The next evening we went to the Lyceum Theatre to see Mr. Irving.  He had placed the Royal box at our disposal, so we invited our friends the Priestleys to go with us, and we all enjoyed the evening mightily.  Between the scenes we went behind the curtain, and saw the very curious and admirable machinery of the dramatic spectacle.  We made the acquaintance of several imps and demons, who were got up wonderfully well.  Ellen Terry was as fascinating as ever.  I remembered that once before I had met her and Mr. Irving behind the scenes.  It was at the Boston Theatre, and while I was talking with them a very heavy piece of scenery came crashing down, and filled the whole place with dust.  It was but a short distance from where we were standing, and I could not help thinking how near our several life-dramas came to a simultaneous exeunt omnes.

A long visit from a polite interviewer, shopping, driving, calling, arranging about the people to be invited to our reception, and an agreeable dinner at Chelsea with my American friend, Mrs. Merritt, filled up this day full enough, and left us in good condition for the next, which was to be a very busy one.

In the Introduction to these papers, I mentioned the fact that more than half a century ago I went to the famous Derby race at Epsom.  I determined, if possible, to see the Derby of 1886, as I had seen that of 1834.  I must have spoken of this intention to some interviewer, for I find the following paragraph in an English sporting newspaper, “The Field,” for May 29th, 1886:—­

“The Derby has always been the one event in the racing year which statesmen, philosophers, poets, essayists, and litterateurs desire to see once in their lives.  A few years since Mr. Gladstone was induced by Lord Granville and Lord Wolverton to run down to Epsom on the Derby day.  The impression produced upon the Prime Minister’s sensitive and emotional mind was that the mirth and hilarity displayed by his compatriots upon Epsom race-course was Italian rather than English in its character.  On the other hand, Gustave Dore, who also saw the Derby for the first and only time in his life, exclaimed, as he gazed with horror upon the faces below him, Quelle scene brutale! We wonder to which of these two impressions Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes inclined, if he went last Wednesday to Epsom!  Probably the well-known, etc., etc.—­Of one thing Dr. Holmes may rest finally satisfied:  the Derby of 1886 may possibly have seemed to him far less exciting than that of 1834; but neither in 1834 nor in any other year was the great race ever won by a better sportsman or more honorable man than the Duke of Westminster.”

My desire to see the Derby of this year was of the same origin and character as that which led me to revisit many scenes which I remembered.  I cared quite as much about renewing old impressions as about getting new ones.  I enjoyed everything which I had once seen all the more from the blending of my recollections with the present as it was before me.