completed the whole, which really had a very classical effect, the fine material of which my dress was formed falling with every movement into soft, graceful folds.

I managed to keep a good heart until I heard the flourish of drums and trumpets, in the midst of which I had to rush on the stage, and certainly when I did come on my appearance must have been curiously in contrast with the “prave ’ords” I uttered, for I felt like nothing but a hunted hare, with my eyes starting from my head, my “nostrils all wide,” and my limbs trembling to such a degree that I could scarcely stand.  The audience received me very kindly, however, and after a little while I recovered my breath and self-possession, and got on very comfortably, considering that, what with nervousness and the short time they had had to study them in, none of the actors were perfect in their parts.  My father acted Evander, which added, no doubt, to the interest of the situation.  The play went off admirably, and I dare say it will be of some service to me, but I fear it is too dull and poor in itself, despite all that can be done for it, to be of much use to the theater.  One of my great difficulties in the play was to produce some striking effect after stabbing Dionysius, which was a point in which my aunt always achieved a great triumph.  She used to fall on her knees as if deprecating the wrath of heaven for what she had done, and her mode of performing this was described to me.  But, independently of my anxiety to avoid any imitation that might induce a comparison that could not but be fatally to my disadvantage, I did not (to you I may venture to confess it) feel the situation in the same manner.  Euphrasia had just preserved her father’s life by a deed which, in her own estimation and that of her whole nation, entitled her to an immortal dwelling in the Elysian fields.  The only feeling, therefore, that I can conceive as checking for a moment her exultation would be the natural womanly horror at the sight of blood and physical suffering, the expression of which seems to me not only natural to her, as of the “feminine gender,” but not altogether superfluous to reconcile an English audience to so unfeminine a proceeding as stabbing a man.  To conciliate all this I adopted the course of immediately dropping the arm that held the dagger, and with the other veiling my eyes with the drapery of my dress, which answered better my own idea of the situation, and seemed to produce a great effect.  My dearest H——­, this is a long detail, but I think it will interest you and perhaps amuse your niece; if, however, it wearies your spirits, tell me so, and another time I will not confine my communications so much to my own little-corner of life.

Cecilia dined with us on Sunday, but was very far from well.  I have not seen my aunt Siddons since Sir Thomas Lawrence’s death.  I almost dread doing so:  she must have felt so much on hearing it; he was for many years