another once; no finger glasses, and a patched table cloth--in short, a want of that style and neatness which is found in every hotel in England. The waiters too, remind us of the half-savage highland lads, that used to torment us under that denomination in Glasgow--only that they were wild Irish instead of Scotch." vol. i. p. 49. Frequently too, she complains of the audiences before whom she performed, with occasional reproof of their ungracious conduct in not sufficiently applauding her father or herself: She says, of the first appearance of the former at the Park Theatre: "When he came on they gave him what every body here calls an immense reception; but they should see our London audience get up, and wave hats and handkerchiefs, and shout welcome as they used to do to us. The tears were in my eyes, and all I could say was, 'they might as well get up, I think.'" Vol. i. p. 93.--And on another occasion: "The people were stupid to a degree to be sure; poor things, it was very hot. Indeed I scarcely understood how they should be amused with the School for Scandal; for though the dramatic situations are so exquisite, yet the wit is far above the generality of even our own audiences, and the tone and manners altogether are so thoroughly English, that I should think it must be for the most part incomprehensible to the good people here,"--p. 110. At the Philadelphia audiences, she grumbles as follows: "The audiences here, are without exception, the most disagreeable I ever played to. Not a single hand did they give the balcony scene, or my father's scene with the friar; they are literally immoveable. They applauded vehemently at the end of my draught scene, and a great deal at the end of the play; but they are nevertheless intolerably dull, and it is all but impossible to act to them,"--p. 157.