A friend of mine, who is (or at all events was) a member of the Scottish Club, mistook Mr. W. S. Penley, the popular actor, for me once on the platform of Waterloo Station. My enthusiastic friend slapped the "Rev. Mr. Spalding" on the back and said: "Hulloa, Grossmith! How are you? Come and sup after the play next Saturday at Dover Street?" Penley replied, in the clerical tone characteristic of him: "I beg your pardon, I'm not Grossmith; but I shall be very pleased to have supper with you." Another railway recognition story. I was coming up with a party of friends from Ascot, and we were journeying by one of those delightful trains on the S. W. Railway which not only stop at every station, but between each station as well. We stayed at one place a particularly long time; and as a serious-looking station-master faced the window of the carriage in which we were, one of the ladies begged of me to "chaff" him about the slowness of the train. Chaffing is a vulgar habit; but, unfortunately, it is a habit to which I am occasionally addicted. We all have our amusements; and it is not my fault that I do not possess the brave spirit which induces a man to hunt across country and torture a beautiful creature like a deer until, through sheer fright, it takes a leap through the window of a railway station. I prefer to torture one of my own fellow-creatures; for he often stands a fair chance of getting the best of it. The deer never does! I saw that the serious and stolid station-master was a good subject for chaff; but, as a matter of fact, the whim was not on me. But in deference to the general wish of my friendly travellers, I addressed the station-master as follows: "I say, station-master, you ought to be ashamed of this line." The serious official replied: "So I am." This scored the first laugh against me. Some of the ladies encouraged me, and said, "Go on, go on;" "Get a rise out of him," &c. I tried again, and this time observed weakly: "Why don't you get something better to do?" My victim, never changing his serious aspect, replied: "You mean, why don't _you_ get me something better to do." This was a real knock-down blow. I came up staggering and a little dazed. My victim, seeing his chance, led the attack: "Anything more to say?" I feebly answered: "No. Have you?" He said: "No--except that you act a good deal better here than you do at the Savoy." The next day I thought of fifty good things I might have said. Alas! how easily things go wrong! In taking leave of my readers on the subject of my theatrical career, I feel I ought, in justice to myself, to state that all my first appearances are completely marred by uncontrollable nervousness. I am more than nervous--I am absolutely ill.