* Mr. Courtenay C. Clarke was a resident at Cardiff, who generally entertained my father and myself on our professional visits. He became a great friend of mine, and he was a most talented amateur reciter and raconteur. I last saw him about two years ago, when he and Colonel C. Page, of Cardiff (also an intimate friend of mine), supped with me at the Garrick. Here follow twenty-eight lines of such a flattering description that my modesty (forgive me, gentle reader) will not permit of my reproducing them. The notice continues thus: "Gratified, however, as everybody was with Mr. Grossmith's performance, the real 'fun of the fair' commenced when Mr. Courtenay Clarke essayed his wonderful reminiscences of Mr. Grossmith the elder. With marvellous fidelity, Mr. Clarke has caught the very trick of voice and manner which constitute the chiefest charm of that mellow humorist. One could almost imagine one was in Mr. Grossmith's company whilst listening to Mr. Clarke's side-splitting imitations. The delicate little side-hits, and exposition of social and personal foibles, added life to the sketch; so that the audience were constrained to laugh at George Grossmith himself, as well as at the delightful comic "bits" which constitute his well-known entertainment. . . . Altogether, we can honestly say that a better or more acceptable entertainment than was given at the Town Hall last night has seldom been witnessed in Cardiff." Perhaps the most amusing incident that ever occurred to Florence Marryat and myself was at the time we were giving a Saturday night's entertainment at a large hall to a popular audience at Glasgow. A brusque and brawny Scotchman was the caretaker, or hall-porter. I sought him out and informed him that there was neither towel nor soap in either of dressing-rooms. He firmly told me that I must find my own towel and soap, as it did not answer his purpose to do so. I asked what he meant. He said that the entertainers generally stole the soap and towels afterwards. There was no attempt to wrap up the accusation. He called a spade a spade, without doubt. I was very indignant, and said: "Do you dare to insinuate that a lady like Florence Marryat, a well-known novelist, would steal your penn'orth of soap and fourpenny towel?" He replied: "I don't know anything about Miss Marryat, and I don't care. All I know is, you entertainers always do walk off with my soap and towels, and I'll ha' no more of it." CHAPTER VI. Gilbert and Sullivan. "Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's _din afore_, and whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense, _Pinafore_." _The Pirates of Penzance_.