Ladies and Gentlemen,—my spouse and I Have had a squabble, and I’ll tell you why. He said I must appear; nay, vowed ’twas right To give you thanks for favours shown to-night. ... He still insisted, and, to win consent, Strove to o’ercome me with a compliment; Told me that I the favourite here had reigned, While he but small or no applause had gained. “Pen me some lines where I may talk and swagger, Of poisons, murders, done by bowl or dagger; Or let me, with my brogue and action ready, Give them a brush, my dear, of Widow Brady.” ... First, for a father, who on this fair ground, Has met with friendship seldom to be found, May th’ All-Good Power your every virtue nourish, Health, wealth, and trade in Wolverhampton flourish! This doggrel is almost on a par with Mr. Siddons’s effusion to the Ladies of Brecon. In the year following Mr. and Mrs. Siddons made their way to Cheltenham, then a town consisting of but one street, “through the middle of which ran a clear stream of water, with stepping-stones that served as a bridge.” Already, however, its merits as a watering place had been noised abroad, and some of the “people of quality” had begun to find their way there. Seeing the play of _Venice Preserved_ announced for representation at the theatre, some of the fashionables took tickets, hoping to be highly diverted with the badness of the rustic performance. The man at the box-office, who had listened to their thoughtless remarks, reported them to Mrs. Siddons, who was to act the part of Belvidera. The young actress felt oppressed at the idea of the ordeal she was to be subjected to. Ridicule was all her life the one thing the tragic muse could not face; and from the moment of first coming on she was conscious of the antagonistic influence in one of the boxes, and imagined she heard sounds of suppressed laughter. She left the theatre after the play, deeply mortified. Next day, Mr. Siddons met Lord Aylesbury in the street, who inquired after Mrs. Siddons’s health. He then expressed his admiration of her acting the night before, and declared that the ladies of his party had wept so excessively that they were laid up with headaches. Mr. Siddons rushed home to gladden his wife’s heart with the news. The actress owed one of the truest friendships of her life to this incident, for Miss Boyle, Lord Aylesbury’s step-daughter, came to call on her the same day to express her delight in person, and from that time never allowed the intimacy to drop. This lady seems to have possessed considerable artistic gifts in several ways, having, as Campbell tells us with much emphasis, written _An Ode to a Poppy_, which was thought full of merit in her day. What was of more importance to the young actress, however, than her new friend’s qualifications for writing “odes” was her power of making costumes for different parts with her own hands, and her