And from a much later period I can quote the following further proof of unimpaired friendship in a letter written to thank Joe for having been largely instrumental in getting up the dinner given to Burnand on his withdrawal from the editorship of _Punch_. GROSVENOR HOTEL, LONDON, S.W., _June 11th, 1911_. “MY DEAR CARR, I cannot thank you sufficiently for all you have done in this matter which would never have resulted in the great success it undoubtedly achieved but for the first generous impetus which set the ball in motion, and for the continued well directed shoves that kept it rolling. Without your speech the entertainment would have been comparatively flat; but your speech opened a fresh bottle and infused a fresh life. Yours most sincerely, F. C. BURNAND.” Apropos of Lena Ashwell, I may say that Joe was then so much struck with her talent for acting that he persuaded her to leave the musical profession, for which she was being trained, and gave her the part of _Elaine_ in his _King Arthur_, shortly afterwards produced by Henry Irving at the Lyceum Theatre. I set down these trivial memories as they recur to me, sprinkled over many a year of work and of anxieties, but of much merriment and many joys. But, taking up the thread of the first year of our married life, I recall an amusing incident which bore some pleasant consequences. Joe, as was often the case, had sat up writing his dramatic criticism after I, tired with the still thrilling excitement of some “first night,” had gone to bed. He had posted his article and was sleeping the sleep of the just, when our hoary retainer mercilessly awakened him early next morning with the words: “Gentleman on business, Sir!” He donned a dressing-gown and went down none too willingly, to find an unknown little Scot below, who briefly stated that he was empowered by the proprietors of some Encyclopaedia to offer him a goodly fee for a short life of--I think it was--Rossetti; but that owing to another writer having disappointed the Editor at the eleventh hour the copy must be delivered in three days. Joe was full of work, but the sum was too princely to be refused by a man who knew that shortly he would have to feed an extra mouth; the impossible was achieved, there was not even time to see a proof--and I well remember Joe, when telling his tale to a friend, confessing his relief that he had never come across that volume, and could only hope that no one else ever had either. The cheque, at all events, he _did_ see, and with a part of it we went to Derbyshire for our first country holiday. And a wild, happy holiday it was! We lodged in the roughest of cottages in a tiny village near the Isaac Walton Hotel, where Joe had contrived to get some fishing rights. With what enthusiasm did he show me the haunts of his boyish holidays, the scenes of fishing adventures and of great walks with early comrades!