became her only fear. Tragedy and actress were presented to Rich, then the manager of the principal London theatre; and both alike met with the most encouraging approval.
Rebecca entered on her new pursuit with all the ardour and all the charm which the imagination lends to its object. Strongly moved and absorbed, she saw in her situation nothing but its poetry. At length the eventful night arrived, and as soon as his heroine stept upon the boards, Lee felt certain of the favourable reception of his drama. The Oriental dress suited well her proud, dark beauty: a crimson turban was folded round her head, ornamented with the plume of that strange bird they call of paradise—both in strong contrast to the raven ringlets which fell in profusion on her flushed cheek. An embroidered robe shewed her exquisite figure, though only the delicate throat and wrist were uncovered; and a veil of silvery tissue partially concealed her profile. Her success was complete. When the first dizzy confusion was merged in the excitement of her part, even Lee himself was satisfied with her conception and execution of it: nothing could be more passionate, more superb, than her revenge; nothing more terrible than the agony of her desertion.
I am persuaded there is no triumph equal to one achieved on the stage—it comes so immediate and so home: you have before you the mass of human beings whose sympathies are at your will;
