It was, however, to the antiquarian researches of R. J. Planché, for Charles Kemble's production of _King John_ at Covent Garden in 1823, that our stage owes its first important step in the reform of costume. Macready, who urged the reform still further, carried his sense of the importance of costume to such a point during the rehearsals of _Henry V._ that he went to bed in his armour, desiring that, not only should the dress become the part, but he should become the dress. I recollect Sir Henry Irving quoting this fact, when telling me that he himself always followed the practice of wearing the clothes for a new part a few days previous to assuming them on the stage. Sir Henry was, of course, a past master in the art of theatrical costume, and to his genius and taste more than to any other influence we may attribute its present development on the English stage. Let the old playgoer prate enthusiastically as he will about Charles Kean, and his splendid Shakespearean revivals at the Princess's Theatre, dramatic art has never been more picturesquely, richly, and appropriately clothed than it was at the Lyceum Theatre in the great days of Henry Irving. Even to talk to him of his productions was a liberal education in all arts appertaining to the theatre. That the great actor took infinite personal trouble with every detail, and would, in his own costume, direct the cut of the drapery, the shape of the shirt collar, and the exact position of the sash, or the fold of the turban, all who were privileged to associate with him at work are fully aware. I recall many conversations with him on the subject of stage costume, and invariably he would bring out some point of its psychological bearing. As to variation in the interpretation of a character under the influence of a different dress, for instance, I remember his saying--"When you have the good fortune to act with an actress like Miss Terry, the artist dominates the woman under any conditions of costume, and the least suggestion is easily grasped and appreciated. In all times, modes and manners must influence each other, and different gestures inevitably accompany different costumes. You would not, for instance, see a lady when wearing Grecian draperies disport herself in the same fashion as one bearing the stiff stomacher and monstrous farthingale of the Elizabethan period." [Illustration: MISS ELLEN TERRY AS MISTRESS PAGE.] Again, we were discussing the question of colour in relation to certain emotions, moods, and traits of character. "Who would think of playing a murderer in sky-blue satin and silver?" Sir Henry said. And not pausing for my reply: "Of course one expects a woman to go mad in white. Can you picture Hamlet in colours? Surely he demands black clothes, indeed the text says as much,--although the colour for the expression of mourning in Denmark at that period was, I believe, red."