hter. Paul was irresistible in his drollery, and whether
it was mimicry or original humour, you could not but revel in its
quaint conceits.

Such men are benefactors; they brighten the darkest hours of
existence, turn sorrow into laughter, and enable men to forget their
troubles and live a little while in the sunshine of humour. Banish
philosophy if you please, banish ambition if you must banish
something, but leave us _humour_, the light of the social world. All
who have experienced its beautiful influence can appreciate its value,
and understand it as one of the choicest blessings conferred on our
existence.

The dullest company was enlivened when Wright entered upon the scene.
I remember Paul being told one day at the Garrick Club that a certain
poor barrister, who had been an actor, was going to marry the
daughter of an old friend. "Ah!" said he, "yes, he's _a lover without
spangles_."

Who but Paul would have thought of so grotesque a simile? And yet its
applicability was simply due to the language of the stage.

I remember Robson, too, and his wonderful acting; he had no rival.
Nature had given him the talent which Art had cultivated to the
highest perfection. Next come the Keelys' impersonations of every
phase of dramatic life--originals in acting, and actors of originals.

But I must not linger over this portion of my story. It would occupy
many pages, and time and space are limited; I therefore take my leave
of one of the pleasantest chapters in my reminiscences.

All, alas! have passed away--all I knew and loved, all who made
that time so happy; and reluctantly as I say it, it must be said:
"Farewell, dear, grand old. Knebworth, with all thy glories and all
the glad faces and merry hearts I met within your walls--a long, long,
farewell!"

CHAPTER XXII.

CROCKFORD'S--"THE HOOKS AND EYES"--DOUGLAS JERROLD.

"Crockford's" has become a mere reminiscence, but worthy, in many
respects, of being preserved as part of the history of London. It was
historic in many of its associations as well as its incidents, and men
who made history as well as those who wrote it met at Crockford's. It
was celebrated alike for high play and high company.

As I never had a real passion for gambling, it was to me a place of
great enjoyment, for there were some of the celebrated men of the
day amongst its invited guests--wits, poets, novelists, playwrights,
painters--in fact, all who had distinguished themselves in ar