Only lately we followed the once popular Wills to his grave in the Brompton Cemetery. His somewhat erratic and, I fear, troubled course closed in the month of December, 1891. There was a curious suggestion, or reminiscence, of his countryman Goldsmith in his character and ways. Like that great poet, he had a number of “hangers-on” and admirers who were always welcome to his “bit and sup,” and helped to kill the hours. If there was no bed there was a sofa. There were stories, too, of a “piece purse” on the chimney to which people might apply. He had the same sanguine temperament as Goldsmith, and the slightest opening would present him with a magnificent prospect, on which his ready imagination would lavish all sorts of roseate hues. He was always going to make his fortune, or to make a “great hit.” He had the same heedless way of talking, making warm and even ardent protestations and engagements which he could not help forgetting within an hour. But these were amiable weaknesses. He had a thoroughly good heart, was as sensitive as a woman, or as _some_ women, affectionate and generous. His life, I fear, was to the close one of troubles and anxiety. He certainly did much for the Lyceum, and was our actor’s favourite author. ‘Charles I.,’ ‘Eugene Aram,’ ‘Olivia,’ ‘Iolanthe,’ ‘Faust,’ ‘Vanderdecken’ (in part), ‘Don Quixote’—these were his contributions. The play was written after the correct and classical French model. The opening scene, as a bit of pictorial effect—the placid garden of Hampton Court, with a startling reproduction of Vandyke’s figure—has always been admired, and furnishes “the note” of the play. All through the actor presented a spectacle of calm and dignified suffering, that disdained to resent or protest; some of his pathetic passages, such as the gentle rebuke to the faithless Huntley and the parting with his children, have always made the handkerchiefs busy.