they hoped she had learned, by the utter failure of her attempt, not to “cram incapable actresses down the throats of the public.” One of the theatrical critics, Steevens, fell in love with her; but his proposals being rejected, he became her bitterest enemy.
Mrs. Siddons writes to tell Dr. Whalley of this love affair:—“My sister Frances is not married, and, I believe, there is very little reason to suppose she will be soon. In point of circumstances, I believe, the gentleman you mention would be a desirable husband; but I hear so much of his ill-temper, and know so much of his caprice, that, though my sister, I believe, likes him, I cannot wish her gentle spirit linked with his.”
Mrs. Siddons had judged her sister’s suitor exactly. The engagement was soon broken off, and the girl married Mr. Twiss, another dramatic critic, whom Fanny Kemble, in herRecords of a Girlhood, describes as a grim-visaged, gaunt-figured, kind-hearted gentleman and profound scholar, who, it was said, at one time nourished a hopeless passion for Mrs. Siddons. The Twisses later set up a genteel seminary at Bath, where fashionable young ladies were sent “to be bettered.” Mrs. Twiss died in October 1822, and Mr.Twiss in 1827. Mrs. Siddons ever kept up the most affectionate intercourse with them, and their son Horace Twiss was her favourite nephew.
Her next sister, Elizabeth, though apprenticed to a mantua-maker, was soon bitten with the dramatic enthusiasm of the family. She obtained an engagement through the influence of her famous sister, but made no way in London; and after her marriage with Mr. Whitelock, one of the managers of the Chester company, in 1785, she went with him to America, where she seems to have had some success.
Mrs. Whitelock, we are told, was a taller and fairer woman than Mrs. Siddons. When she returned to England years later, she wore an auburn wig, which, like the tall cap that surmounted it, was always on one side. She was a simple-hearted, sweet-tempered woman, but very imperfectly educated. Her Kemble name, face, figure, and voice helped her in the United States, but her own qualifications were but meagre. Nothing could be droller, we are told, than to see her with Mrs. Siddons, of whom she looked like a clumsy, badly-finished imitation. Her vehement gestures and violent objurgations contrasted comically with her sister’s majestic stillness of manner; and when occasionally Mrs. Siddons would interrupt her with “Elizabeth, your wig is on one side,” and the other replied, “Oh, is it?” and, giving the offending head-gear a shove, put it quite as crooked in the other direction, and proceeded with her discourse, Melpomene herself used to have recourse to her snuff-box to hide the dawning smile on her face.
Another sister, Jane, appeared in Lady Randolph at Newcastle when she was nineteen. She had all the Kemble faults in acting carried to excess. She was,besides, short and fat; and when a character in the play, describing her death, said, “She ran, she flew, like lightning up the hill,” the audience roared with laughter. Shortly after this discouraging attempt she married a Mr. Mason, of Edinburgh, and retired from the profession. She died in 1834, leaving a husband, five sons, and a daughter, who almost all went on the stage. With one unfortunate exception, the Kemble family were remarkable for their decorous, well-regulated lives. Although all the brothers married actresses, their children were admirably brought up, and their households models of propriety. The unfortunate exception we mentioned was Ann Curtis, the fourth sister. To a woman of Mrs. Siddons’s proud, sensitive temper, the vagaries of this wretched woman must have been painful beyond expression. She was said to be lame, which prevented her going on the stage. In 1783, the year of her great triumph in London, the young actress had the pleasure of reading in all the papers the following advertisement. Under the guise of charity it is easy to see the motive that prompted it, and shows the envy and malignity that pursued her during her career.
Donations in favour of Mrs. Curtis, youngest Sister of Mrs. Siddons.Aprivateindividual, whose humanity is far more extensive than her means, having taken the case of the unfortunateMrs. Curtisinto consideration, pitying her youth, respecting her talents for the stage, which, unhappily, misfortune has rendered useless, and desirous to restore a useful member to Society, earnestly entreats the interference of a generous public in her behalf, that she may be enabled by the efforts of humanity to procure such necessaries as may be requisite to relieve her immediate distress, and for her getting her bread by needlework, artificial flowers, &c., in which she is well skilled, and in which she will be happy to be well employed. Mrs. Curtis is the youngest sister ofMessrs. KembleandMrs. Siddons, whom she hasrepeatedly solicited for relief, which they have flatly refused her; it therefore becomes necessary to solicit, in her behalf, the benevolent generosity of that public who have so liberally supportedthem.Deny not to Affliction Pity’s tear,For Virtue’s fairest when she aids Distress!Mrs. Curtis’sSearch After Happiness.Donations will be thankfully received at Mr. Ayre’s, Printer of the SundayLondon GazetteandWeekly Monitor, &c., No. 5 Bridges Street, opposite Drury Lane Theatre; and at No. 21 King Street, Covent Garden.
