I was perfectly miserable
when the curtain fell, and the poor young author, as pale as a ghost,
came forward to meet my father at the side scene, and bravely holding
out his hand to him said, "Never mind for me, Mr. Kemble; I'll do better
another time." And so indeed he did; for he wrote a charming play on the
old pathetic story of "Griselda," in which that graceful actress Miss
Jarman played his heroine, and my father the hero, and which had an
entire and well-deserved success. I am obliged to confess that I retain
no recollection whatever of the ill-fated play of "The Jew of Aragon,"
or my own part in it, save the last _scene_ alone; this, I recollect,
was a magnificent Jewish place of worship, in which my father, who was
the high priest, appeared in vestments such as I believe the Jewish
priests still wear in their solemn ceremonies, and which were so closely
copied from the description of Aaron's sacred pontifical robes that I
felt a sense of impropriety in such a representation (purely historical,
as it was probably considered, and in no way differing from the costume
accepted on the French stage in Racine's Jewish plays). And I think it
extremely likely that the failure of the piece, which had been imminent
all through, found its climax in the unfavorable impression made upon
the audience by this very scene, in spite of my father's noble and
picturesque appearance.

I never heard hisses on the stage before or since; and though I was very
well aware that on this occasion they were addressed neither to me nor
to my performance, I think if they had been the whistling of bullets
(which I have also heard nearer than was pleasant) I could not have felt
more frightened and furious.

Young Wade's self-control and composure during the catastrophe of this
play reminds me, by contrast, of a most ludicrous story my father used
to tell of some unfortunate authoress, who, in an evil hour for herself
and some friendly provincial manager, persuaded him to bring out an
original drama of hers.

The audience (not a very discriminating or numerous one) were
sufficiently appreciative to object extremely to the play, and large
enough to make their objections noisily apparent.

The manager, in his own distress not unmindful of his poor friend, the
authoress, sought her out to console her, and found her seated at the
side scene with a glass of stiff brandy and water that some
commiserating friend had administered to her for her supp