It was a charity concert, and I may incidentally remark that I had to appear early in the programme, and when my turn came their Royal Highnesses had not arrived. Arthur Cecil, who was announced later on, said: "The Prince and Princess have heard my song, so you take my place." The above voluntary suggestion on his part needs no comment. This letter is followed by ordinary letters from Irving, Toole, A. W. Pinero, Countess of Charlemont (the late), Viscountess Combermere, Herbert Herkomer, A.R.A., Earls of Londesborough and Dunraven, Mrs. Charlie Mathews, Mrs. Kendal, the Hon. Lewis Wingfield, Emily Faithful, and Kate Terry (Mrs. Arthur Lewis). Then comes a letter from Thomas Thorne, which is interesting because it is an invitation to dine with him to celebrate the thousandth night of _Our Boys_. Then follow Robert Reece (he persuaded me to set to music one of his songs, "A Peculiar Man," which he need not have done, for he is a most excellent musician himself), John Oxenford (dated 1868--a birthday congratulation), J. Ashby Sterry (who always addresses me, "dear young Jaarge"), R. Corney Grain, Herman Vezin, Lord Otho Fitzgerald, and Viscountess Mandeville. The letter from Lady Mandeville, referring to some of my songs, is amusing--an extract from which I give: Thanks a thousand times for the songs, which were delightful. We tried them all last night and I am sure some of the neighbours wished us at the North Pole. . . . I have sent to America for a charming pathetic song for you; the last line is "Let me hit my little brother before I die." A letter from J. B. Buckstone, giving me permission to play Paul Pry (_en amateur_); a most amusing letter from Howard Paul, describing his futile attempt to learn "The Muddle Puddle Porter" while "going up and down the Lake of Lucerne, under the shadow of the Rigi, and within sight of the historical Tell's Platte;" a most flattering letter from Sir Julius Benedict, which modesty, &c., will not permit of my reproducing; Jacques Blumenthal (he simply had "a message to send me" inviting me to dine) and Henry J. Byron. I knew Byron when I was a boy, and I loved him because he was not above playing cricket with me on the sands at the seaside, when I was in trousers, or rather knickerbockers, which they resembled through my having outgrown them. In 1878 I wanted to purchase some clever words of his with a refrain, "Yeo, heave ho." He wrote back from the Haymarket Theatre: Dear George,--I wrote to you, saying you might have the song gratis, and posted the letter to J. S. Clarke instead of you. Yours ever sincerely, H. J. BYRON. Everybody knows Byron was about the best punster existing. He was also the worst. I heard him make this observation at Margate: "I don't like _cock_roaches because they '_en_croaches."