Among Wills’s friends, admirers, and associates—of which his affectionate disposition always brought him a following—was Calmour, the author of some pieces full of graceful poetry of the antique model. Like Mr. Pinero, he “knew the boards,” having “served” in the ranks, an essential advantage for all who would write plays; had written several slight pieces of a poetical cast, notably ‘Cupid’s Messenger,’ in which the graceful and piquant Mary Rorke had obtained much success in a “trunk and hose” character. But a play of a more ambitious kind, ‘The Amber Heart,’ had taken Miss Terry’s fancy; she, as we have said, had “created” the heroine at a _matinée_. It proved to be a sort of dreamy Tennysonian poem, and was received with considerable favour. ‘The Amber Heart,’ now placed in the bill with ‘Robert Macaire,’ was revived with the accustomed Lyceum state and liberality. To Alexander was allotted the hero’s part, and he declaimed the harmonious lines with good effect. I fancy the piece was found of rather too delicate a structure for such large and imposing surroundings.[43] Whenever there is some graceful act, a memorial to a poet or player to be inaugurated, it is pretty certain that our actor-manager will be called on to take the leading and most distinguished share in the ceremonial. At the public meeting, or public dinner, he can deport himself with much effect. There are plenty of persons of culture who have been deputed to perform such duties; but we feel there is often something artificial in their methods and speeches. In the case of the actor, we feel there is a something genuine; he supplies a life to the dry bones, and we depart knowing that he has added grace to our recollections of the scene. Nor does be add an exaggeration to what he says; there is a happy judicious reserve. This was felt especially on the occasion of one pleasant festival day in the September of 1891, when a memorial was unveiled to Marlowe, the dramatist, in the good old town of Canterbury. It was an enjoyable expedition, with something simple and rustic in the whole, while to anyone of poetical tastes there was something unusually harmonious in the combination offered of the antique town, the memory of “Dr. Faustus,” the old Cathedral, and the beaming presence of the cultured artist, of whom no one thought as manager of a theatre. A crowd of critics and authors came from town by an early train, invited by the hospitable Mayor. At any season the old town is inviting enough, but now it was pleasant to march through its narrow streets, under the shadow of its framed houses, to the small corner close to the Christ Church gate of the Cathedral, where the speeching and ceremonials were discharged. The excellent natives seemed perhaps a little puzzled by the new-found glories of their townsman; they were, however, glad to see the well-known actor. Equally pleasant, too, was it to make our way to the old Fountain