Dusty, dreary, and disconsolate, I sat down on the stairs which were to have been ours, while Dall upbraided the hostess of the house, and my father did what was more to the purpose—­posted off to find other apartments for us; no easy matter, for the town is crammed to overflowing.  In the mean time a little blue-eyed fairy, of about two years old, came and made friends with me, and I presently had her fast asleep in my lap.  After carrying my prize into an empty room, and sitting by it for nearly half an hour while it slept the sleep of the blessed, I was called away from this very new interest, for my father had succeeded in finding house-room for us, and I had yet all my preparations to make for the evening.

The theater is a beautiful building for its purpose, of a perfectly discreet size, neither too large nor too small, of a very elegant shape, and capitally constructed for the voice.  The house was very full; the play, “Romeo and Juliet.”  I played abominably ill, and did not like my audience, who must have been very good-natured if they liked me.

Tuesday, August 2d.—­Rose at seven, and went off down to the sea, and that was delightful.  In the evening the play was “Venice Preserved.”  I acted very well, notwithstanding that I had to prompt my Jaffier through every scene, not only as to words, but position on the stage, and “business,” as it is called.  How unprincipled and ungentlemanlike this is!  The house was very fine, and a pleasanter audience than the first night.  Found a letter from Mrs. Jameson after the play, with an account of Pasta’s “Anna Bolena.”  How I wish I could see it!

Wednesday, August 3d.—­Rose at seven, and went down to the sea to bathe.  The tide was out, and I had to wait till the nymphs had filled my bath-tub....  At the theater in the evening, the play was “The Stranger.”  The house not so good as last night, and the audience were disagreeably noisy....

Thursday, August 4th.—­They will not let me take my sea-bath every morning; they say it makes me too weak.  Do they mean in the head, I wonder?...  “Let the sanguine then take warning, and the disheartened take courage, for to every hope and every fear, to every joy and every sorrow, there comes a last day,” which is but a didactic form of dear Mademoiselle Descuillier’s conjuring of our impatiences:  “Cela viendra, ma chere, cela viendra, car tout vient dans ce monde; cela passera, ma chere, cela passera, car tout passe dans ce monde.” ...  I finished my drawing, and copied some of “The Star of Seville.”  I wonder if it will ever be acted?  I think I should like to see a play of mine acted.  In the evening at the theater, the play was “Isabella.”  The house was very full, and I played well.  The wretched manager will not afford us a green baize for our tragedies, and we faint and fall and die upon bare boards, and my unhappy elbows are bruised