"There were time and opportunity, at any rate, to comprehend the subtlety of Mr. Irving's expression in that long soliloquy--how well it was broken up, and how face accorded with action when Sinnatus lay dead, and the frightened Camma had fled to the sanctuary of the Temple. With the first act but little fault could be found. The fastidious among the audience who complained of dulness and want of action, possibly forgot that whilst their eyes were feasting on the scenery, their ears were closed to the poetry, and on another visit will confess how much meaning and study were at the first blush lost to them. With the aid of the text, the beauties hidden for the moment will reappear. As for the second act, with its groupings, its grace, its centre figures and surroundings, its hymns to Artemis, its chants and processions, we are inclined to doubt if the stage has ever given to educated tastes so rare a treat. In the old days, such pictures might have been caviare to the general public, but the public at the Lyceum is one of culture and a very high order of intelligence. Such poems are necessarily for the fastidious and the elegant in mind and scholarship; but granted the right of the stage to demand such poetic studies, it would be impossible for modern scenic art to give them more splendour and completeness. Æsthetic tastes have had their necessary ridicule and banter, for everything that is affected is hateful to the ordinary English nature; but here, in this Temple of Artemis, when Miss Ellen Terry, veiled as the Galatian priestess, stands by the incense-bearing tripod, and Mr. Henry Irving, robed in the scarlet of Rome's tributary King, comes to demand his anxiously expected bride, there is an aiming at the beautiful and thorough, most creditable in itself and distinctly worthy of respect." No doubt the production of "The Cup" was a bright feather in the managerial cap of Henry Irving, and Ellen Terry took her full share in its colours.