Rose at eight. At eleven, went to rehearsal. Mr. Keppel is just as nervous and as imperfect as ever: what on earth will he, or shall I, do to-night! Came home, got things out for the theatre, and sat like any stroller stitching for dear life at my head-dress. Mr. H---- and his nephew called: the latter asked me if I was at all apprehensive? No, by my troth, I am not; and that not because I feel sure of success, for I think it very probable the Yankees may like to show their critical judgment and independence by damning me; but because, thank God, I do not care whether they do or not: the whole thing is too loathsome to me, for either failure or success to affect me in the least, and therefore I feel neither nervous nor anxious about it. We dined at three: after dinner, J---- came; he sat some time. When he was gone, I came into the drawing-room, and found a man sitting with my father, who presented him to me by some inaudible name. I sat down, and the gentleman pursued his conversation as follows:--"When Clara Fisher came over, Barry wrote to me about her, and I wrote him back word: 'My dear fellow, if your bella donna is such as you describe, why, we'll see what we can do; we will take her by the hand.'" This was enough for me. I jumped up, and ran out of the room; because a newspaper writer is my aversion. At half-past six, went to the theatre. They acted the farce of Popping the Question first, in order, I suppose, to get the people to their places before the play began. Poor Mr. Keppel was gasping for breath; he moved my compassion infinitely; I consoled and comforted him all I could, gave him some of my lemonade to swallow, for he was choking with fright; sat myself down with my back to the audience, and up went the curtain. Owing to the position in which I was sitting, and my plain dress, most unheroine-like in its make and colour, the people did not know me, and would not have known me for some time, if that stupid man had done as I kept bidding him, gone on; but instead of doing so, he stood stock still, looked at me, and then at the audience, whereupon the latter caught an inkling of the truth, and gave me such a reception as I get in Covent Garden theatre every time I act a new part. The house was very full; all the ---- were there, and Colonel ----. Mr. Keppel was frightened to death, and in the very second speech was quite out: it was in vain that I prompted him; he was too nervous to take the word, and made a complete mess of it. This happened more than once in the first scene; and at the end of the first act, as I left the stage, I said to D----, "It's all up with me, I can't do any thing now;" for, having to prompt my Fazio, frightened by his fright, annoyed by his forgetting his crossings and positions, utterly unable to work myself into any thing like excitement, I thought the whole thing must necessarily go to pieces. However, once rid of my encumbrance, which I am at the end of