If he cared to make one, Henry Irving's reply to his detractors might well be that he has stood the inexorable test of time. Since he first wore his laurels a new and very critical generation has sprung up--a generation that has little or no respect for tradition, that has abundant choice of entertainment, and only cares to pay for what it chooses to see. Face to face with this somewhat intractable tribe, Henry Irving has for more than a quarter of a century held his own, and America has united with England in hailing him as the living master of dramatic art in its purest and highest form. From the first he was wise enough to know that even the best and greatest of men, to say nothing of the greatest and best of actors, cannot afford to stand alone. As a matter of consequence he surrounds himself with a company composed of the best dramatic talent of the day, and his productions are mounted with a general and generous richness, and a minute attention to detail never, until his time, attempted on the stage. Then take the quality of the plays produced at the Lyceum, as compared with those morbid and unsavoury ones that during recent years we have seen in too many leading playhouses. Somebody wondered the other day why Adam had never been made the hero of a play, and a cynic suggested that it is because it is not possible to mix up his name with that of some married woman. If Adam is to have his stage chance it must be under the unsullied banner of Henry Irving. Great as a leader of men as he has proved himself to be, modesty and unselfishness are prominent among his characteristics. Although Queen Victoria, in recognition of his personal worth and public services, created him a Knight (let it be remembered this was the first time that such a distinction had been conferred upon an actor), he still loves to be called plain Henry Irving. Proud as he was--and is--of the honour that, through him, has been bestowed upon his profession, on the day when he was privileged to call himself "Sir Henry" in the play-bills, he merely put his pen through the prefix "Mr.," so that he might remain to the public, as well as to his friends, "Henry Irving." When Ellen Terry was asked, "Have you got used to Sir Henry's title?" she prettily replied, "Oh yes! He has been a Prince in my eyes for many years;" and in doing so she unconsciously spoke for all his associates. Well, in 1878, Irving, having completed his brilliant engagements with the renowned Bateman family, found himself not only the chief actor and attraction, but manager of the Lyceum Theatre.