Equal if not superior to myself in the versatility of "ups" and "downs" in the theatrical firmament has been the career of Henry E. Dixey. Twenty-five years ago he was the toast of the Town. As Adonis his fame was heralded from coast to coast and even permeated across to England. His appearance on any stage was an event. When he appeared in Boston after a run of nearly two years in New York he stopped the traffic and multitudes swarmed the streets as he passed through the city on his way to the Adams House. He was finally forced to appear upon the balcony to acknowledge this tremendous reception. Ten years after I saw him smothered nearly into oblivion as one of the members of Weber & Field's burlesque company on Broadway, the scene of his former triumphs. My heart bled for him, as I had seen him previously give splendid character performances in the melodrama "Romany Rye." A few years after I saw him come forth again resplendent as David Garrick in Stuart Robson's play of "Oliver Goldsmith," only to disappear again as a legerdemain performer and in vaudeville. Then he scored a tremendous hit in one of Miss Amelia Bingham's plays. So it has gone on for over twenty-five years. Undaunted, the graceful Harry jumps over the rails of failure into the pastures of success. He is truly a wonderful man. We have known each other for many years appearing as long ago as 1876 in Rice's "Evangeline" at the Boston Museum, when Dixey performed the character of the _forelegs_ of the heifer not the _hind_ ones, my dear pal, the late Dick Golden, performing that equally strenuous rôle. I doff my hat to Henry E. Dixey and wish him a long prosperous career on his journey down the other side of the mountain of life. He, like myself, has passed the fifty mark, and he tells me he is just learning how to act and Mr. Oliver Morosco tells the public he has no use for middle aged actors. Think it over Mr. Morosco. Dixey has just scored one of the hits of his life in young Mr. Mackaye's play of "A Thousand Years Ago." I'm glad and I congratulate my good friend, Henry E. Dixey. _Chapter XXXI_ SWAGGER NEW YORKERS OF ANOTHER DAY When I was quite a lad in New York I had the good fortune to mingle with some of the swagger men-about-town. They were the real society men of the time, not the milk sops of the present day. My acquaintances were men like Leonard Jerome, known as Larry among his intimates, William P. Travers, Wright Sanford, Cyrus Field, John Hoey, Neil O'Brien, whose sobriquet was "Oby," and many others. And they were all witty, clever men of the world. My talent for mimicry was the cause of my association with these charming men.