I had made a sensation, kissed me and said I
was a genius! How sweet and pleasant her flattering words sounded in my
young and inexperienced ears I need hardly say.

Looking back to it now, I know perfectly well why I, a mere child of
thirteen, was able to give such a realistic display of horror. I had the
emotional instinct to start with, no doubt, but if I did it well, it was
because I was able to imagine what would be _real_ in such a situation.
I had never _observed_ such horror, but I had previously _realized_ it,
when, as Arthur, I had imagined the terror of having my eyes put out.

Imagination! imagination! I put it first years ago, when I was asked
what qualities I thought necessary for success upon the stage. And I am
still of the same opinion. Imagination, industry, and intelligence--"the
three I's"--are all indispensable to the actress, but of these three the
greatest is, without any doubt, imagination.

After this "screaming" success, which, however, did not keep "Attar
Gull" in the bill at the Royalty for more than a few nights, I continued
to play under Madame de Rhona's management until February 1862. During
these few months new plays were being constantly put on, for Madame was
somehow not very fortunate in gauging the taste of the public. It was in
the fourth production--"The Governor's Wife," that, as Letty Briggs, I
had my first experience of what is called "stage fright." I had been on
the stage more than five years, and had played at least sixteen parts,
so there was really no excuse for me. I suspect now that I had not taken
enough pains to get word-perfect. I know I had five new parts to study
between November 21 and December 26.

Stage fright is like nothing else in the world. You are standing on the
stage apparently quite well and in your right mind, when suddenly you
feel as if your tongue had been dislocated and was lying powerless in
your mouth. Cold shivers begin to creep downwards from the nape of your
neck and all up you at the same time, until they seem to meet in the
small of your back. About this time you feel as if a centipede, all of
whose feet have been carefully iced, has begun to run about in the roots
of your hair. The next agreeable sensation is the breaking out of a cold
sweat all over. Then you are certain that some one has cut the muscles
at the back of your knees. Your mouth begins to open slowly, without
giving utterance to a single sound, and your eyes seem inclined to ju