privacy of his bedroom at Farringford, he found himself the possessor of 1,200 cigars manufactured near Wellclose Square, in the East End of London, out of goodness knows what, and worth about Is. 8d. a hundred wholesale. As for Tom Purvis, he denied all knowledge of the Harry Paulet, nor had he any suggestion to make as to who could be the illicit trader from Havana who esteemed him so highly as a man o' the world.' But he blossomed forth into a new suit of clothes the following Sunday.

CHAPTER V

'Adopting the stage as a profession'-Expert advice-The calling then and now-Touring '-Discomforts-Typhoid feverSir William Jenner-A pantomime engagement-A 'stagename'-The Haymarket Theatre-The Bancrofts at rehearsal -Frank Marshall-As a maker of salad.

It was early in 1879 that I made up my mind to go upon the stage-if I could. I don't think it was Vanity that prompted me—at least, not Vanity alone

-although she may have thrown out to me an occasional word of encouragement. I was 'eating my dinners' at the Inner Temple with Herbert Stephen, Rudolph Lehmann, Edward Bouverie, Samuel Whitbread, and others; but I felt I ought to try and earn an income sooner than I had any prospect of doing at the Bar. I sought advice in all kinds of quarters. Mrs. Alfred Wigan counselled me to join a stock company so as to get plenty of hard work and experience, the only objection to this excellent scheme being that there were no stock companies to join. Mr. Hamilton Aïde recommended me, vaguely, to study in

Paris.'

Arthur Cecil urged me strongly to do nothing of the kind.

My most practical adviser was my old friend Henry Kemble, who bade me to luncheon at the Garrick Club to meet Charles Kelly (Ellen Terry's husband). My host had never witnessed my amateur efforts, and was able, all the more conscientiously perhaps, to extol my latent histrionic ability, with the result that a few days afterwards I made my first stage appearance with Kelly and his company at a morning performance at the Alexandra Palace, for which I received a salary of ten shillings.

I think on the whole I was wise, situated as I was, to go on the stage. As I said before, I wanted to begin to earn my living at once. I had achieved no scholarly distinction at Cambridge, and the stage appeared to be the only craft which one was paid to learn. And the theatre of those days was an essentially different institution to the theatre of to-day. Most of the managers of those days were actors who had made their names, who had got over the first zeal for personal prominence. The money they invested in the business was generally money they had earned by acting. And while some were extraordinarily kind to their employés and solicitous for their comfort, and others less so, there was always a certain sympathy between

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actor and manager which there can never be between actor and syndicate.

I remember, for instance, an occasion when I had to go out of the bill at the Haymarket Theatre owing to domestic bereavement. We were playing 'Ours' at the time, and I was the Sergeant Jones. My understudy, who took my place, was overtaken by a kind of alcoholic aphasia, and could not remember the word 'twins' which recurs several times in the part. I believe he substituted the

word kittens' with disastrous results.

At all events, for the following night Forbes Robertson (who had played the part at the old Prince of Wales's) had to be engaged-at special terms, no doubt. Then on Saturday afternoon there was a performance of 'A Lesson' and of 'She Stoops to Conquer,' in both of which I usually played. Pinero had to study and play my part in the first piece, and Jack Macleane had to be sent for to play old Hardcastle in the comedy. When I came back a week later, the Bancrofts not only paid me an ordinary week's salary for the six days I had been away, but in addition paid me the extra matinée money, as though I had been acting and they had been put to no trouble and expense in finding people to take my place. I doubt if any other management in London -except the D'Oyly Cartes-would have acted with the same extraordinary generosity, and I am

certain that none of the present-day syndicate managements would have paid me a farthing for the time I was away.

It was an evil day for actors when the City 'gents' realized that theatres offer similar possibilities for gambling to those afforded by mines and stocks; that theatrical venture presents all kinds of opportunities for miniature variations of the bigger game; that when the gamester dares no longer show his nose in Broad Street, he is welcomed and hailed with deference and delight by the ingenuous young actor who wants to play Othello and by the infatuated young peer who wants to find a candlestick in which to place the candle at which he is singeing his whiskers. The outlawed financier finds in theatrical speculation what the weatherbound lawn - tennis player finds in ping-pong.' Ce n'est pas absolument la guerre, mais c'est magnifique tout de même! The novice imagines that the smallness of the table will hamper the expert and balance the difference of experience, but the more knowing player never comes off second best. It is always 'vantage' to him and then

game.

The syndicate manager cares no more for the feelings or comfort of the actors in his employ than for those of the miners who are engaged in a Missing Diamond Competition in one of his mines.