dullest and dreariest of our country Rosciuses were uniformly for
comedy; but the fair sex have a leaning to the tragic muse. We had one
or two, who would have had no objection to be piquant in Lady Teazle, or
petulant in Lady Townley; but we had half a dozen Desdemonas and
Ophelias. The soul of an O'Neil was in every one of our party conscious
of a pair of good eyes, a tolerable shape, and the captivation which, in
some way or other, most women in existence contrive to discover in their
own share of the gifts of nature. At length the votes carried it for
Romeo and Juliet. The eventful night came; the _élite_ of the county
poured in, the theatre was crowded; all was expectancy before the
curtain; all was terror, nervousness, and awkwardness behind. The
orchestra performed its flourish, and the curtain rose.

To do the heads of the household justice, they had done their duty as
managers. The theatre, though but a temporary building, projecting from
the ball-room into one of the gardens, was worthy of the very handsome
apartment which formed its vestibule. The skill of a famous London
architect had been exerted on this fairy erection, and Verona itself
had, perhaps, in its palmiest days, seldom exhibited a display of more
luxuriant elegance. The audience, too, so totally different from the
mingled, ill-dressed, and irregular assemblage that fills a city
theatre; blooming girls and showy matrons, range above range, feathered
and flowered, glittering with all the family jewels, and all animated by
the novelty of the scene before them, formed an exhibition which, for
the night, inspired me with the idea, that (strolling excepted) the
stage might not be a bad resource for a man of talents, after all.

But the play was--must I confess it? though I myself figured as the
Romeo--utterly deplorable. The men forgot their parts, and their casual
attempts to recover them made terrible havoc of the harmony of