ort, rocking
herself piteously to and fro, and, with the tears streaming down her
cheeks, uttering between sobs and sips, in utter self-abasement, her
_peccavi_ in the form of oaths and imprecations of the finest
Billingsgate vernacular (all, however, addressed to herself), that would
have made a dragoon shake in his shoes. The original form of which _mea
culpa_ seized the worthy manager with such an irresistibly ludicrous
effect that he left the poor, guilty authoress without being able to
address a syllable to her, lest he should explode in peals of laughter
instead of decent words of condolence.

To accompany an author or authoress (I should think especially the
latter) on the first night of the representation of their piece is by no
means a pleasant act of duty or friendship. I remember my mother, whose
own nervous temperament certainly was extremely ill adapted for such an
undertaking, describing the intolerable distress she had experienced on
the occasion of the first representation of a piece called, I think,
"Father and Son," taken from a collection of interesting stories
entitled "The Canterbury Tales," and adapted to the stage by one of the
Misses Lee, the sister authoresses of the Tales. The piece was very
fairly successful, but my mother said that though, according to her very
considerable experience, the actors were by no means more imperfect in
their parts than usual on a first night, her nervous anxiety was kept
almost at fever height by poor Miss Lee's incessant running commentary
of "Ah! very pretty, no doubt--very fine, I dare say--_only I never
wrote a word of it_!"

Lord Byron took the same story for the subject of his powerful play of
"Werner," in which Mr. Macready acted so finely, and with such great
success.

I cannot imagine what possessed me in an unguarded hour to consent, as I
did, to go with my friends, Messrs. Tom Taylor and Charles Reade, to see
the first representation of a play of theirs called, I think, "The
King's Wager," in which Charles the Second, Nell Gwynn, and the Plague
were prominent characters. Accidental circumstances prevented one of the
gentlemen from coming with me, and I have often since wondered at my
temerity in having placed myself in such a trying situation.

GREAT RUSSELL STREET, October 24, 1830.
DEAR H----,

I have been too busy to answer your last sooner, but this hour
before bedtime, the first quiet one for some