rry for Mr. Brunton, but he should not have placed us in
such an uncomfortable position. My father has offered to act one
night beyond our engagement for the sake, if possible, of making up
to the actors the arrears of salary Mr. Brunton owes them. They are
all poor, hard-working people, earning no more than the means of
subsistence, and this withholding of their due falls very heavily
on them.

_Thursday, 14th._-- ... At the theater the house was very good, and
the audience very pleasant. The play was "The Provoked Husband,"
and I'm sure I play his provoking wife badly enough to provoke
anybody; but she's not a person to my mind, which is an artistic
view of the case.

[My modes of dealing with my professional duties at this very unripe
stage of my career irresistibly remind me of a not very highly educated
female painter who had taken it into her head to make an historical
picture of Cleopatra. Sending to a friend for a few "references" upon
the subject of that imperial gypsy's character and career, she sent them
hastily back, saying she had relinquished her purpose, "having really no
idea Cleopatra was that sort of person."]

_Friday, July 15th._--Miserrima! I have broken a looking-glass! and
on Friday, too! What do I think will happen to me! Had a long talk
this morning with dear Dall about my dislike to the stage. I do not
think it is the acting itself that is so disagreeable to me, but
the public personal exhibition, the violence done (as it seems to
me) to womanly dignity and decorum in thus becoming the gaze of
every eye and theme of every tongue. If my audience was reduced to
my intimates and associates I should not mind it so much, I think;
but I am not quite sure that I should like it then.

At the theater the house was very full, and the audience
particularly amiable. In the interval between the fourth and fifth
acts Charles Mason made a speech to them, informing them of Mr.
Brunton's distress, and our intention of acting for him on Monday.
They applauded very much, and I hope they will do more, and come.
My part of the charity is certainly not small; to be pulled and
pushed and dragged hither and thither, and generally "knocked
about," as the miserable Belvidera, for three mortal hours, is a
sacrifice of self which my conscience bears me witness is laudable.