that of my Catherine's probation and exemplary patience were happily accomplished, and the morrow was to establish her as the future mistress of my home. The following letter from the excellent Archdeacon of London met me on my return from the theatre:

"June 23rd.

"MY DEAR SIR,-I shall not fail to be in readiness for you at a quarter past eight, and rejoice much to be connected with an event which I trust will be followed by every blessing which your kindest friends can wish, among whose number pray include, "Yours faithfully,

"J. W. POTT."

In justice to the beloved memory of her whose affection and amiability shed happiness over so many years of my life, and not less to the sage counsel of my dear sister's friendship, I copy out the letter addressed to her a few days before our marriage:

"Monday Morning, 34, Mornington Place. "MY DEAR CATHERINE,-I have not yet congratulated you upon the near approach of your union with my beloved brother, which I now do with true and heartfelt sincerity, and with the most ardent wishes for the happiness of you both, and I feel no doubt of those wishes being fulfilled to the utmost. You once, my dear girl, asked me if I loved you:' it was an abrupt question, and I made you no direct answer, nor would I till I could do it with sincerity and truth. You will not (or I am mistaken) value that love the less because not given hastily. Now you may ask the question when you like; but you need not ask it: I do love you truly, and ever shall whilst you make happy a brother so very dear to me. Let me no longer hear myself addressed by the formal title of Miss: we shall soon be sisters, I trust, in affection as well as name-then call me Letitia.

"Adieu, and believe me

"Ever your sincerely affectionate
"LETITIA MACREADY."

CHAPTER XIX.

1824-1825.-Marriage-Wedding-tour-Kite-Carriage on Salisbury plainCountry engagements-Drury Lane season-Fatal Dowry'-Severe illness William Tell'-Tour in North Wales-Cottage at Denbigh-Country engagements.

THURSDAY, June 24th, 1824, the day long looked for, was at last reached—a day consecrated to memory by the years of home endearments and domestic felicity that take their date from it. My friend Wallace and my sister accompanied the bride to St. Pancras Church, where I was awaiting with my solicitor, Barker, their arrival. The Archdeacon was of course punctual in his kind attendance, and with his blessings, on the conclusion of the cere

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Marriage and Wedding-Tour.

227

mony, we set out on our short wedding-tour. At Hounslow, where our breakfast had been ordered, we very soon arrived, and changed our bridal dresses for travelling costume. There Wallace, who had followed our carriage from London, took leave of us.

Through what varied scenes, what fluctuations of feeling, what agitating events the mind has to travel back in recurring to that happy day! Long years of joys and sorrows benignly alternated by the Divine Dispenser! "The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, and for the predominance of good in mine, mainly attributable, under Heaven, to the dear partner of its trials, I can never think without emotions of the deepest gratitude.

Wedding-tours offer little variety. The mind is so absorbed in its own ruminations, its consciousness of present happiness, its anticipations and reflections, that external objects lose much of their interest. The sunshine we carried with us could not be dimmed by the morning's heavy rain; and a bright afternoon was hailed by us as an omen of our future. Our route lay through Basingstoke to Andover, and the next day through Salisbury to Stonehenge. Whilst loitering here in contemplation of the rugged and sublime monuments of a barbarous superstition whose rude grandeur rivets the gaze of the beholder, our attention was drawn to faint sounds as of distant music, that grew louder, as if advancing towards us with great rapidity. We could soon distinguish the notes of a key-bugle well played, and looking out in the direction from whence it came, perceived a small dark mass moving down the incline of the road with extreme velocity. As it came more palpably in sight we perceived it to be a rude carriage, or rather a square box on four wheels, capable of holding three or four persons. As we stood gazing on its rapid course, we could not divine by what means it was impelled, till, looking up into the sky, we saw three large kites one above another at equal distances, to which strong light cords attached the vehicle. It came up to where we were standing by the Druidic Temple. Its conductor turned its side to the draught of the kites, and having fastened in the earth an anchor or grappling-iron, drew in the kites, which were of oiled silk, or some such light substance, and between five and six feet in height. After an interesting examination of this novel locomotive, which recalled Milton's lines on

"The barren plains

Of Sericana, where Chineses drive

With sails and wind their cany waggons light,"

and some conversation with the gentleman who managed it, we proceeded on our journey.

