ng "Amen--amen," I, too,
hurried up the stairs to face the awful first appearance before a New
York audience.

I had always been rehearsed to enter with the crowd of guests. The cue
came, and as I stepped forward, a strong hand caught my arm. Mr. Daly had
suddenly changed his mind, he held me fast till all were on, then let me
go, whispering, "Now--now," and I went on alone.

I had to retire to the back of the stage and wait a few moments till
spoken to. Never shall I forget the sort of horror the closeness of the
audience caused me, I felt I should step upon the upturned faces; I
wanted to put out my hands and push the people back, and their use of
opera-glasses filled my eyes with angry tears. Suddenly I understood the
meaning of the lightly painted faces. I raised my handkerchief and wiped
some of the red from my cheeks, while somewhat bitterly, I am afraid, I
thought that "love ye one another" and "thy neighbor as thyself" had been
relegated to the garret with "God bless our home."

Then the astonishing beauty of the women on the stage struck me with
dismay; their exquisite lacy dresses, their jewel-loaded fingers. Oh! I
thought, how can I ever hope to stand with them. I grew sick and cold.
Then there dully reached my ears the words of _Lady Lundy_: "I
choose--Anne Sylvester." It was my cue. I came slowly down; no one knew
me, no one greeted me. I opened my lips, but no sound came. I saw a
frightened look on Miss Newton's face; I tried again, and in a husky
whisper, answered: "Thank you; I'd rather not play."

Out in front one actor friend, John W. Norton, watched and prayed for a
success for me; when he heard the hoarse murmur, he dropped his head and
groaned: "A failure--total and complete!" But I also had noted that
hoarse croak, and it had acted like a mighty spur. I was made desperate
by it. I threw up my head, and answered my next cue with: "No, Lady
Lundy, nothing is the matter; I am not very well, but I will play if you
wish it."

I gave the words so bell-clear and with so much insolent humility that a
round of applause of lightning quickness followed them. It was the first
bit of genuine hearty kindness I had received in the city of New York. In
my pleasure I forgot the character of _Anne_ completely, and turned to
the audience a face every feature of which, from wide, surprised eyes to
more widely-smiling lips, radiated such satisfaction and good-fellowship
that they first laughed aloud and then a sec