A very monotonous feature in too many of the dramatic memoirs is found in the record of dates, engagements, and performances, which in many instances are the essence of the whole. They are uninteresting to anyone save perhaps to the hero himself. So in this record we shall summarize such details as much as possible. Our actor went straight to Glasgow, to Glover’s Theatre, whence he passed to the Theatre Royal, Manchester, where he remained for some four years, till June, 1865. Here he met fresh histrionic friends, who “came round” the circuit in succession—such as Edwin Booth, Sothern, Charles Mathews, G.V. Brooke, Miss Heath, and that versatile actor and dramatist and manager, Dion Boucicault. Here he gradually gained a position of respect—respect for his unfailing assiduity and scrupulous conscientiousness, qualities which the public is never slow to note. In many points he offers a suggestion of Dickens, as in his purpose of doing whatever he attempted in the very best way he could. There are other points, too, in which the actor strongly recalls the novelist; the sympathetic interest in all about him, the absence of affectation combined with great talents, the aptitude for practical business, the knowledge of character, the precious art of making friends, and the being unspoiled by good fortune. Years later he recalled with grateful pleasure the encouragement he had received here. And his language is touching and betokens a sympathetic heart: “I lived here for five years, and wherever I look—to the right or to the left, to the north or the south—I always find some remembrance, some memento of those five years. But there is one association connected with my life here that probably is unknown to but a few in this room. That is an association with a friend, which had much to do, I believe, with the future course of our two lives. When I tell you that for months and years we fought together and worked together to the best of our power, and with the means we had then, to give effect to the art we were practising; when I tell you we dreamt of what might be done, but was not then done, and patted each other on the back and said, ‘Well, old fellow, perhaps the day will come when you may have a little more than sixpence in your pocket;’ when I tell you that that man was well known to you, and that his name was Calvert, you will understand the nature of my associations with Manchester. I have no doubt that you will be able to trace in my own career, and the success I have had, the benefit of the communion I had with him. When I was in Manchester I had very many friends. I needed good advice at that time, for I found it a very difficult thing as an actor to pursue my profession and to do justice to certain things that I always had a deep, and perhaps rather an extravagant, idea of, on the sum of £75 a year. I have been making a calculation within the last few minutes of the amount of money that I did earn in those days, and I found