THE Lyceum season, beginning in September, lasted nearly eight months—a few weeks for " In-gomar" and "The Lady of Lyons," and, the remaining time for " Pygmalion and Galatea." The houses were always crowded to overflowing.
The comfort of a cosy room at the theatre, a permanent home to welcome one after the night's work, no railway journeys, and no hotel life were luxuries hitherto unknown in my stage career. It seemed too good to last.
Our first home in London was in Maida Vale —a bright, cheerful place, with high walls enclosing a pretty garden. To me this shady nook, with its brilliant flowers, was delightful. No sound of the outer world seemed to enter there, and, with the exception of a distant church-spire, one could see only the trees, shrubs, and garden walls. It was an easy walk from our house to the Paddington parish church-yard, and we often strolled there, before going to the Lyceum,