THE MODERN MATHEWS _enters by rushing downstairs. He is tall and strongly built, character is written on every feature of his face, his curly hair has not a single silver streak in it, his appearance suggests all that is genial, good-natured, frank, and thorough. Speaks deliberately and very rapidly, says much in as few words as possible--in short, a man who trips through life with a light step, a happy disposition, and a pleasant way of doing and saying all things._ THE MODERN MATHEWS (_taking last three steps at a bound and "discovering"_ INTERVIEWER): Ah! there you are! What a foolish remark. Of course you're there. Have a cigarette? Now, where's my case? M.C.--my case! Capital way of remembering anything that, eh? See? M.C.--my case, my cigar, my canary, Master of Ceremonies! I find it infallible. I've got a shocking memory, so must have some system to go upon. Where is that cigarette case? Bad memory for simple little things like that, but I never forget my parts. Now, that's curious. Can remember a long part, but can't remember where I put that confounded cigarette case. Will find it yet. Come into the dining-room. [Illustration: THE ENTRANCE-HALL. _From a Photo by Elliott & Fry._] _By a special journalistic contrivance--a contrivance which for rapidity of change of scene has never been approached on the stage_-- [Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM. _From the Photo by Elliott & Fry._] SCENE II.--_Dining-room. Massive and substantial oak furniture. Birch's statuette of_ THE MODERN MATHEWS _as David Garrick near the window. The walls are covered with exquisite examples of Reamore, Toulmonche, Ethoper, &c., views of Spain, Venice, and all places suggestive of sunshine and dark-eyed maidens, having for companion canvases pictures of English rural life, Scotch cattle, Welsh valleys, and Irish lakes._ THE MODERN MATHEWS (_aside_): M.C.! M.C.! M.C.! INTERVIEWER: And you never forget your parts? THE MODERN MATHEWS: Oh! I beg your pardon. Now, if you hadn't spoken I should have found that case in another minute! No, I've never forgotten a part since I was dismissed by Mrs. John Wood in New York in 1864. It was the first time I ever played an important part, and I had a very long speech to make. This speech always frightened me--it was a perpetual nightmare. I used to dream about it, breakfast with it, lunch, tea, dine, and sup with it. When the eventful night came I found myself only thinking of the words instead of their meaning. I had to give a glowing description of a young girl's beauty, crying out: "Drunk with enthusiasm, I exclaimed," etc., etc., etc. I had reached the word "Drunk," when all became a blank. I repeated the word two or three times, and finally went for it with "_Drunk_--I exclaimed--happy the being," etc.! I was dismissed. (_Barking heard off. Dogs rush on._)