In March the hundredth night of ‘Hamlet’ was celebrated by a banquet, given in the saloon of the Lyceum Theatre, at which all the critics and literary persons connected with the stage were present. This method of festivity has since become familiar enough, owing to the never-flagging hospitality of the later manager of the Lyceum, and offers a striking contrast to the older days, when it was intimated that “_chicken and champagne_” was a ready method of propitiating the critics. Mr. Pigott, who had recently been appointed the Licenser of Plays, a man of many friends, from his amiability—now, alas! gone from us—proposed the health of the lessee, which was followed by the health of the actor and of the author of the establishment, the latter, as it was rather sarcastically said, “giving the hundred and odd literary men present the oft-repeated illustration of how far apart are authorship and oratory.” The good old Chippendale told how he had played Polonius to the Hamlet of Kemble, Kean, Young, and other famous tragedians; but protested that “the most natural and, to his mind, the most truthful representation he had seen was that of his friend here.” Something must be allowed for post-prandial exuberance, and no one could more shrewdly appreciate their value than the actor himself. We may be certain that in his “heart of heart” he did not agree that he had excelled Kemble, Kean, Young, and the others. It was interesting, however, to meet such histrionic links with the past, which are now broken. Mr. Howe is perhaps the only person now surviving who could supply reminiscences of the kind. A second Shakespearian piece was now determined on, and on February 14, 1875, ‘Othello’ was brought out. This, it was admitted, was not a very effective performance. It was somewhat hysterical, and in his agitation the actor exhibited movements almost panther-like, with many strange and novel notes. The ascetic face, too, was not in harmony with the dusky lineaments of ‘the Moor.’ Here, again, his notion of the character was immature. In the full tide of all this prosperity, theatre-goers were startled to learn that the shrewd and capable manager, the energetic “old Colonel,” as he was styled by his friends, was dead. This event occurred, with great suddenness, on Monday, March 22, 1875. On the Sunday he had been at a banquet at a Pall Mall restaurant in company with his leading actor and other friends, but on the next day, complaining of a headache, he lay down. His daughter went as usual to the theatre, to which word was soon brought that he had passed away peacefully. It was thought advisable to let the performance be completed, and the strange coincidence was noted that while his child was bewailing the loss of her theatrical sire, the old Polonius, she was unconscious of the blow which had deprived her of her real parent.