Just after this my mother made engagements for us to go to America, that El Dorado to an imaginative class, which assuredly theatrical people are. Mr. John Hallam, the accredited agent for Price & Simpson, of the old Park Theatre, New York, engaged, as was then the fashion, an entire company, and went with us himself in the packet-ship Britannia. The following persons were included in the company, viz.: Mr. Henry Smith, John Sefton, Mr. Robert Grierson, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, Miss Stannard and her sister Mrs. Hallam, lately married, Master Henri Wells and Miss Wells, dancers. We had an exceptionally fine passage of four weeks (no steam in those days), and landed in New York on June 7, 1827. We remained in New York a few days, long enough to completely change my mother's appearance; the mosquitoes found her a very healthy English woman and feasted at their will. We were then sent to Philadelphia, to the old Walnut Street Theatre. I remember seeing the "first appearance" of most of the parties, of course; my mother's made the finest impression on me. It was as _Margeritta_ in "No Song, no Supper." The symphony of her entrance song is a long one, and the orchestra had to play it twice, her reception was so hearty and her nervousness so great. I appeared in September, I think, as _The Duke of York_ to the elder Booth's _Richard III._ Then we were sent to Baltimore, to Mr. Joe Cowell's Theatre, where I had the honor of appearing as _Albert_ to Mr. Edwin Forrest's _William Tell_, and received a medal from that gentleman for the performance. At that time he was, I suppose, about twenty-two or twenty-three, and the handsomest man I ever saw. Alas! how he changed! Mr. Forrest was never a good-tempered man, and was apt to be morose and churlish at rehearsals. But he had many noble qualities; he was the "fairest" actor that ever played. If the character you sustained had anything good in it, he would give you the finest chance of showing it to the audience. He would get a little below you, so that your facial expression could be fully seen; he would partially turn his back, in order that the attention should be given entirely to you. This will be better understood by actors, who know how differently some players act. He was not without appreciation of a little "joke" either. On one occasion, at the old Park Theatre, we were playing, as an afterpiece, "Therese, the Orphan of Geneva." He, as _Carwin_, rushes with a drawn dagger into the pavilion where he believes that _Therese_ is sleeping. Immediately the place is struck by lightning; he then staggers out of the pavilion, exclaiming, "'Tis done; _Therese_ is now no more." Then _Therese_ enters and rushes into the pavilion to rescue her benefactress. On this occasion I, as _Therese_, rushed from the house before _Carwin_ had time to come out, and we met, face to face, in the apartment of the murdered countess, who had hardly finished screaming for her life. I was horror-stricken at my error. "Oh!