I remember well his appearance in some play--I fancy it was in _The Road to Ruin_, in which I represented some character, I entirely forget what--where he comes on with a four-in-hand whip in his hand; and I remember, too, that for the other performers in that piece, their appearance on the stage was a service of danger, from which the occupants of the stage boxes were not entirely free.

But he was inexhaustibly good-natured and good-humoured, and gave us excellent suppers after the performance.
Then there was Edward Hobhouse, with--more or less with--his exceedingly pretty and clever wife, and her sister, the not at all pretty but still more clever and very witty Miss Graves.

Hobhouse was a man abounding in talent of all sorts, extremely witty, brim full of humour, a thorough good fellow and very popular.

He and his wife, though very good friends did not entirely pull together; and it used to be told of him, that replying to a man, who asked him "How's your wife ?" he answered with much humorous semblance of indignation, "Well! if you come to that, how's yours ?" Hobhouse was far and away the cleverest and best educated man of the little set (these dramatic reminiscences refer to the early years of my Florence life), and in truth was somewhat regrettably wasted in the midst of such a frivolous and idle community.

But I take it that he was much of an invalid.
Of course we got up _The Rivals_.