“I haven’t the least objection to be described as a ‘whipped cur’ (indeed, I rather like it), but unfortunately the epithet doesn’t in the least describe my attitude on a first night. The ‘embankment’ is purely mythical. I usually spend the evening in the greenroom or in the wings of the theatre, and I fancy that few authors accept failure or success more philosophically than I do. When ‘Princess Ida’ was produced I was sitting in the greenroom as usual, and, likewise sitting there, was an excitable Frenchman who had supplied all the armour used in the piece. The piece was going capitally, and he said to me, ‘Mais savez vous que vous avez là un succès solide?’ I replied that the piece seemed to be all right, and he exclaimed, with a gesture of amazement, ‘Mais vous êtes si calme!’ And this, I fancy, would describe the frame of my mind on every first night. “It is also a mistake to suppose that I have fruitlessly longed to write more important plays. As a matter of fact, I have written and produced four ambitious blank-verse plays, ‘The Palace of Truth,’ ‘Pygmalion and Galatea,’ ‘The Wicked World,’ and ‘Broken Hearts,’ all with conspicuous success—besides many serious and humorous dramas and comedies—such as ‘Daniel Druce,’ ‘Engaged,’ ‘Sweethearts,’ ‘Comedy and Tragedy,’ and many others. It was when I was tired of these that I tried my hand on a libretto, and I was so successful that I had to go on writing them. If d——d nonsense is wanted, I can write it as well as anybody. “I know I can be dismally dull—but I am sure that dinner-party at which I never opened my mouth (except to eat) is apocryphal. If you put that in, I shall never be invited to dinner again! “By the way, would you like to go to a rehearsal? There will be one on Thursday at about 11.30, and the Dress Rehearsal on Friday at 2.30. The enclosed will pass you. If you don’t use it, tear it up. “On Thursday the entrance will be by Stage Door—on Friday at the front entrance. “Yours for ever and ever, Amen, “W. S. GILBERT.” Amongst the many people who made a sketch of my head was the late Captain Robert Marshall, the author of “The Second in Command” and other delightful plays. This came about a few days before the Coronation of Edward VII. We were having tea together, when he took out a pencil, and in a few minutes this soldier-playwright made a charming little sketch. What a strange thing it is that people who succeed in one particular thing are often so gifted in various other lines. And people who do not succeed at anything seem to have no versatility of any sort or kind, except to amplify the various forms of stupidity.