Arthur Cecil, the actor, loved music and was a born musician in addition to his interest in the stage, and was for some time in co-partnership with Mrs. John Wood at the Court Theatre. He was the first Baron Stein in _Diplomacy_. During his fatal illness at Brighton I visited him in the nursing home, and his first words to me were uttered in complaint of his food, for he dearly loved his food. "What do you think they gave me to-day?" he said. "A boiled mutton chop." When he was convalescent he gained permission from his doctor to go, with his nurse, to reside at the Brighton Orleans Club, and whenever the menu was put before him, he selected the choice dishes dear to his heart (or his palate) that had been forbidden him a very short time previously. His greatest pleasure, however, was to be able to play the piano again, and that he did before me in the private hospital, his first selection being some music from his favourite opera of "Hansel und Gretel." Owing to his indiscretion during convalescence, he caught cold which caused his death prematurely, for he was under sixty. After many times acting as an amateur he joined German Reed's company at St. George's Hall, and from there went to the Haymarket Theatre, after which he had a distinguished career as an actor in comedy. He was very popular both at the Garrick and Beefsteak Clubs. Of course Sir Frederick Bridge was an acquaintance of his, for Arthur was devoted to sacred music. Although it is quite ten years since I portrayed Sir Frederick he appeared just the same when I saw him recently at lunch at our mutual friend, C. S. Cockburn's house. He has, I think, officiated at innumerable historical ceremonies, including the Jubilees of '87 and '97, as well as the Coronations of King Edward and King George. He told me the following story, in the terse and witty manner which is so characteristic of him. [Illustration: RICHARD WAGNER. 1877.] [Illustration: THE ABBÉ LISZT. 1886.] "In '87, just before the Queen's Jubilee, a good deal of alarm was experienced in consequence of the Fenian outrages, and the very frequent discoveries of clockwork bombs in black bags. Previous to the Royal visit, the Abbey was closed to the public and the utmost precautions were taken by the officials to ensure the Royal safety, by the order of Colonel Majendie (another of my victims) the Chief Inspector of Explosives. Every portion of the choir stand was examined, and even the organ pipes and every corner of the Abbey was subjected to vigorous inspection. The day before the Royal ceremony, I called a rehearsal of the band, and after their departure I remained in the organ loft to look over my music for the next day, in the company of a young pupil, who interrupted me when I was engrossed in my music, by calling my attention to a strange noise. "'Listen, Doctor,' he said, 'don't you hear a ticking?' "'Ticking!' I shouted. 'Where?'