Donations in favour of Mrs. Curtis, youngest Sister of Mrs. Siddons.
Aprivateindividual, whose humanity is far more extensive than her means, having taken the case of the unfortunateMrs. Curtisinto consideration, pitying her youth, respecting her talents for the stage, which, unhappily, misfortune has rendered useless, and desirous to restore a useful member to Society, earnestly entreats the interference of a generous public in her behalf, that she may be enabled by the efforts of humanity to procure such necessaries as may be requisite to relieve her immediate distress, and for her getting her bread by needlework, artificial flowers, &c., in which she is well skilled, and in which she will be happy to be well employed. Mrs. Curtis is the youngest sister ofMessrs. KembleandMrs. Siddons, whom she hasrepeatedly solicited for relief, which they have flatly refused her; it therefore becomes necessary to solicit, in her behalf, the benevolent generosity of that public who have so liberally supportedthem.
Deny not to Affliction Pity’s tear,For Virtue’s fairest when she aids Distress!Mrs. Curtis’sSearch After Happiness.
Deny not to Affliction Pity’s tear,For Virtue’s fairest when she aids Distress!Mrs. Curtis’sSearch After Happiness.
Deny not to Affliction Pity’s tear,For Virtue’s fairest when she aids Distress!Mrs. Curtis’sSearch After Happiness.
Deny not to Affliction Pity’s tear,
For Virtue’s fairest when she aids Distress!
Mrs. Curtis’sSearch After Happiness.
Donations will be thankfully received at Mr. Ayre’s, Printer of the SundayLondon GazetteandWeekly Monitor, &c., No. 5 Bridges Street, opposite Drury Lane Theatre; and at No. 21 King Street, Covent Garden.
All efforts to reclaim her being unavailing, she gradually descended lower and lower in the social scale. Rumours were circulated of her having attempted to poison herself, and again her brother and sister were accused of undue harshness; but almost everything connected with the case points to their having done all they could, though she proved perfectly irreclaimable.
During the latter part of her life she was allowed a small annuity of twenty pounds a year, which was continued to her in Mrs. Siddons’s will. She lived until 1838.
Charles, who approached more nearly in intellectual powers to his celebrated sister and brother than any of the others, was nearly twenty years younger than Mrs. Siddons. When thirteen years of age, he was sent by John Kemble to Douay College, where he remained three years. He appeared at Drury Lane in 1794. He was a gentlemanly, refined actor; there were certain characters which he made entirely his own. Charles married, in 1806, an actress of the name of De Camp. Like Mrs. Garrick, she had been a ballet-dancer, and had come over from Vienna, brought by Garrick with the rest of the troupe. In consequence of a riot directed against the employment of foreigners, the greater part of the troupe was obliged to return toVienna. Miss De Camp, however, remained, learnt English, and, by dint of perseverance, achieved a good position at Drury Lane. They had three children—Adelaide, who sang professionally, but soon left the stage to marry Mr. Sartoris; Fanny, authoress of theRecord of a Girlhood, who became Mrs. Butler; and a son, John Mitchell Kemble. Charles Kemble suffered much from deafness during the latter years of his life, and was entirely ruined by his gift of the share in Covent Garden valued at £50,000. Mrs. Siddons reappeared for his benefit on the 9th June 1819.
Mrs. Siddons had five children who lived to grow up—Henry, who was born at Wolverhampton on the 4th October 1774; Sarah Martha, born at Gloucester, November 5th, 1775; Maria, born at Bath, July 1st, 1779; George, born in London, December 27th, 1785; and Cecilia, born July 25th, 1794. She sent her son Henry to France to study under Le Kain. He went on the stage, but had none of the qualifications of a good actor.
Mrs. Siddons, with her usual sensible acceptance of things as they were, tried to make the best of his powers. On the occasion of his first appearance, she writes to Mrs. Inchbald from Bannister’s, where she was stopping with her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh:—
“I received your kind letter, and thank you very much for the interest you have taken in my dear Harry’s success. It gives me great pleasure to find that Mr. Harris appreciates his talents, which I think highly of, and which, I believe, will grow to great perfection by fostering, on the one hand, and care and industry on the other. I have little doubt of Mr. Harris’s liberality, and none of the laudable ambition of my son to obtain it. It is so long since I have felt anythinglike joy, that it appears like a dream to me, and I believe I shall not be able quite to convince myself that this is real till I am present ‘to attend the triumph and partake the gale.’ I am all anxiety and impatience to hear the effect of Hamlet. It is a tremendous undertaking for so young a creature, and where so perfect a model has been so long contemplated. I was frightened when I yesterday received information of it. Oh! I hope to God he will get well through it. Adieu, dear Muse.”
Henry Siddons soon quitted the stage, married a Miss Murray, daughter of an actor, and herself an actress, and in 1808 became manager of the Edinburgh Theatre.
