well as it was in me to do it, often helped, and from it, never
hindered me.]

29, KING STREET, Saturday, February 19th.

_Imprimis_, will you and Dorothy fasten your dinner-napkins with these
things, or rings, which I have made for you? for my imagination is sick
with the memory of those bits of strings you use. I have made these too
short, and so have been obliged to put strings to them, having
originally intended them to be complete rounds; but my needle
performances are always ill-managed and untidy, and as such I commend
these to your indulgent acceptance. I wrought at them those bitter
evenings that I spent in those barns of theatres in Norfolk, where the
occupation contributed to entertain the warmth of my heart, which was
all the heat I had to keep me alive....

I must tell you rather a droll observation of the worthy Hayes. When I
explained to her that I had made those worsted bands to fasten your
dinner-napkins, for which you had nothing but strings, she said, "Dear
me! I wonder at that! And Miss S---- seemed so fond of clever, curious
contrivances, for everything." I screamed with delight when she said
that, for hadn't I cursed that "curious contrivance" of an inkstand you
gave me (Dorothy cursed hers too, no doubt, after her own blessed
fashion)? and didn't I curse that execrable "curious contrivance" of a
taper you gave me at St. Leonard's, with which I was so enchanted
_before I used it_, and which wasted me by its own small fire every time
I did use it, and for the final burning out of which I was so thankful?
But are not Hayes's comments on your character comical?

I am sorry to say I have not the same dressing-room I had before at the
Princess's Theatre. Mr. Macready is quite too great a man to give it up
to anybody, and my attiring apartment now is up a steep flight of
stairs, which is a great discomfort to me on several grounds, for I fear
the call-boy will hardly come so far out of his way to summon me, and I
shall have to sit in the greenroom, which, however, I won't, if I can by
any means avoid it; but the proximity of the other room to the stage,
and its being on the same level with it, was a great advantage.

I am going to dine with Lady Grey (the Countess, widow of _the_ Lord
Grey), and after that to the opera with Henry Greville and Alfred
Potocki, who have a box, and have given me a ticket, which I am very
glad of.

I had a three hours' rehearsal