after the play was over.  I didn’t seem to know a word of my part yesterday at the dress-rehearsal, but to-night I was as firm as if I had played it a hundred times.

April 16.—­The critics who wrote their notices at the dress-rehearsal, and complained of my playing pranks with the text, were a little previous.  Oh, how bad it makes one feel to find that they all think my Volumnia “sweet,” and I thought I was fierce, contemptuous, overbearing.  Worse, I felt as if I must be appearing like a cabman rating his Drury Lane wife!

     April 20.—­Beginning to play Volumnia a little better.

June 25.—­Revival of “Charles I.”  The play went marvelously.  I played first and last acts well.  H. was magnificent.  Ted saw play yesterday and says I don’t “do Mrs. Siddons well.”  I know what he means.  The last act too declamatory.

     June 26.—­Changed the “Mrs. Siddons” scene, and like it much
     better.  Simpler—­more nature—­more feeling.

     July 16.—­Horrible suicide of Edith and Ida Yeoland.  The poor
     girls were out of an engagement.  Unequal to the fight for life.

     July 20.—­Last day of Lyceum season—­“Coriolanus.”

(On that night, I remember, H.I. for the first time played Coriolanus beautifully.  He discarded the disfiguring beard of the warrior that he had worn during the “run” earlier in the season—­and now that one could see his face, all was well.  When people speak of the evils of long runs, I should like to answer with a list of their advantages.  An actor, even an actor of Henry Irving’s caliber, hardly begins to play an immense part like Coriolanus for what it is worth until he has been doing it for fifty nights.)

     November 16.—­“New York.  Saw delightful Maude Adams in ’Quality
     Street’—­charming play.  She is most clever and attractive.
     Unusual above everything.  Queer, sweet, entirely delightful.”

From these extracts, I hope it will be seen that by burning most of my diaries I did not inflict an unbearable loss upon present readers, or posterity!

I am afraid that I think as little of the future as I do of the past.  The present for me!

If my impressions of my friends are scanty, let me say in my defense that actors and actresses necessarily see many people, but know very few.

If there has been more in this book about my life in the theater than about my life outside it, the proportion is inevitable and natural.  The maxim is well-worn that art is long and life is short, and there is no art, I think, which is longer than mine!  At least, it always seems to me that no life can be long enough to meet its requirements.

If I have not revealed myself to you, or succeeded in giving a faithful picture of an actor’s life, perhaps I have shown what years of practice and labor are needed for the attainment of a permanent position on the stage.  To quote Mrs. Nancy Oldfield:—­