the flower from her bosom, besides the fortune).  I used to pause upon the last words, endeavoring to convey, if one look and tone might do it, all the regretful gratitude which ought to have filled her heart, while uttering with her farewell that first, last, and only recognition of his infinite devotion to her.  One evening, when the audience were perfectly silent and one might have “heard a pin drop,” as the saying is, as I spoke these words, a loud and enthusiastic exclamation of, “Beautiful!” uttered by a single voice resounded through the theater, and was followed by such a burst of applause that I was startled and almost for a moment frightened by the sudden explosion of feeling, for which I was quite unprepared, and which I have never forgotten.

Another night, as I was leaving the stage, after the play, I met behind the scenes my dear friend Mr. Harness, with old Mr. Sotheby; both were very kind in their commendation of my performance, but the latter kept repeating with much emphasis, “But how do you contrive to make yourself look so beautiful?” a rather equivocal compliment, which had a peculiar significance; my beauty, or rather my lack of it, being a sore subject between us, as I had made it the reason for refusing to act Mary Stuart in his play of “Darnley,” assuring him I was too ugly to look the part properly; so upon this accusation of making myself “look beautiful,” I could only reply, with much laughing, “Good-looking enough for Camiola, but not for Queen Mary.”

I received with great pleasure a congratulatory letter from Mrs. Jameson, which, in spite of my feeling her praise excessive, confirmed me in my opinion of the effect the piece ought to produce upon intelligent spectators.  She had seen all the great dramatic performers of the Continental theaters, and had had many opportunities, both at home and abroad, of cultivating her taste and forming her judgment, and her opinion was, therefore, more valuable to me than much of the criticism and praise that I received.

                                    GREAT RUSSELL STREET, March, 1831. 
     DEAR MRS. JAMESON,

My mother is confined to her bed with a bad cold, or she would have answered your note herself; but, being disabled, she has commissioned me to do so, and desires me to say that both my father and herself object to my going anywhere without some member of my family as chaperon; and as this is a general rule, the infringement of it in a particular instance, however much I might wish it, would be better avoided, for fear of giving offense where I should be glad to plead the prohibition.  She bids me add that she fears she cannot go out to-morrow, but that some day soon, at an early hour, she hopes to be able to accompany us both to the British Gallery.  Will you come to us on Sunday evening?  You see what is hanging over me for Thursday next; shall you go to see me?

Yours affectionately,
F. A. K.