One of the chorus gentlemen, a tenor, who had not distinguished himself by any great ability, but deemed his presence of infinite importance, sent a telegram to the stage manager: "Suffering from hoarseness; cannot appear to-night." I ascertained that he had informed several of his colleagues, confidentially, that he was the future Sims Reeves. I must confess, with the exception of the above telegram, I had detected no resemblance to the great tenor. During the revival of _H.M.S. Pinafore_ at the Savoy, I received a dreadful snub from one of the "Marines." The Marines were what is theatrically known as "extra-gentlemen." They are not engaged to sing, and therefore do not hold such a good position as the chorus. If they have voices and can sing, they look forward naturally to promotion. One of them asked me if I would hear him sing the "Ruler of the Queen's Navee." I made an appointment with him to sing at my house. After he finished the song, I said: "I presume you desire me to recommend you to Mr. Carte for the chorus?" "Oh no, sir," he replied. "Mr. Carte has heard me, and says I'm not good enough for the chorus; so I thought you could recommend me to him to play _your_ parts on tour." Singers, prima donnas especially, are, I believe, renowned for little airs and graces; but these have little weight with Gilbert and Sullivan. Conventionality is not recognised by them. One of the many Josephines, during the first run of _Pinafore_, objected to standing anywhere but in the centre of the stage, assuring Mr. Gilbert that she had played in Italian opera, and was accustomed to occupy that position and no other. Gilbert said, most persuasively: "Oh! but this is _not_ Italian opera; this is only a low burlesque of the worst possible kind." Gilbert says this sort of thing in such a quiet and serious way that one scarcely knows whether he is joking or not. During the revival of _The Mikado_, he was directing the dress-rehearsal from the middle the stalls, as is his wont, and suddenly called out: "There is a gentleman in the left group not holding his fan correctly." The stage manager, with his prompt-book and tall hat, immediately appeared on the stage at the left side, and, calling to Mr. Gilbert, said: "One gentleman is absent through illness, sir." "Ah!" said Gilbert, perfectly seriously, "that is not the gentleman I am referring to." Yet another instance. The second act of _The Pirates of Penzance_ represents the interior of a ruined abbey by moonlight. Near the end of the play General Stanley's daughters run on to the stage in _peignoir_ and with lighted candles. This is the cue for turning up the footlights and boarders. _Mr. Gilbert_ (from the stalls): Mr. Seymour--Mr. Seymour! _Seymour_ (the stage manager, appearing at the wings): Yes, sir. _Mr. Gilbert:_ Don't let them turn the lights on the back cloth! _Seymour:_ We have turned up all the lights, sir.