Mr Henry Irving in his established dramatic home at the Lyceum Theatre has always preferred to take his ‘calls’ on the stage itself; indeed, he never appears in front of the curtain except on the night of the opening or the termination of his season, which is always looked forward to in London as an event. The production of _Romeo and Juliet_ afforded him an agreeable opportunity, however, of making a new departure in his manner of responding to the congratulations of his patrons—the living ‘Prologue’ opening the tragedy by stepping forward from between a pair of truly magnificent curtains of yellow plush, when, having recited his lines, the withdrawal of these curtains unveiled the first scene representing ‘the public place’ at Verona. Mr Irving, further, took occasion at the close of each act of leading Miss Ellen Terry before the footlights in the same manner, thus obviating the necessity of raising the curtain proper before these calls could be replied to. So much for theatrical curtains in general. We will now go on to narrate several notable incidents connected with ‘Calls before the Curtain.’ When David Garrick made his re-appearance at Drury Lane, after an absence of two years during a provincial tour, the theatre was packed from floor to ceiling, and the audience were quite beside themselves with enthusiasm. The play was announced to be _Much Ado About Nothing_; but, as the actor expected, he had first to show himself in front of the curtain. He had prepared an address to the audience, which he delivered previous to beginning the play. When he came upon the stage, he was welcomed with three loud plaudits, each finishing with a huzza. When R. W. Elliston was manager of the ‘Royal Circus,’ to which he gave the present name of the ‘Surrey Theatre,’ he was one night called before the curtain under rather exceptional circumstances. On that occasion, an actor named Carles, who had long been a popular favourite at that house, was absent, having unfortunately been arrested for debt while on his way to the theatre, and another actor, possibly not very much his inferior in regard to talent, had to be substituted. The performance, however, had not long commenced, when the audience missed their favourite, and called loudly for ‘Carles!’ Carles not appearing, the uproar became general; and as soon as the curtain had fallen upon the first act, the manager was summoned. Elliston duly appeared and asked, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, what is your pleasure?’ But to all that he said they cried only ‘Carles!’ Not yet aware of their intentions, he exclaimed: ‘One at a time, if you please;’ and singling out a puny yet over-energetic malcontent in the pit, he begged pardon of the audience, saying: ‘Let me hear what _this_ gentleman has to say.’ Then addressing the man: ‘Now, sir, I’ll attend to you _first_, if the rest of the gentlemen will allow me.’