SCENE V.--_The street. A very, very desirable residence, with

well-laid-out grounds in rear. Brougham waiting. (It is not intended to attempt to describe the extraordinary mechanical methods employed to bring about this sensational change of scene, seeing that a journey is about to be made from St. John's Wood to the Criterion Theatre, Piccadilly. It is unnecessary and useless, for no theatrical manager, be he professional or amateur, would attempt it.)_

THE MODERN MATHEWS _leads the way down steps followed by_ INTERVIEWER.

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_aside to_ INTERVIEWER): Have a good look at the coachman on the quiet. (INTERVIEWER _does so. Both enter brougham._)

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Whom do you think he was coachman to?--(_whispers_)--_Byron_!

INTERVIEWER: What--Henry--Henry J.?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Yes, dear old "Our Boys" Byron. He was with him for seven years. I've had him since. Poor old Byron! What a wit he was. He joked to the last--almost his last breath was a joke. He wrote "Fourteen Days" for me. He was very bad--had a consumptive cough when the play was finished. He would persist in reading it to me. It was heartbreaking. When he was dying we used to drop in and sit with him, and take him little delicacies. Just before he had been doing work for Hare and Kendal at the St. James's. I went in one day, and there was a fine hare by his side. "Hare sent it to me," he said. "It's so big that I thought Kendal was inside!" Dear old Byron!

(_A pause._)

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_with gaiety a trifle forced_): Let me see--where were we when we left the house? Paradoxical that, eh? Oh! yes--I remember--of course. Well, after playing about for some years, at last came a moment when I seemed to be on the horns of a dilemma. I had just advanced beyond the position of a stock actor, and hadn't achieved any particular individual reputation--that is, I felt unless I adopted some special line managers wouldn't offer me engagements. One morning--I was playing at Brighton--at breakfast I had three telegrams in succession. One read: "Would you accept an engagement at a West-end theatre to manage it yourself?" A second--from T. E. Smale: "Would you like a theatre in London? I can find money for it." And a third from Alexander Henderson: "Could you open at Criterion in 'Brighton' next Monday?" This seemed direct. I rushed to town. Henderson said: "Rare chance. If open next Monday--can have theatre rent free!"

INTERVIEWER: Of course----?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Yes--I went! Played a month. Went to Paris. Returned at Easter. Opened in "The Great Divorce Case," and I started with the principle of making it a farcical comedy theatre. Made a contract with Henderson for seven years. This was in 1--8--7--6. Always a good memory for dates of that kind. "Pink Dominos!" Forced on me--absolutely forced on me. "The Great Divorce Case" was free to anybody to use, and when I produced it I wrote to the authors in Paris telling them I was prepared to pay them. A week or two after they sent their agent to me, saying that the same authors had just produced a piece in Paris and would like me to have it. It very much resembled "The Great Divorce Case," you know; and, on this basis, I refused it. They sent three or four times. At last I bought it for a mere song--I didn't want it--£40 down and £1 a night for a hundred nights!

(INTERVIEWER _excited. More so when_ THE MODERN MATHEWS _encourages him to take to playwriting as a profession by remarking, with a glorious twinkle in both eyes_: My half share of the profits was £15,000! INTERVIEWER _accepts another much-needed cigarette_!)

INTERVIEWER (_breaking the silence_): "Where's the Cat"?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Very decent spec. Gave £25 for it!

INTERVIEWER: Why, it's all profit!

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_wisely_): But, I have given thousands for plays, and all turned out no good!

INTERVIEWER: And "David Garrick"?

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_merrily, for he revels in talking about his favourite character_): Ah! "Davy"! I produced "Davy" in '86. I was about to produce a farcical comedy, and, as a matter of fact, had got within two days of the advertised first night--indeed, it came to within forty-eight hours of the time--when I became convinced that it was no use. On the Friday I frankly issued an announcement stating that I had no confidence in the piece. It was a toss-up between "Brighton" and "Wild Oats." Eventual decision--"Wild Oats." A great success--Miss Mary Moore and David James secured a big triumph.

INTERVIEWER: And yourself?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Well, I played _Rover_. Up to this moment I had made up my mind never to play any part of Sotheran's or Charles Mathews', and when Mr. Calmour suggested my playing "David Garrick," I told him this. Others suggested "Davy," too, and finally Clement Scott, one night at supper, talked me into it. I was very nervous of "D.G." on the first night, because I had altered the intention of the dramatist in the second act by taking it more seriously. At one time I began to rehearse it with all the nonsense out of it, but finally decided to curtail the original "business" so as not to disappoint lovers of the old version. It ran from November, 1886, to August, 1887. I have revived it every year since, and so far as paying business goes, "Pink Dominos" is not in it. Ah! here we are. Come into my cabin.

_Brougham stops at theatre._ THE MODERN MATHEWS _and_ INTERVIEWER _ascend a somewhat steep flight of stairs leading to_--