-a huge dog--a wolf?
No, something heavier; something more hideous; something clothed! As I
dragged it under a lamp I saw revealed a huge head, covered by a black
skull cap--a man's head--a dwarf, muttering in Irish something I could
not understand--except one word, "Judy! Judy! Judy!" It was a woman of
extraordinary strength thus clasped on to me. I dragged her to the hotel
door, where I engaged an interpreter in the shape of the "boots," and
made a bargain with "Judy" to release me on my giving her one shilling,
and to sit to me for this sketch for half-a-crown. I have still a lively
recollection of the vice-like grip.

[Illustration: "JUDY," THE GALWAY DWARF.]

My friend who had introduced me to the editor of _Punch_ was a prominent
city official, and entertainer in chief of all men of talent from
London, and was also, like Tom Taylor, an author and dramatist; and when
I was a boy I illustrated one of his first stories. He also introduced
me behind the scenes at the old Theatre Royal. I recollect my boyish
delight when one day I was on the stage during the rehearsal of the
Italian opera. Shall I ever forget that treat? It was much greater in my
eyes than the real performance later on. If my memory serves, "Don
Giovanni" was the opera. One of the principals was suddenly taken ill,
and this rehearsal was called for the benefit of the understudy. He was
a dumpy, puffy little Italian, and played the heavy father. Madame
Titiens was--well--the heavy daughter. In the first scene she has to
throw herself upon her prostrate father. This is the incident I saw
rehearsed: the little fat father lay on the dusty stage, with one eye on
the O.P. side. As soon as the massive form of Titiens bore down upon him
he rolled over and over out of the way. This pantomime highly amused all
of us, the ever-jovial Titiens in particular, and she again and again
rushed laughingly in, but with the same result.

The first actor I ever saw perform was Phelps, in "The Man of the
World." If anything could disillusionise a youth regarding the romance
of the theatre, that play surely would. Be it to my credit that my
first impression was admiration for a fine--if dull--performance. From
that day I have been a constant theatre-goer. If I am to believe the
following anecdote, published in a Dublin paper a few years ago, I "did
the theatre in style," and had an early taste which I did not possess
for making jokes.

"The jarvey drove Harry Furniss, whe