Five years afterwards, travelling from Colchester to London, and seated with my brother on the dickey of the carriage, we met and passed this very same kite-carriage; but though the experiment was perfectly successful in those two instances, I am not aware that any public notice has ever been taken of it.

Our course lay onward to Weston-super-Mare, then a small village with inferior accommodation, now a very handsome and populous watering-place. We passed from thence to Congresbury, the quiet beauty of which little rural place delighted us much, and detained us till a professional engagement at Taunton compelled me to return to the business of active life. My time from this point was given to the duties of my profession. Swansea was my next halt, thence to Milford, and across to Waterford. My summer was spent among the different theatres of Ireland-Cork, Newry, Belfast, &c., during which I was subject to a succession of violent colds, that laid the foundation of an illness at a later date which nearly proved fatal to me. Engagements at Liverpool, Manchester, Chester, Shrewsbury, Leicester, and Sheffield greatly improved my finances, and brought me to Monday, November 15th, 1824, when I re-appeared at Drury Lane in the character of Macbeth. This was followed by Leontes, Jaques, King John, and Cardinal Wolsey, and a novelty of much interest, in the revival of Massinger's tragedy of The Fatal Dowry,' produced Wednesday, January 5th, 1825. The original work is one of very great power, but unhappily disfigured by scenes too gross for presentation before an audience making pretension to any degree of refinement. Sheil undertook the task of its purification, and in its adaptation, whilst maintaining the strictest fidelity to the story, substituted scenes which, in energy, passion, and dramatic power, fully equalled those on which they were grafted. The parts of Rochfort and Charolois were very well represented by Terry and Wallack, and in Romont opportunities were afforded for the display of energy and lofty bearing, to the full height of which I laboured, not unsuccessfully, to reach; but though a great writer says, " Il n'y a point de hasard," we often find results under the sway of casualties. The play was well acted, and enthusiastically applauded: its repetition for the following Tuesday was hailed most rapturously; but Friday came, and with it a crowded house, to find me labouring under such indisposition that it was with difficulty I could keep erect without support. My disorder was inflammation of the diaphragm, which for some time threatened the worst consequences. Earle was attending me, and after ineffectual resort to the sharpest remedies, became greatly alarmed. Dr. Maton, whose name has lived in my memory as, under God, my life's preserver, was called in. After some days of doubt and apprehension he pronounced me out of danger: an announcement that brought relief and consolation to the hearts of my young wife and sister, worn down by their watchings and constant attendance on my sick bed. It was indeed from the grave's brink I had been rescued, and to the mercy that restored me more than even life was owing. When at the worst extremity the kind Archdeacon visited me with the sustaining comfort of religion in the administration of the Holy Sacrament, and from that period I date a more serious contemplation of life's duties. My spirits, which up to this illness had retained all their

1824-25.

Drury Lane Season.

229

boyish vivacity and exuberance, became greatly sobered, and this visitation I have ever since regarded, as an inestimable good out of a temporary ill, in the light of a most especial grace.

When able to leave my bed, which for several weeks I was not permitted to do, change of air was recommended, and Cheltenham considered as likely, by its mild atmosphere, to renovate my exhausted frame. Here we remained nearly a fortnight, and thence proceeded to Little Malvern, where for upwards of two months I enjoyed the quiet of a comfortable cottage residence, and in the pure air of its beautiful hills, by constant exercise of riding and walking, was rapidly recruiting my impaired strength.

