long and too painful to write about; the terrible improvidence of
one dear parent, the failure of memory and decay of faculty in that
other who is still dearer, cast on me a weight of care and fear that
I can hardly bear up against.' Her difficulties were unending. The
new publisher now stopped payment, so that even 'Our Village'
brought in no return for the moment; Charles Kemble was unable to
make any offer for 'Foscari.' She went up to town in the greatest
hurry to try and collect some of the money owing to her from her
various publishers, but, as Mr. Harness says, received little from
her debtors beyond invitations and compliments. She meditates a
novel, she plans an opera, 'Cupid and Psyche.'

At last, better times began to dawn, and she receives 150 pounds
down for a new novel and ten guineas from Blackwood as a retaining
fee. Then comes a letter from Charles Kemble giving her new hope,
for her tragedy, which was soon afterwards produced at Covent
Garden.

The tragedies are in tragic English, of course that language of the
boards, but not without a simplicity and music of their own. In the
introduction to them, in some volumes published by Hurst and Blacket
in 1854, Miss Mitford describes 'the scene of indescribable chaos
preceding the performance, the vague sense of obscurity and
confusion; tragedians, hatted and coated, skipping about, chatting
and joking; the only very grave person being Liston himself.
Ballet-girls walking through their quadrilles to the sound of a
solitary fiddle, striking up as if of its own accord, from amid the
tall stools and music-desks of the orchestra, and piercing, one
hardly knew how, through the din that was going on incessantly. Oh,
that din! Voices from every part; above, below, around, and in