and cleverness, we always looked nice and neat.  One of the few early dissipations I can remember was a Christmas party in Half Moon Street, where our white muslin dresses were equal to any present.  But more love and toil and pride than money had gone to make them.  I have a very clear vision of coming home late from the theater to our home in Stanhope Street, Regent’s Park, and seeing my dear mother stitching at those pretty frocks by the light of one candle.  It was no uncommon thing to find her sewing at that time, but if she was tired, she never showed it.  She was always bright and tender.  With the callousness of childhood, I scarcely realized the devotion and ceaseless care that she bestowed on us, and her untiring efforts to bring us up as beautifully as she could.  The knowledge came to me later on when, all too early in my life, my own responsibilities came on me and quickened my perceptions.  But I was a heartless little thing when I danced off to that party!  I remember that when the great evening came, our hair, which we still wore down our backs, was done to perfection, and we really looked fit to dance with a king.  As things were, I did dance with the late Duke of Cambridge!  It was the most exciting Christmas Day in my life.

[Footnote 1:  Of course, all salaries are bigger now than they were then.  The “stars” in old days earned large sums—­Edmund Kean received two hundred and fifty pounds for four performances—­but the ordinary members of a company were paid at a very moderate rate.  I received fifteen shillings a week at the Princess’s until I played Puck, when my salary was doubled.—­E.T.]

Our summer holidays, as I have said, were spent at Ryde.  We stayed at Rose Cottage (for which I sought in vain when I revisited the place the other day), and the change was pleasant, even though we were working hard.  One of the pieces father gave at the theater to amuse the summer visitors was a farce called “To Parents and Guardians.”  I played the fat, naughty boy Waddilove, a part which had been associated with the comedian Robson in London, and I remember that I made the unsophisticated audience shout with laughter by entering with my hands covered with jam!  Father was capital as the French usher Tourbillon; and the whole thing went splendidly.  Looking back, it seems rather audacious for such a child to have attempted a grown-up comedian’s part, but it was excellent practice for that child!  It was the success of these little summer ventures at Ryde which made my father think of our touring in “A Drawing-room Entertainment” when the Keans left the Princess’s.

The entertainment consisted of two little plays “Home for the Holidays” and “Distant Relations,” and they were written, I think, by a Mr. Courtney.  We were engaged to do it first at the Royal Colosseum, Regent’s Park, by Sir Charles Wyndham’s father, Mr. Culverwell.  Kate and I played all the parts in each piece, and we did quick changes at the side worthy of Fregoli!  The whole thing was quite a success, and after playing it at the Colosseum we started on a round of visits.