Following out the instructions given to me by Turk, I made my way, when the curtain fell for the last time, to the dressing-room at the back of the stage, and whispered my praises of my friend's acting. Before we went home, he and a number of his professional brethren 'looked in' at a neighbouring bar, where pewter pots were freely handed about. There was no lack of animated conversation, and the subject of course was the drama. One man, who had played a small character in _The Knight of the Sable Plume_, and played it well, was holding forth to two or three unprofessional friends on the peculiar hardship of his case. As he had not played in the last piece, I inferred from his condition that he had been regaling himself at the bar for some time before we entered. He was an elderly man, and Turk whispered to me that he had once been leading man in the theatre, but that he had come down in the world. Those who addressed him by name called him Mac. 'Ah, Turk, my boy,' he said, giving Turk a left-handed grasp; his right hand held his glass of whisky-toddy--'ah, my sons, come in to drink? That's right. Drown dull care.' 'You've tried to do that for a pretty considerable time, Mac,' said Turk good-humouredly. 'Take a pull at the pewter, Chris.' 'I have, my boy, I have,' returned Mac; I'm an old stager now, but, dammee! there's life in the old boy yet. I'll play Claude Melnotte with the youngest of you. I'm ready to commence all over again. Show me a more juvenile man than I am on the boards, and dammee! I'll stand glasses round I will--and pay for them if I can borrow the money!' A volley of laughter greeted this sally, in which Mac joined most heartily. 'Drown dull care!' he continued. 'I've tried to do it for a pretty considerable time, as Turk says--dammee, my sons! I've it all my life, and I'd advise you to do the same. Care killed a cat, so beware. Before you came in, my sons, I was speaking to these gentlemen'--indicating his unprofessional friends--'who kindly asked me to take a glass with them--thank you, I don't mind; my glass _is_ empty; another whisky-toddy--The cry is still they come! eh, my sons?--I was speaking to these gentlemen, whose names I have not the pleasure of knowing, but who take an interest in the profession. I was speaking to them of myself, in connection with the noble art. I was saying that I act for my bread----' 'And sack,' interrupted a member of the company. 'And sack. Mac.'