He had brought his own wine out with him from England, and the company took him at his word and did make up for it!

“Never mind!” I said, as the soup was followed by worse and worse.  “There’s my pudding!”

It came on blazing, and looked superb.  Henry tasted a mouthful.

“Very odd,” he said, “but I think this is a camphor pudding.”

He said it so politely, as if he might easily be mistaken!

My maid in England had packed the pudding with my furs!  It simply reeked of camphor.

So we had to dine on Henry’s wine and L.F.  Austin’s wit.  This dear, brilliant man, now dead, acted for many years as Henry’s secretary, and one of his gifts was the happy knack of hitting off people’s peculiarities in rhyme.  This dreadful Christmas dinner at Pittsburg was enlivened by a collection of such rhymes, which Mr. Austin called a “Lyceum Christmas Play.”

Every one roared with laughter until it came to the verse of which he was the victim, when suddenly he found the fun rather labored!

The first verse was spoken by Loveday, who announces that the “Governor” has a new play which is “Wonderful!” a great word of Loveday’s.

George Alexander replies: 

    “But I say, Loveday, have I got a part in it,
    That I can wear a cloak in and look smart in it? 
    Not that I care a fig for gaudy show, dear boy—­
    But juveniles must look well, don’t you know, dear boy. 
    And shall I lordly hall and tuns of claret own? 
    And may I murmur love in dulcet baritone? 
    Tell me at least, this simple fact of it—­
    Can I beat Terriss hollow in one act of it?[1]
    Pooh for Wenman’s bass![2] Why should he make a boast of it?”

[Footnote 1:  Alexander had just succeeded Terriss as our leading young man.]

[Footnote 2:  Wenman had a rolling bass voice of which he was very proud.  He was a valuable actor, yet somehow never interesting.  Young Norman Forbes-Robertson played Sir Andrew Ague Cheak with us on our second American tour.]

Norman Forbes: 

“If he has a voice, I have got the ghost of it!  When I pitch it low, you may say how weak it is, When I pitch it high, heavens! what a squeak it is!  But I never mind; for what does it signify?  See my graceful hands, they’re the things that dignify; All the rest is froth, and egotism’s dizziness—­ Have I not played with Phelps? (To Wenman) I’ll teach you all the business!”

T.  Mead: 

(Of whom much has already been written in these pages.)

    “What’s this about a voice?  Surely you forget it, or
    Wilfully conceal that I have no competitor! 
    I do not know the play, or even what the title is,
    But safe to make success a charnel-house recital is! 
    So please to bear in mind, if I am not to fail in it,
    That Hamlet’s father’s ghost must rob the Lyons Mail in it! 
    No! that’s not correct!  But you may spare your charity—­
    A good sepulchral groan’s the thing for popularity!”