On another occasion he again indulged in a retrospect; indeed, his eyes seem always to have fondly turned back to Manchester and these early days of struggle: “I came all the way from Greenock with a few shillings in my pocket, and found myself in the splendid theatre now presided over by our friend Captain Bainbridge. The autumn dramatic season of 1860 commenced with a little farce, and a little two-act piece from the French, called ‘The Spy,’ the whole concluding with ‘God Save the Queen,’ in which, and in the little two-act piece from the French, I took prominent parts; so you see, gentlemen, that as a vocalist I even then had some proficiency, although I had not achieved the distinction subsequently attained by my efforts in Mephistopheles. Well, you will admit that the little piece from the French and the one-act farce—‘God Save the Queen’ was left out after the first night, through no fault of mine, I assure you—you will admit that these two pieces did not make up a very sensational bill of fare. I cannot conscientiously say that they crammed the theatre for a fortnight, but what did that matter?—we were at the Theatre Royal, Manchester, the manager was a man of substance, and we were all very happy and comfortable. Besides ‘Faust and Marguerite,’ there was a burlesque of Byron’s, ‘The Maid and the Magpie,’ in which I also played, the part being that of an exceedingly heavy father; and you will forgive me, I am sure, for saying that the very heavy father was considered by some to be anything but a dull performance. But though the houses were poor, we were a merry family. Our wants were few: we were not extravagant. We had a good deal of exercise, and what we did not earn we worked hard to borrow as frequently as possible from one another. Ah! they were very happy days. But do not think that this was our practice always of an afternoon; there was plenty of fine work done in the theatre. The public of Manchester was in those days a critical public, and could not long be satisfied with such meagre fare as I have pictured. During the five years of my sojourn in Manchester there was a succession of brilliant plays performed by first-rate actors, and I must say that I owe much to the valuable experience which I gained in your Theatre Royal under the management of John Knowles.” In his Manchester recollections, as we see, there are hints of very serious struggles and privations. Such are, as says Boswell, “bark and steel for the mind.” A man is the better for them, though the process is painful; they assuredly teach resource and patience. Years after, the actor, now grown celebrated and prosperous, used to relate, and relate dramatically, this very touching little story of his struggles: