At the close of the season—in May, 1859—the Edinburgh company set out on its travels, visiting various Scotch provincial towns. During this peregrination, when at Dundee, the idea occurred to him and a brother-player of venturing “a reading” in the neighbouring town of Linlithgow. This adventure he has himself related in print. Our actor has an agreeable vein of narrative, marked by a quiet, rather placid humour, which is also found in his occasional speeches. The charm and secret of this is the absence of affectation or pretence; a talisman ever certain to win listeners and readers. Taking his friend, who was Mr. Saker, into his confidence, he proceeded to arrange the scheme. But he shall tell the story himself: “I had been about two years upon the stage, and was fulfilling my first engagement at Edinburgh. Like all young men, I was full of hope. It happened to be vacation time—‘preaching week,’ as it is called in Scotland—and it struck me that I might turn my leisure to account by giving a reading. I imparted this project to another member of the company, who entered into it with enthusiasm. He, too, was young and ambitious. I promised him half the profits. “Having arranged the financial details, we came to the secondary question—Where was the reading to be given? It would scarcely do in Edinburgh; the public there had too many other matters to think about. Linlithgow was a likely place. My friend accordingly paid several visits to Linlithgow, engaged the town-hall, ordered the posters, and came back every time full of confidence. Meanwhile, I was absorbed in the ‘Lady of Lyons,’ which, being the play that most charmed the fancy of a young actor, I had decided to read; and day after day, perched on Arthur’s Seat, I worked myself into a romantic fever. The day came, and we arrived at Linlithgow in high spirits. I felt a thrill of pride at seeing my name for the first time in big capitals on the posters, which announced that at ‘eight o’clock precisely Mr. Henry Irving would read the “Lady of Lyons.”’ At the hotel we eagerly questioned our waiter as to the probability of there being a great rush. He pondered some time; but we could get no other answer out of him than ‘Nane can tell.’ ‘Did he think there would be fifty people there?’ ‘_Nane can tell._’ “Eight o’clock drew near, and we sallied out to survey the scene of operations. The crowd had not yet begun to collect in front of the town-hall, and the man who had undertaken to be there with the key was not visible. As it was getting late, we went in search of the doorkeeper. He was quietly reposing in the bosom of his family, and to our remonstrance replied, ‘Ou, ay, the reading! I forgot all aboot it.’ This was not inspiriting.