Anthony Hope Hawkins is an English gentleman in every sense that the words implies. I cannot say that I ever associated with a man whom I held in higher esteem. He sees everything from the most agreeable point of view. He has one of the most delightful laughs in conversation that ever I heard, and I made it my business to excite as often as possible the vein in his nature that brought it out. He has the better qualities of the English voice, its softer tones and accents. Owing to its richness, he can be heard distinctly by every auditor. Although monotonous in his delivery, because of his distinct enunciation and the sweetness of his voice, the monotony is not objectionable. He charms invariably his audiences, because he feels his characters and is able to exploit them. I shall never forget Mr. Hawkins’ first appearance in America. It was really his first regular platform appearance anywhere. We had spent the previous night at the Parker House, Boston, and some of the members of the Woman’s Club of Lowell, Mass., under whose auspices he was to read next day, telephoned me to know if we would not come early, that they might give him a little reception before the reading. Mr. Hawkins declined. He said he preferred to be by himself until he was introduced to the public. On our arrival at Lowell we went directly to the hall. He met the committee of ladies, who escorted him to the platform, and as he went on he shook hands with me, saying: “Good by, Major. I may never see you again.” I felt so nervous for him that I really didn’t know whether he had made a hit or not; but as soon as his voice was heard there was the closest attention, and an expression of satisfaction appeared on every face in front of him. He could not possibly have escaped the infection. I saw his beautiful face light up with a gleam of real satisfaction. His voice rolled out in resonant tones, and the hearty response from his hearers gave him what I believe was the most satisfactory hour of his life. His reading of the “Dolly Dialogues” on that occasion was one of the finest efforts that I remember. He enjoyed his audiences very much when the benches were full in front of him, but a small audience and a row of empty benches disheartened him. On two occasions he urged me to return the money to the auditors; but he filled every date, and on those two occasions I think he was as well pleased after the performance as where he had had more and less enthusiastic hearers. Just after our train drew out of Boston on our way to Hartford, I ordered luncheon in the buffet car, for we were both desperately hungry. The composite cook, waiter, and porter promised us some royal chicken, which he was able to furnish, he said, as good as we could get anywhere. We came near getting it. We saw it as it was set before us just as we arrived at Williamantic, where we were obliged to change cars.