Friday, August 5th.—­Down to the sea at seven o’clock; the tide was far out, the lead-colored strand, without its bright foam-fringes, looked bleak and dreary; it was not expected to be batheable till eleven, and as I had not breakfasted, I could not wait till then.  Lingered on the shore, as Tom Tug says, thinking of nothing at all, but inhaling the fresh air and delicious sea-smell.  I stood and watched a party of pleasure put off from the shore, consisting of a basket of fuel, two baskets of provisions, a cross-looking, thin, withered, bony woman, wrapped in a large shawl, and with boots thick enough to have kept her dry if she had walked through the sea from Plymouth to Mount Edgecombe.  Her tete-a-tete companion was a short, thick, squat, stumpy, dumpy, dumpling of a man, in a round jacket, and very tight striped trousers.  “Sure such a pair were never seen.”  The sour she, stepped into their small boat first, but as soon as her fat playfellow seated himself by her, the poor little cockle-shell dipped so with the increased weight that the tail of the cross-shawl hung deep in the water.  I called after them, and they rectified the accident without sending me back a “Thank you.”  I love the manners of my country-folk, they are so unsophisticated with civility.

At the theater the play was “The Gamester,” for my benefit, and the house was very fine.  My father played magnificently; I “not even excellent well, but only so-so.”  The actors none of them knew their parts, abominable persons; and as for Stukely—­well!  Mdlle.  Dumesnil, in her great, furious scene in Hermione, ended her imprecations against Orestes by spitting in her handkerchief and throwing it in his face.  The handkerchief spoils the frenzy.  I wonder if it ever occurred to Mrs. Siddons so to wind up her abuse of Austria in “King John.”  By the by, it was when asked to give his opinion of the comparative merits of Clairon and Dumesnil, that Garrick said, “Mdlle.  Clairon was the greatest actress of the age, but that for Mdlle.  Dumesnil he was not aware that he had seen her, but only Phedre, Rodogund, and Hermione, when she did them.”  After the play the audience clamored for my father.  He thought that “l’envie leur en passerait;” and not being in a very good humor, he declined appearing.  The uproar went on, the overture to the farce was inaudible, and the curtain drew up amid the deafening shouts of “Kemble!  Kemble!”—­they would not suffer the poor farceurs to go on, even in dumb show.  I was at the side scene, and thought it really a pity not to put an end to all the fuss; so I went to my father, who was standing at the stage door in the street, and requested him to stop the disturbance by coming forward at once.  He turned round, and without saying anything but “Tu me le conseilles,” walked straight upon the stage, and addressed the audience as follows: