my good host and hostess of the Albion, they really look after me
in the most devoted and affectionate manner, so that I am quite of my
poor maid's opinion, that this is a paradise of peace and comfort
compared with Mrs. ----'s lodging-house.

My dressing-room at the theatre is wretched in point of size and
situation, being not much larger than this sheet of paper, and up a sort
of steep ladder staircase: in other respects, it is tidy enough, and
infinitely better than the dark barrack-room you remember me dressing in
when I was in Manchester years ago, when I was a girl--alas! I don't
mean a pun! It is not the same theatre, but a new one, built by the Mr.
Knowles who engaged me to act here, and one of the prettiest, brightest,
and most elegant playhouses I ever saw; admirable for the voice, and of
a most judicious size and shape. Unfortunately, a large hotel has been
built immediately adjoining it (I suspect by the same person, who is a
great speculator, and apt, I should think, to have many, if not too
many, irons in the fire), and the space that should have been
appropriated to the accommodation of the actors, behind the scenes in
the theatre, has been sacrificed to the adjoining building, which is a
pity.

If I were to tell you the names of the people who act with me, you would
be none the wiser. The company is a very fair one indeed, and might be
an excellent one, if they were not all too great geniuses either to
learn or to rehearse their parts. The French do not put the flimsiest
vaudeville upon the stage without rehearsing it for _three months_;
here, however, and everywhere else in England, people play such parts as
Macbeth with no more than three rehearsals; and I am going to act this
evening in the "Honeymoon," with a gentleman who, filling the principal
part in the piece, has not thought fit to attend at the rehearsal; so
that though I was there, I may say in fact that I have had no rehearsal
of it,--which is businesslike and pleasant.

Oh, my dear Hal, I strive to judge of my position as reasonably as I
can! I do hope that in spite of the loss of youth, of person, and
feeling (which latter communicates itself even to acting), I may be able
to fill some parts better than I did formerly. I have no longer any
nervousness to contend with--only a sense of the duty I owe to my
employers and spectators, to take the utmost pains, and do my work as
well as I possibly can for them.

My physical power of voice an