Craigie's cheery laugh has, I regret to say, long been missed. Now he is no more, so Friday nights have lost their special interest. The Beefsteak is no longer the same late "sitting up" club, although it still remains delightful, and while we regret the absence of the retired editor of _Punch_ (Sir Francis Burnand), we hail the frequent appearance of his successor (Sir Owen Seaman). Just before my marriage, I was very much gratified by the extremely kind way in which my friends "clubbed" together and presented me with a handsome canteen of silver (quite an unprecedented occurrence, by the way, in the Beefsteak Club). The presentation on that occasion was made by Comyns Carr, who made one of his very appropriate and humorous speeches. A friend writes to me, "Do you remember in your reply to Carr's speech you started on a quotation from Shakespeare, 'froze up,' and Biron got the book and read the passage? It was the end of 'Much Ado,' where Benedick says, 'a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?... in brief since I do purpose to marry I will think nothing to any purpose the world can say against it,'--a happy quotation. Wit-cracker for Joe Carr was admirably apt." I was also much indebted to my friend Frederick Post for his pains in helping to select the gift. The premises previous to this were in King William Street, over Toole's Theatre, which was pulled down when the buildings of Charing Cross Hospital were extended. By an odd series of coincidences, all my addresses seem to be either in a King or a William Street, or the two combined. They were-- My Studio                       William Street, Lowndes Square. Orleans Club                    King Street, St. James. Fielding Club                   King Street, Covent Garden. Beefsteak Club                  King William Street, Strand. My Insurance Office             King Street, City. _Vanity Fair_ Offices   (at one time)                 King William Street. One evening at the Beefsteak Club, I watched George Grossmith chaffing Corney Grain. "Oh, Dick," he was saying, pointing a derisive finger at Dick's waistcoat, "you're putting it on!" "You little whipper-snapper, how dare you!" said Corney Grain, smiling down at his friend. When they had gone, it amused me to sit down at the writing table and make a quick caricature while they were fresh in my mind. A member, observing my preoccupation, jokingly asked me why I was so busy, and if I usually spent so long over my correspondence. Whereupon I showed him the drawing which represented the two humorists as I had watched them, a tall Corney Grain waving aside with a fat and expansive hand, a minute and impish Grossmith. He handed it round to the members gathered by the fire, who, having seen the two men in a similar position shortly before, were much amused. "If I were you I'd draw it larger and have it reproduced--it's bound to be popular," he remarked.