While my Lady Derby was still new to her dignities, Eliza O’Neill was beginning to prattle in the most charming brogue ever heard across the Irish Channel, and to grow through beautiful childhood to witching girlhood.  The daughter of a strolling actor who led his company of buskers through every county in Ireland from Cork to Donegal, the love of things theatrical was in her veins; and while she was still playing with her dolls she was impersonating the Duke of York to her father’s Richard III.  Everywhere the little witch, with the merry dancing eyes, won hearts and applause by her sprightly acting, until even so excellent a judge of histrionic art as John Kemble sought to carry her away to London and to a wider sphere of activity.

From Dublin, he wrote to Harris, manager of Covent Garden Theatre: 

“There is a very pretty Irish girl here, with a touch of the brogue on her tongue; she has much talent and some genius.  With a little expense and some trouble we might make her an object for John Bull’s admiration in the juvenile tragedy.  I have sounded the fair lady on the subject of a London engagement.  She proposes to append a very long family, to which I have given a decided negative.  If she accepts the offered terms I shall sign, seal and ship herself and clan off from Cork direct.  She is very pretty, and so, in fact, is her brogue, which, by the way, she only uses in conversation.  She totally forgets it when with Shakespeare and other illustrious companions.”

And thus it was that John O’Neill’s daughter carried her charms and gifts to London town in the autumn of 1812, when she justified Kemble’s discernment by one of the most brilliant series of impersonations, ranging from Juliet to Belvidera, that had been seen up to that time on the English stage.  For seven years she shone a very bright star in the firmament of the drama, winning as much popularity off as on the stage, before she consented to yield her hand to one of the many suitors who sought it—­Mr William Wrixon Becher, a Member of Parliament of some distinction.  Eliza O’Neill lived to be addressed as “my Lady,” and to see her eldest son a Baronet, and her second boy wedded to a daughter of the second Earl of Listowel.

Five years before Miss O’Neill’s Juliet came to captivate London, another idol of the stage was led to the altar by William, first Earl of Craven.  Louisa Brunton, for that was the name of Craven’s Countess, was cradled, like her successor, on the stage; for her father was well known at every town on the Norwich Circuit as manager of a popular company of actors, as devoted to his family of eight children as to his art.  When Louisa made her entry into the world she was the sixth of the clamorous flock who roamed the country in the wake of their strolling father; and it would have been odd indeed if she had not acquired a love of the theatre to stimulate the acting strain in her blood.