h from his office upon these night wanderings
to "cool" a boiling head. "I went the other night" (8th of October) "to
see the _Streets of London_ at the Princess's. A piece that is really
drawing all the town, and filling the house with nightly overflows. It
is the most depressing instance, without exception, of an utterly
degraded and debased theatrical taste that has ever come under my
writhing notice. For not only do the audiences--of all classes--go, but
they are unquestionably delighted. At Astley's there has been much
puffing at great cost of a certain Miss Ada Isaacs Menkin, who is to be
seen bound on the horse in _Mazeppa_ 'ascending the fearful precipices
not as hitherto done by a dummy.' Last night, having a boiling head, I
went out from here to cool myself on Waterloo Bridge, and I thought I
would go and see this heroine. Applied at the box-door for a stall.
'None left sir.' For a box-ticket. 'Only standing-room sir.' Then the
man (busy in counting great heaps of veritable checks) recognizes me and
says--'Mr. Smith will be very much concerned when he hears that you went
away sir'--'Never mind; I'll come again.' 'You never go behind I think
sir, or--?' 'No thank you, I never go behind.' 'Mr. Smith's box, sir--'
'No thank you, I'll come again.' Now who do you think the lady is? If
you don't already know, ask that question of the highest Irish mountains
that look eternal, and they'll never tell you--_Mrs. Heenan!_" This
lady, who turned out to be one of Dickens's greatest admirers, addressed
him at great length on hearing of this occurrence, and afterwards
dedicated a volume of poems to him! There was a pleasanter close to his
letter. "Contrariwise I assisted another night at the Adelphi (where I
couldn't, with careful calculation, get the house up to Nine Pounds),
and saw quite an admirable performance of Mr. Toole and Mrs.
Mellon--she, an old servant, wonderfully like Anne--he, showing a power
of passion very unusual indeed in a comic actor, as such things go, and
of a quite remarkable kind."

[255] Writing to me three months before, he spoke of the death of one
whom he had known from his boyhood (_ante_, i. 47-8) and with whom he
had fought unsuccessfully for some years against the management of the
Literary Fund. "Poor Dilke! I am very sorry that the capital old
stout-hearted man is dead." Sorrow may also be expressed that no
adequate record should remain of a career which for steadfast purpose,
conscientiou