been a bitter probation for proud tempers like the Kembles to go through. “My appearance of illness was occasioned entirely,” Mrs. Siddons writes about this time to a friend, “by an agitating visit that morning from poor Mr. John Kemble, on account of the giving up of the private boxes, which, I fear, must be at last complied with. Surely nothing ever equalled the domineering of the mob in these days. It is to me inconceivable how the public at large submits to be thus dictated to, against their better judgment, by a handful of imperious and intoxicated men. In the meantime, what can the poor proprietors do but yield to overwhelming necessity? Could I once feel that my poor brother’s anxiety about the theatre was at an end, I should be, marvellous to say, as well as I ever was in my life. But only conceive what a state he must have been in, however good a face he might put upon the business, for upwards of three months; and think what his poor wife and I must have suffered, when, for weeks together, such were the outrages committed on his house and otherwise, that I trembled for even his personal safety; she, poor soul! living with ladders at her windows in order to make her escape through the garden in case of an attack. Mr. Kemble tells me his nerves are much shaken. What a time it has been with us all—beginning with fire and continued with fury! Yet sweet sometimes are the uses of adversity. They not only strengthen family affection, but teach us all to walk humbly with our God, “Yours, “S. S.” The fury of the rioters was principally directed against John Kemble, “Black Jack,” as he was called. They never lost a certain respect for the great actress who had served them so long and so faithfully. We know the story of her appealing through the windows of her sedan-chair to the riotous crowds assembled round the theatre, “Good people, let me pass; I am Sarah Siddons,” and of the mob immediately falling back to make way for the dignified Queen of Tragedy. The whole business disheartened and saddened her, however. “I have not always met gratitude in a play-house,” Garrick said, and she but repeated his words with a sigh. She wrote to her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Henry Siddons:— “Octr. Jubilee Day, Westbourne Farm, Paddington. “MY DEAR HARRIET,