The death of her daughter Maria was the first serious grief Mrs. Siddons had known. We have touched on Lawrence the painter’s proposal to her, and the transference of his affection, after a short engagement, to her sister Sarah. Mrs. Siddons did everything she could to soften the blow to the poor deserted girl. We find her writing in desperation to her old friend Tate Wilkinson:—
“My plans for the summer are so arranged that I have no chance of the pleasure of seeing you. The illness of my second daughter has deranged all schemes of pleasure as well as profit. I thank God she is better; but the nature of her constitution is such that it will be long ere we can reasonably banish the fear of an approaching consumption. It is dreadful to see an innocent, lovely young creature daily sinking under the languor of illness, which may terminate in death at last, in spite of the most vigilant tenderness. A parent’s misery under this distress you can more easily imagine than I can describe; but ifyou are the man I take you for, you will not refuse me a favour. It would,indeed, be a great comfort to us all, if you would allow our dear Patty to come to us on our return to town in the autumn, to stay with us a few months. I am sure it would do my poor Maria so much good, for the physician tells me she will require the same confinement and the same care the next winter; and let it not offend the pride of my good friend when I beg it to be understood that I wish to defray the expense of her journey. Do, dear soul, grant my request. Give my kind compliments to your family, my love to my own dear Patty, and accept yourself the best and most cordial wishes of“S. Siddons.”
“My plans for the summer are so arranged that I have no chance of the pleasure of seeing you. The illness of my second daughter has deranged all schemes of pleasure as well as profit. I thank God she is better; but the nature of her constitution is such that it will be long ere we can reasonably banish the fear of an approaching consumption. It is dreadful to see an innocent, lovely young creature daily sinking under the languor of illness, which may terminate in death at last, in spite of the most vigilant tenderness. A parent’s misery under this distress you can more easily imagine than I can describe; but ifyou are the man I take you for, you will not refuse me a favour. It would,indeed, be a great comfort to us all, if you would allow our dear Patty to come to us on our return to town in the autumn, to stay with us a few months. I am sure it would do my poor Maria so much good, for the physician tells me she will require the same confinement and the same care the next winter; and let it not offend the pride of my good friend when I beg it to be understood that I wish to defray the expense of her journey. Do, dear soul, grant my request. Give my kind compliments to your family, my love to my own dear Patty, and accept yourself the best and most cordial wishes of
“S. Siddons.”
From this time until Mrs. Siddons’s death, Patty Wilkinson never left her house, and remained ever the intimate and beloved friend of her and her daughters.
Maria was taken to Clifton at the doctor’s suggestion, while Mrs. Siddons went a provincial tour to make money enough to meet the heavy demands upon her purse. At last even the poor mother saw all efforts were unavailing, and when, on the 6th October 1798, the blow at last came, she met it with resignation and courage. To Mrs. Fitzhugh she wrote:—
“Although my mind is not yet sufficiently tranquillised to talk much, yet the conviction of your undeviating affection impels me to quiet your anxiety so far as to tell you that I am tolerably well. This sad event I have been long prepared for, and bow with humble resignation to the decree of that merciful God who has taken to Himself the dear angel I must ever tenderly lament. I dare not trust myself further. Oh! that you were here, that I might talk to you ofher death-bed—in dignity of mind and pious resignation far surpassing the imagination of Rousseau and Richardson in their Heloïse and Clarissa Harlowe; for hers was, I believe, from the immediate inspiration of the Divinity.”
Troubles now began to fall thick and heavy. Mr. Siddons, actuated by a morbid jealousy of his wife’s energy and success, entered into a connection with Sadler’s Wells Theatre without consulting her, or even taking her into his confidence. A considerable amount of her savings were sacrificed to save him from his ill-advised venture. In spite of ill-health and lassitude, however, we find her unmurmuringly taking up her burden to make good the loss. On the 14th of July 1801 she writes again to Mrs. Fitzhugh:—
“In about a fortnight I expect to commence my journey to Bath. Mr. Siddons is there, for he finds no relief from his rheumatism elsewhere. His accounts of himself are less favourable than those of anyone who writes to me about him; but I hope and trust that we shall find him better than he himself thinks; for I know by sad experience with what difficulty a mind, weakened by long and uninterrupted suffering, admits hope, much less assurance. I shall be here till next Saturday, and after that time at Lancaster till Tuesday, the 28th; thence I shall go immediately to Bath, where I shall have about a month’s quiet, and then begin to play at Bristol for a few nights. ‘Such resting finds the sole of unblest feet!’Whenwe shall come to London is uncertain, for nothing is settled by Mr. Sheridan, and I think it not impossible thatmywinter may be spent in Dublin; for I must go onmakingto secure the few comforts that I have been able to attain for myself and my family. It is providentialfor us all that I can do so much; but I hope it is not wrong to say that I am tired, and should be glad to be at rest indeed. I hope yet to see the day when I can be quiet. My mouth is not yet well [she had had an attack of erysipelas, the disease that was ultimately to kill her], though somewhat less exquisitely painful. I have become a frightful object with it for some time, and, I believe, this complaint has robbed me of those poor remains of beauty once admired—at least, which, in your partial eyes, I once possessed.”
