CHAPTER IX.

FRIENDS.

Needless to say that in those days, when genius was worshipped and the entrance to the most exclusive circles of society accorded to talent of every description, the social homage paid to Mrs. Siddons was of the most enthusiastic description, passing sometimes the bounds of good taste. The door of the lodgings she occupied in the Strand the first year she acted was soon beset by various persons quite unknown to her, some of whom actually forced their way into her drawing-room, in spite of remonstrance or opposition.

This was as inconvenient as it was offensive; for as she usually acted three times a week, and had, besides, to attend the rehearsals, she had but little time to spend unnecessarily. None were more capable, however, than she of keeping vulgar curiosity at a respectful distance. She gives us a comic account of an interview that took place between her and some of these intrusive individuals:—

"One morning, though I had previously given orders not to be interrupted, my servant entered the room in a great hurry, saying, 'Ma'am, I am very