Lady Lucy Perry, third daughter of Edmund Henry, first Earl of Limerick; married 1816 to Rowland Stephenson, who took the name of Standish in 1834. How excellent were some of our actors and actresses! Ah! I fear very few survive to read this feeble tribute. Among other performances, we gave an ambitious representation of the old comedy, _A Cure for the Heartache_, in which the Secretary of our Legation, Mr George Edgcumbe,[37] especially distinguished himself as the “yokel” of the piece. He had lately become engaged to Miss Shelley, a fair friend and countrywoman of mine, but however preoccupied his heart may have been, it did not interfere with the rare skill with which he played a difficult, and some would have considered ungrateful, _rôle_. The villain of the play, who had designs on the sister of the ploughman, lays a scheme by which to get the latter into his power. He places a purse full of money (one of those large elongated purses with which in old melodramas the wicked peer always tempted the virtuous peasant) within the grasp of the poverty-stricken brother, when summoned on some pretext to the great house. After a short soliloquy, lamenting his penury and the like, the ploughman looks round, sees the golden bait, and chinks the guineas. Then follows a silent pause. The temptation at first appears irresistible; you see the struggles which are passing in the poor fellow’s mind, the difficulty of resistance, the final victory over himself, and the well-expressed air of reproach and indignation with which he hands the purse to his tempter on his entering the room. Footnote 37: The Honourable George Edgcumbe, second son of Richard, second Earl of Mount Edgcumbe; married 19th May 1834 Fanny Lucy, eldest daughter of Sir John Shelley, sixth Baronet. May I be forgiven for adding a little incident concerning my own performance? I played the rich heiress whose betrothed lover throws her over at the end of the piece, in favour of her penniless rival. I thought it would be neat and appropriate at such a juncture to make my exit in violent hysterics, and in that state I repaired to my dressing-room, where I was calmly employed in changing my dress for the after piece, when the door burst open and my sister rushed in, terror-stricken. “O Mary,” she said, “you will kill yourself; this dreadful excitement is too much for you!” I looked up and she looked down. I was certainly the calmer of the two, but my vanity had received a most flattering compliment.