In my marriage I had realised all that the most sanguine heart could have pictured to itself of happiness. The studies my Catherine had taken up with so much earnestness before our union she continued, I may say, throughout her after life, and she never entirely relinquished the character of pupil, in wearing that which she so gracefully did, of "wife and friend," improving her acquaintance with the best writers in French and Italian, and making herself conversant with the works of Milton, Locke, Bacon, and our leading authors in poetry and prose; so that my indoor life most agreeably diversified my enjoyments and occupations abroad. My engagement with Elliston, which my illness had so suddenly broken up, was renewed for the latter part of the Drury Lane season. From the impression made in the winter by the performance of the Fatal Dowry,' and the high encomiums of the press, sanguine expectations were entertained of its successful career on the announcement of my return to appear in the part of Romont, on the 11th of April (1825). But here was one among the many instances of accident baffling calculation. In the interim between the revival of Massinger's tragedy and my return to London public excitement had been roused to an immoderate degree by occurrences that in their notoriety gave attraction which, in the more regular course of things, would not have exceeded the ordinary average. After the publication of the trials in which Kean and Miss Foote were severally parties, both Drury Lane and Covent Garden theatres were for many weeks nightly crowded when those performers appeared; and in the interest of their causes célèbres the satiated public had lost sight of the ill-starred 'Fatal Dowry,' the simple but forcible passion of which was forgotten in the tumultuous contentions at one theatre, and the vociferous cheerings of party feeling at the other. It was a disappointment on many accounts to be lamented. A house had been taken for us on Hampstead Heath for the sake of my health, which as yet was but imperfectly restored, and on my reappearance at Drury Lane in the 'Fatal Dowry,' I had the questionable satisfaction of being warmly greeted by a very thin audience. The play was in consequence not repeated more than two or three times, and we had to fall back on 'Macbeth,' 'Virginius,' &c.

Meanwhile Knowles had been busy with his play of 'William

Tell,' which he brought to show me previous to presenting it to Elliston. The principal scenes in it are equal to the best that the gifted author has ever written; but in its original draught it could not have been more than partially successful. The conspirators before the gate of Altorf deciding in brief and prosaic language on the uprising of the Cantons against the power of Gesler opened the play, which was the only introduction to the character of the hero. After the fall of Gesler, with which, of course, the interest of the play terminates, the invocation to the mountains, a soliloquy, was the subject-matter of a single scene, and the description of the eagle followed in another, suspending with mere poetical language the release of the audience. Knowles had less of the tenacity of authorship than most writers. He was open to conviction, and immediately that it was pointed out to him how much effect would be obtained by using these speeches in the early part of the play as developments of character and arguments of the story, he unhesitatingly made them introductions to the meeting on the field of Grutli, and brought the play rapidly to a close after the death of the tyrant. The scene in the second act, where Tell gives his instructions to his son, and hears of the outrage on old Melchthal, is admirable; nor less entitled to praise are those between Tell and Gesler, which end in the archer striking the apple off his son's head. There is much in parts of the play that partakes of the quality of melodrama, but the scenes above mentioned would compensate for many grave delinquencies. The evidence of the little respect paid to the actor's art by our managers, who were for the most part mere tradesmen in their craft, was instanced in the production of this novelty. The condition of the treasury made it desirable that it should be hurried out, and although, from the alterations required, the text was not given to me in time to perfect myself in the words of the last act, I was importuned and, I may truly say, worried into running the hazard of its performance, trusting to momentary impulse for much of my effect (a very dangerous reliance), and even under the necessity, during the progress of the performance, of learning what I could of the concluding scene. As it fell out I did, however, manage to speak the text, or something near it; and the fall of the curtain was followed with acclamations of applause. For my subsequent representations, which were frequent, I persevered in the study of the character, and made it one of my most attractive personations. Dexterity in the use of the bow was indispensable to the performance, and by dint of practice archery soon became a favourite exercise with me.

1

On the 2nd of June, 1825, I acted King Henry V. and Rob Roy for my benefit, and my engagement was brought to a close on the 18th with the performance of William Tell, now fully established in its attraction.

My confidence in the recovery of my strength had been, as I soon discovered, too hastily assumed, and it was considered