“‘You now hear it, then. Have I your forgiveness or your anger; your daughter or your scorn?’
“‘My daughter,’ said Mr. Mayre, with emphasis, ‘for she could never have had a better husband.’”
If “Miss Flossy Howe” did not write for The Listener, the editors were, nevertheless, generous enough to “figure her” in its pages. Her appearance at sister Julia’s birthday party in the drama of “The Three Bears” is thus chronicled by Mamma’s faithful pen. The Three Bears were acted by my father and sisters Julia and Laura:
The Listener
March 11th.
Editor’s Table
A great deal more might have been said about our Birthday party. Was not Miss Florence Howe bewitching in the character of “Silverhair”? Where did Miss F. get so much powdered wig? Does she keep a maid, on purpose to put up her hair and powder it, when she plays Silverhair? We know all about it, but we won’t tell. We know, too, about those three Bears, and especially that biggest one with a ferocious and hairy expression of countenance. Think of the three real chairs, real beds, real bowls of porridge! Think, too, of a real window for Silverhair to jump out of—what’s all your empty scene-painting to that? If we had wanted a real waterfall for our piece, our Papa would have had one for us—that’s his way of doing things. Every one knows those Bears were real—they could have growled a great deal louder, only they did not want to frighten the company; and when the performance was over, they put on their coats so politely, and went back to their menagerie.
We were so fortunate as to secure Mr. William Story, the artist, and his wife, for the title rôles of King Valoroso and his queen in “The Rose and the Ring.” According to tradition their daughter Edith was one of the children for whom Thackeray wrote the story. Certain it is that the portraits of the royal pair, drawn by the author himself, look a good deal like Mr. and Mrs. Story, due allowance being made for caricature. Hence they were able to reproduce Thackeray’s royal couple with exactitude. Mrs. Story wore a very beautiful amethyst necklace belonging to my mother. Mabel Lowell, daughter of the poet, and I took the parts of the royal children, Angelica and Rosalba.
As for the warming-pan, dear Mrs. George Russell, wife of my father’s chum, lent hers for the affair. It had been a part of her housekeeping outfit, but she said to my mother, “You may keep it, as I never use it now.” It is still in my possession, a pleasant reminder of my first appearance upon any stage.
We saw the Storys quite often at this time. One evening, when mince pie was set upon the table, my father, who was obliged to be extremely careful about his diet, remarked: