I refused to hold a stall, for I had enough to do writing out autographs of celebrities (they sell splendidly), but it was hard work, and there was an absurd fuss just because I made the trifling mistake of signing "Yours truly, GEORGE MEREDITH" across a photograph of ARTHUR ROBERTS. What did it matter? I really cannot see that it made the slightest difference; the person had asked for an autograph of MEREDITH and he got it, _and_ a portrait of ROBERTS into the bargain! so he ought to have been satisfied; but some people are strangely exacting! There was a great run on the autograph of SARAH BERNHARDT and I grew quite tired of signing YVETTE, ROSEBERY, and CISSIE LOFTUS, however, it was all for the charity. I went as a Perfect Gentleman, and it was quite a good disguise--hardly anyone knew me! I saw SIR BRUCE SKENE dressed as a Temperance Lecturer; GRINGOIRE was there as the _Enemy of the People_ with a bunch of violets in his button-hole; the NEW BOY went as _Becket_, and CHARLEY'S AUNT as the _Yellow Aster_. THE GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE looked well as _The Prisoner of Zenda_. I recognised our old friend DORIAN GRAY in a gorgeous costume of purple and pearls, with a crown on his head of crimson roses. He said he had come as a Prose Poem, and he was selling Prose Poem-granates for the good of the charity. Here are some scraps of conversation I overheard in the crowd:-- _Enemy of the People_ (_to_ Sir BRUCE SKENE). Been having a good time lately? _Sir Bruce._ Rather! Tremendous! I've been doing nothing but backing winners, and, what's more--(_chuckling_)--I've at last got that astronomer fellow to take my wife and child off my hands. Isn't that jolly? _Enemy of the People._ Ah, really? She is coming to us in the autumn, you know. _Vivien, the Modern Eve_ (_to the_ New Boy). I cannot stay here any longer. They never dust the drawing-room, the geraniums are planted all wrong, and I do not like the anti-macassars. Will you come with me? _New Boy._ What a lark it would be! But I'm afraid I must stay and look after my white mice. You see, BULLOCK MAJOR---- _Lady Belton_ (_after her marriage_, _to_ Charley's Aunt, _tearfully_). He doesn't understand me, Aunty. _Charley's Aunt._ Never mind, my dear. Don't cry! You shall come with me to Brazil; you've heard me mention, perhaps, it's the place where the nuts come from; and we'll get up an amateur performance of the _Pantomime Rehearsal_!