Cambridge. I may tell you that during my last year at Cambridge I determined to adopt the Church as my profession, and an uncle of mine promised me a good country living, which was at that time in his gift. My studies were commenced under Dr. Harold Browne, and continued at Cuddesdon College, under the Rev. H. P. Liddon—subsequently Canon Liddon. However, I finally found myself in the Seminary of the Oblates of St. Charles at Bayswater, of which community Dr. Henry Edward Manning—the late Cardinal—was the head. I have seen Cardinal Manning—remember, I am speaking of the days when I was at Bayswater—put up his fists and spar and hit out most scientifically with all the fun imaginable. In his quiet way he would say, as he 'let go' his left at an imaginary foe, 'Ah! I think I could do it.' I must confess to commencing a play even whilst I was studying there. I finished my reading, and left. Previous to doing so, I went in to see Dr. Manning.
"'Well, well,' he said, 'and what are you going to do?'
"'I'm not quite sure, Dr. Manning,' was my reply.
"'Ah!' said the Doctor, I'm afraid you have no vocation for the priesthood.'
"'No,' I said, 'I have no vocation—at least, not for the priesthood.'
"'I don't understand,' the Doctor exclaimed; what you mean by a vocation for anything else. This is a great question, and one concerning the soul.'
"'Then I went straight at it. 'Well, Doctor,' I said, 'I rather thought of going on the stage.'
"'Why, you might as well call cobbling a vocation, the Doctor said, surprised.
"'Yes,' I replied, quietly, there would be more sole in it, wouldn't there?'
"I can see him now laughing. He let me go.
Quinton Twiss as "Benjamin Bobbin."Mr. Burnand as the "ex-chicken."
"Shortly after that I went to Edinburgh, where I met my old Etonian school friend, Mr. Montagu Williams, and acted at Mr. Wyndham's—Robert Wyndham, not Charles—Theatre. Then I stayed a good time at Esher with George Meredith. He had just written his first book, 'Richard Feverell'—a work never beaten by himself. I have a first edition of it. I came to London, and went to the Bar—not with success. I did a little at the Clerkenwell sions. Why did I give up the Bar? The following is the reason: I made a fearful hash of a case of forgery in which the wife was committed with her husband. I had to defend the wife, Besley was for the prosecution. It will show you how much I knew about the ways of the court when I tell you that I actually asked
