I had been very uneasy as my turn approached for various reasons, because, curiously enough, the only things I knew by heart were purely religious, and learned long ago in my schooldays. In a few minutes, however, my anxieties were drowned in the joy of listening to Leonard Brightwin, who spoke with great force and feeling and accompanied his words with most appropriate expressions of the face. I felt that here was one who would certainly make the rest of us look very small. Mr. Merridew was pleased but guarded. “Quite good,” he said. “A thousand faults, Mr. Brightwin, a thousand faults; but there’s ore in the mine and we shall bring it to the surface presently.” I congratulated Brightwin at this high praise, and he was evidently much pleased. He started to explain his view of Mark Antony to Mr. Smith, when the professor, who had begun to tire and yawn several times, called upon me. “Mr. Corkey, please; and be brief, Mr. Corkey, for the lesson has been quite long enough.” “I must tell you, sir,” I said firmly, “that I only _perfectly_ know ‘My Duty to my Neighbour.’” Dexter laughed, as I knew he would, but Mr. Merridew by no means laughed. “You could not know anything better, Mr. Corkey,” he answered, “but words hallowed by—by sacred memories and—and—in fact—no. It will do for the moment if you just give us the alphabet—speaking slowly and distinctly, putting character and feeling into the letters. In fact, make them interesting.” I stared in my great ignorance before this amazing man. I felt that it was quite beyond my power to make the alphabet interesting, or put character and feeling into the letters; and I told him so honestly. I said: “No doubt you could, sir; because you can act anything, from a billiard ball to Macbeth; but it’s no good my trying, because I haven’t the faintest idea how to set about it.” “I’ll show you,” answered Mr. Merridew. “A thing of this kind, you must understand, is merely academic—an exercise, like a Chopin study—but it will give you a glimpse into the expression and control of emotions and passions, and show you how the skilled actor can make bricks without straw and something out of nothing.” He rose from his professorial chair and lightly ascended the steps to the stage. Then he stood for a moment, rapt in brooding thought of the profoundest character, and then suddenly began: