In the Edinburgh theatre during his three years’ engagement there, 1856–9, Irving had played the part of Curan in _King Lear_. This was, I think, the only part which he had ever played in the great tragedy; and it is certainly not one commending itself to an ambitious young actor. It is not what actors call a “fat” part; it is only ten lines in all, and none of those of the slightest importance. But the ambitious young actor had his eye on the play very early, and had thought out the doing of it in his own way. The play was not produced till the end of 1892; but nearly ten years before he had talked it over with me. I find this note rough in my diary for January 5, 1883: “Theatre 7 till 2. H. and I supper alone. He told me of intention to play Lear on return from America. Gave rough idea of play—domestic— gives away kingdom round a wood fire, &c.” On the night of the 9th he spoke again of it under similar circumstances. And on April 10 he returned to the subject. _King Lear_, in the production of which Ford Madox Brown advised, was produced on November 10, 1892, and ran in all seventy-six nights. My diary of November 10 says: “First night; _King Lear_. Great enthusiasm between acts. Whilst scenes on, stillness like the grave. An ideal audience. Thunders of applause and cheers at end.” II On the morning of January 19, after _King Lear_ had run for sixty nights, I received a hurried note, written with pencil, from Irving, asking me to call and see him as soon as possible. I hurried to his rooms and found him ill and speechless with “grippe.” This was one of the early epidemics of influenza and its manifestations were very sudden. He could not raise his head from his pillow. He wrote on a slip of paper: “Can’t play to-night. Better close the theatre.” “No!” I said, “I’ll not close unless you order me to. I’ll _never_ close!” He smiled feebly and then wrote: “What will you do?” “I don’t know,” I said; “I’ll go down to the theatre at once. Fortunately this is a rehearsal day and everybody will be there.” He wrote again: “Try Vezin.” “All right,” I said. Just then Ellen Terry, to whom he had sent word, came in. When she knew how bad he was she said to me: “Of course you’ll close, Bram” (we use Christian names a good deal on the stage). “No!” I said again. “Then what will you do?” “I don’t know. But we’ll play—unless _you_ won’t consent to!” “Don’t you know that I’ll do anything!” “Of course I do! It will be all right.” This was a wild presumption, for at the time the Stage Manager was away ill.