But Leonard Brightwin was a very different sort of man. Genius blazed out of his black eyes; he wore his raven locks long, and from time to time tossed them back from his forehead in a very artistic manner. In fact, I felt in the presence of a future leader of the stage. He was of medium height and of shy and retiring nature; but one could not help feeling that Brightwin was born to be a great tragedian. I longed to be his friend from the first. We all fell into conversation of a very animated sort, and Dexter, who greatly fancied his powers of imitating well-known actors, was just doing Mr. Edward Terry in _The Forty Thieves_ (as _he_ thought, though it was utterly unlike), when the door opened and no less a person than the renowned Mr. Montgomery Merridew stood before us. One saw the graceful abandon of the old stager at a glance. The way he walked, the way he extended his hand and poised his leonine head on his sinewy neck—all showed the practised histrion. He was a shapely man of fifty, at the least; but such was the almost panther-like grace of his movements and rich auburn colour of his flowing mustache, that, but for the deep lines of thought on his brow and under his eyes, one might have imagined him many years younger. An air of perfect assurance and the manner of one accustomed to rule, greatly distinguished Mr. Merridew. His voice was a magnificent organ, under perfect control, and every gesture and step were timed and studied to perfection. He was, in fact, an embodiment of the art that conceals art. He bowed on entering, not in a servile manner, but with a courtly familiarity, such as doubtless one sees when kings meet kings. He appeared astonished at the smallness of the class collected to receive him; but he concealed his dismay under a nonchalant air of perfect good-breeding, which I am sure was a lesson in itself. He greeted us each in turn and insisted on shaking hands with all of us. He wore pince-nez, while engaged in this manner, and having declared his pleasure at making our acquaintance, threw off the pince-nez with an almost regal gesture and lost no time, but bade us marshal ourselves before him, and then began an easy but most illuminating address on the art of stage deportment and elocution. While engaged in this opening lecture, he scanned our faces in turn with such an eagle glance that only George Dexter had sufficient cheek to return his look. As for the two low comedians, they simply curled up under it, and so did I; and Brightwin, whose eyes were even more luminous than Mr. Merridew’s, let them fall to the floor before the professional’s impassioned gaze. As for poor Mr. Smith, he was, as it were, mesmerized by the lecturer and kept his eye fixed upon the great actor’s face, though evidently not wishing to do so.