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46                                A  FEW MEMORIES
exaggeration of youth led me to believe that complete concentration on the one subject alone would lead to success.    The labor was particularly hard, working as I did in the dark, having no one to consult and no experience to guide me.    I longed for help, which never came, except from my mother, who was as ignorant as I of the rules of dramatic art.    Still we worked on incessantly, I producing effects, she criticising them to the best of her ability.    Often in the middle of the night I would awaken her to show some new point.    Indeed, I owe more to her constant and loving interest and encouragement than I can ever hope to repay.    To get the hollow tones of Juliet's voice in the tomb, and better realize my heroine's feelings on awakening in her " nest of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep," I frequently walked to Cave Hill, Louisville's beautiful cemetery, there to speak her lines through the grilled door of a vault. Had a thorough schooling in the art been possible, instead of these random and unguided efforts, my work would have been halved and its results doubled.
After a year of this in many ways useless labor, no engagement seeming possible even in the distant future (we knew no manager, and Mr. Wouds