I can bear the highest testimony to the _bona fides_ of American reporters, though they do not, either individually or collectively, require any commendation from me. I have had, in the twenty years covered by our tours in America, many hundreds of “interviews” with reporters, and I never once found one that “went back” on me. I could always speak quite openly to them individually on a subject which we wished for the present to keep dark, simply telling him or them that the matter was not for present publication. Any one who knows the inner working of a newspaper, and of the keenness which exists in the competition for the acquisition of news, will know how much was implied by the silence—the scorn and contempt that would now and then be hurled at those who “couldn’t get a story.” I have no doubt that sometimes the engagement on the paper was imperilled, or even cancelled. Of course I always tried to let them get _something_. It was quite impossible at times that Irving should give interviews. Such take time, and time was not always available in the midst of strenuous work; sickness and weariness are bars to intellectual undertakings; and now and again the high policy of one’s business demands silence. In Irving’s case his utterances had to be carefully considered. He was one of the very few men who was always reported _verbatim_. With ordinary individuals there is habitual compression and “editing” which, though it may occasionally suppress some fact or step in an argument, is protective against many errors. It is an old journalistic saying that “Parliamentary reputations are made in the Gallery!” This is almost exact; were it qualified so as to admit of exceptions it would be quite exact. In ordinary speeches, or in any form of _extempore_ and unpremeditated utterance, there are evidences of changement during the process of thought—uncompleted sentences, confused metaphors, words ill chosen or slightly misapplied. In addition, as in almost every case Irving spoke or was interviewed on professional subjects or matters closely allied to his own work or ideas, there was always a possibility of creating a wrong impression somewhere. Also, he stood so high amongst his own craft that an omission would now and again be treated as an affront. I have known him to receive, after some speech or interview or recorded conversation where he had given a few names of actors as illustrating some part, a dozen letters asking if there was any reason why the writer’s name was omitted in that connection. Irving was always most loyal to all those of his own calling and considerate of their needs and wishes; and so in all matters where he was by common consent or by general repute vested with the responsibilities of judgment he tried to hold the scales of justice balanced. In order, therefore, to see that his real views were properly set out—and incidentally for self-protection—he always took precautions with regard to speeches and interviews.