She did not go to Dublin, but returned early in the following year to Drury Lane, where she performed above forty times.
On the 25th March 1802 she performed for the first time Hermione in theWinter’s Tale. The enacting of this part is to be counted amongst her great successes. It was more suitable to her age and appearance than others that she undertook in later life. On the second or third night she had a narrow escape of being burned to death. We can give the incident as related in a letter to Mrs. Fitzhugh:—
“London, April 1802.“... Except for a day or two, the weather has been very favourable to me hitherto. I trust it may continue so, for theWinter’s Talepromises to be very attractive; and, whilst it continues so, I am bound in honour and conscience to put my shoulder to the wheel, for it has been attended with great expense to the managers, and, if I can keep warm, I trust I shall continue tolerably well. As to my plans, they are, as usual, all uncertain, and I am precisely in the situation of poor Lady Percy, to whom Hotspur comically says:‘I trust thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.’ This must continue to be the case, in a great measure, whilst I continue to be the servant of the public, for whom (and let it not be thought vain) I can never sufficiently exert myself. I really think they receive me every night with greater and greater testimonies of approbation. I know it will give you pleasure to hear this, my dear Friend, and you will not suspect me of deceiving myself in this particular. The other night had very nearly terminatedallmy exertion, for whilst I was standing for the statue in theWinter’s Tale, my drapery flew over the lamps that were placed behind the pedestal. It caught fire, and had it not been for one of the scene-men, who most humanely crept on his knees and extinguished it without my knowing anything of the matter, I might have been burnt to death, or, at all events, I should have been frightened out of my senses. Surrounded as I was with muslin, the flame would have run like wildfire. The bottom of the train was entirely burned. But for the man’s promptitude, it would seem as if my fate would have been inevitable. I have well rewarded the good man, and I regard my deliverance as a most gracious interposition of Providence. There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. Here I am safe and well, God be praised! and may His goodness make me profit, as I ought, by the time that is vouchsafed me.”
“London, April 1802.
“... Except for a day or two, the weather has been very favourable to me hitherto. I trust it may continue so, for theWinter’s Talepromises to be very attractive; and, whilst it continues so, I am bound in honour and conscience to put my shoulder to the wheel, for it has been attended with great expense to the managers, and, if I can keep warm, I trust I shall continue tolerably well. As to my plans, they are, as usual, all uncertain, and I am precisely in the situation of poor Lady Percy, to whom Hotspur comically says:‘I trust thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.’ This must continue to be the case, in a great measure, whilst I continue to be the servant of the public, for whom (and let it not be thought vain) I can never sufficiently exert myself. I really think they receive me every night with greater and greater testimonies of approbation. I know it will give you pleasure to hear this, my dear Friend, and you will not suspect me of deceiving myself in this particular. The other night had very nearly terminatedallmy exertion, for whilst I was standing for the statue in theWinter’s Tale, my drapery flew over the lamps that were placed behind the pedestal. It caught fire, and had it not been for one of the scene-men, who most humanely crept on his knees and extinguished it without my knowing anything of the matter, I might have been burnt to death, or, at all events, I should have been frightened out of my senses. Surrounded as I was with muslin, the flame would have run like wildfire. The bottom of the train was entirely burned. But for the man’s promptitude, it would seem as if my fate would have been inevitable. I have well rewarded the good man, and I regard my deliverance as a most gracious interposition of Providence. There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. Here I am safe and well, God be praised! and may His goodness make me profit, as I ought, by the time that is vouchsafed me.”
We later find her making every exertion to rescue the son of the man who had saved her, from punishment for desertion.
“I have written myself almost blind for the last three days, worrying everybody to get a poor youngman, who otherwise bears a most excellent character, saved from the disgrace and hideous torture of the lash, to which he has exposed himself. I hope to God I shall succeed. He is the son of the man—by me ever to be blest—who preserved me from being burned to death in theWinter’s Tale. The business has cost me a great deal of time, but if I attain my purpose I shall be richly paid. It is twelve o’clock at night; I am tired very much. To-morrow is my last appearance. In a few days I shall go to see my dear girl, Cecilia. How I long to see the darling! Oh! how you would have enjoyed myentréein Constance last night. I was received really as if it had been my first appearance in the season. I have gone about to breakfasts and dinners for this unfortunate young man, till I am quite worn out with them. You know how pleasure, as it is called, fatigues.”