NANCE AT HOME "Home ?" An actress at home?
Does it not seem strange to apply the dear old English noun, so redolent of peace, and quiet, and privacy, to the feverish life of a mummer?
We go, night after night, to see our favourite players shining 'mid the fierce glare of the footlights, watch them approvingly as they pass from role to role, and finally begin to believe, like the egotists we are, that they have no existence apart from the one we are pleased to applaud.

What fools some of us must be to think there is never a time when the paint and powder, the tinsel and eternal artifice of the stage--yea, even our own condescending admiration--pall on the jaded spirits of the poor player.
"How sparklingly is Miss Smith acting Lady Teazle to-night!" we say, elegantly pressing our hands together in token of august favour.

We are entranced, and it follows, therefore, that the actress must be entranced likewise.

Mayhap Miss Smith does not share the same ecstacy; perhaps, as she stands behind the screen in Joseph Surface's rooms, Sir Peter's wife is wishing that the comedy were ended and she were comfortably ensconced in her cosy little lodgings round the corner.
She pictures that crackling wood fire, and her old terrier basking in the gentle heat, and the tea-urn hissing near by (or is it a cold bottle of beer in the portable refrigerator ?) and in the background sweet good Mr.Smith, who does nothing but spend his lady's salary.
In that temple of domesticity there are no thoughts of rouge, or paint-pots, or of Richard Brinsley Sheridan--it is merely home.

Dost thou always hurry back to so attractive a one, thou patronising theatre-goer?
Our Nance had a home to which she was glad enough to hurry back, like the aforesaid Miss Smith, after the play was over at Drury Lane.