interested in the house as in the play. Men stood up to see and be seen, and opera-glasses were as plentiful as blackberries in October. The eager pittites exchanged surmises and certainties with regard to celebrities--and, probably unconscious of the interest they were arousing, celebrities displayed themselves to the best possible advantage, and exchanged greetings with brother and sister celebrities. To give the names of those present would be to quote the very pick of the literary, artistic, scientific, and aristocratic world. That the critics, reporters, and artists were there in full force, goes without saying, and most of them seemed busy, some taking notes of the performance on the stage, others jotting down the names of the lions among the audience, and many making lightning-like sketches of those present, both on the stage and in the auditorium. But, after all, 'the play's the thing,' and it may be briefly said that this was followed with unflagging interest, and listened to with breathless silence. By the time this appears in print[3] those who are interested in things theatrical will have had an opportunity of reading the critical verdict of our leading dramatic censors on Henry Irving's Lear, and Ellen Terry's Cordelia. Whatever the ultimate popularity of these impersonations may be, there was but one opinion in the crowded and brilliant audience of last night. The people seemed never tired of cheering, and late though the hour was when the curtain fell, no one moved until Henry Irving, who throughout the evening looked 'every inch a king,' was compelled to give utterance to a few well-chosen words of heartfelt thanks. His first night of 'Lear,' he said, would be one of the happiest of his memories. A pleasant feature of the evening was the right loyal welcome given to Henry Howe, who, now playing the old man, tenant to Gloster, was the King of France in the Macready revival of fifty-five years ago." Ellen Terry has told me that it was one of the most nervous and anxious first nights she had experienced, and it might well be so, for the task of all concerned in this great production was a heavy one. But though critical opinion differed as to some points in the representation--though sapient playgoers shook their heads, and, quoting Charles Lamb, declared that "King Lear" should never be acted, there was no argument as to the merits of the new Cordelia. Her maidenly simplicity and delicately expressed, though manifestly intense, love for her father touched the right chord, and once more she won all our hearts. Her initial popularity in the character continued throughout the long and, I believe, unprecedented run of the play.