"* * * * * * * * * And something which was called an 'entertainment' by a beardless boy, whose tones betokened his Cockney birth, and whose sole ideas of humour seemed to be derived from an excessive abuse of vulgar gesture, and the constant employment of such slang terms as are heard in police-courts and penny gaffs. When Master Grossmith was not vulgar, he was simply stupid; for which reason his attempts at amusing an intelligent audience by a wretched imitation of the Christy Minstrels and a badly-arranged rehash of Albert Smith's 'Evening Parties' were, as they deserved to be, a dead failure. The whole exhibition was most painful, and as far beneath what we should have expected to see at the Polytechnic as a 'Penny Dreadful' is from one of Thackeray's novels. Our advice to the _debutant_ is, to tarry at Jericho till his beard be grown." I was extremely hurt at this, but the direct allusion to the police-court aroused my suspicions. I became a sort of amateur detective; and the result was, I "received information" that the article had been written by a gentle of position, who had just beforehand been charged at Bow Street with a very serious offence, and whose friends had not been successful in persuading me to "keep the case out of the paper," or in "altering his name" beyond recognition. I owe very much to the Press, not merely for the favour extended towards me, but also for improvements gathered from their adverse criticism. But whenever I read a notice like the above, I am consoled by the thought that its author, at some time or other, without consent or consultation, has put in an appearance at Bow Street Police Court during my reign as reporter. In the foregoing chapter, I have dealt entirely with visits into Society professionally. In the next, and last, I shall speak of the non-professional invitations: for, strange as it may appear to the uninitiated, I am _not_ always expected "to oblige with a song;" nor is it a _sine qua non_ that if I accept an invitation to dinner, it is on the distinct understanding that I should be funny. I can be a very rational being when I choose; and any hostess who asked me to her residence in the expectation that I should gratuitously amuse her guests, would find me particularly prosaic. Happily for all professional men and women, such hostesses are very rare; and, fortunately, their reputations precede them. Still, there _are_ people who cannot understand why I should appear _in propria persona_ in a drawing-room; and a wealthy hatter of slight acquaintance, meeting me at a "Mansion House" ball, said: "Hulloa! Mr. Grossmith, what are you doing here? Are you going to give us any of your little funniments--eh?" "No," I replied. "Are you going to sell any of your hats?" CHAPTER VIII. A Very Snobbish Chapter. "I've got a little list."--_The Mikado_. Captain Hawley Smart, at the Garrick one day, at lunch, gave me a valuable friendly warning.