William Holland at one time “ran” the Surrey Theatre, with pantomime in the winter, and melodrama during the remainder of the year. I attended the Surrey during his occupancy, to notice a new piece by poor Henry Pettitt. Oxenford had a box as usual. And not only was his sneezing rather more distressing than usual, but he was accompanied by a lady whose babble was incessant. This acquaintance of the venerable critic was a person of no very exalted rank in Society, and Holland became anxious lest the sternutation and conversation in the box should interfere with the comfort of those in its immediate vicinity. During the second _entr’acte_ he thought it well to pay his court to the eminent exponent of the higher criticism. He knocked at the door of the box, was bidden to enter, went in, and, greeting the occupants with his characteristic effusion, inquired: “And what do you think of the play, Mr. Oxenford?” “The play?” said the old gentleman. “Oh, the play is rot! . . . What do _you_ think of it, my dear?” “Rot?” exclaimed the lady friend thus addressed—“it’s muck!” Only the word the fair creature employed was much coarser than “muck,” and the anxious manager went away sorrowing. However, an excellent notice of the melodrama subsequently appeared in the leading journal. It may interest a new generation of those who illustrate the gay science to learn that all the theatrical representative of the _Times_ received for his services was one hundred pounds a year. At least, so Mr. Oxenford himself more than once assured me. When Mowbray Morris succeeded Oxenford as the representative of the _Thunderer_, a very different spirit informed those columns of the _Times_ devoted to the stage. Morris came to the task impressed with the idea that it was the business of a critic to criticize. “Have at you!” was evidently his motto. And he laid about him right merrily, not particular whom he might inconvenience by his shrewd thrusts; for, indeed, he was no respecter of persons, and was suspected of entertaining an invincible contempt for the personnel of the British stage. When Morris was appointed, Henry Irving was in the first flush of his triumph as manager of the Lyceum Theatre. And the shrewd actor-manager had inaugurated the custom of giving a reception to his friends on the first night of a new play.