The music, the work of a young composer, Mr. Edward German, was truly romantic and expressive; stately and richly-coloured. How wonderful, by the way, is the progress made of late years in theatrical music! We have now a group of composers who expend their talents and elegancies in the adornment of the stage. The flowing melodies and stately marches of the Lyceum music still linger in the ear. It was in January, 1892, when he was performing in ‘Henry VIII.,’ that a very alarming piece of news, much magnified by report, reached him. His son Laurence was playing at Belfast in the Benson Company, and had by some accident shot himself with a revolver; this casualty was exaggerated to an extraordinary degree,—three local doctors issued bulletins; “the lung had been pierced”—until the anxious father at last sent over an experienced surgeon, Mr. Lawson Tait, who was able to report that the wound was trivial, and the weapon a sort of “toy-pistol.” Much sympathy was excited by this casualty. The manager has two sons, Henry and Laurence, the latter named after Mr. Toole, who are now both following their father’s profession. CHAPTER XV. 1892. ‘KING LEAR’—‘BECKET.’ After presenting so many of Shakespeare’s great dramas, it was to be expected that the manager could not well pass by what has been justly styled the Titanic play of ‘King Lear.’ This had, indeed, always been in his thoughts; but he naturally shrank from the tremendous burden it entailed. It was prepared in his usual sumptuous style. There were sixteen changes of scene and twenty-two characters, and the music was furnished by Hamilton Clarke. The scenery was divided between Craven and Harker, the latter a very effective artist of the same school. There were some beautiful romantic effects: the halls, the heath, and notably the Dover scenes, were exquisite. I doubt if their presentation has been excelled by any preceding attempts. The barbaric tone and atmosphere of the piece was conveyed to perfection, without being insisted on or emphasized. It is only when we compare the ambitious attempts of other managers who would indulge in effects equally lavish and sumptuous, that we recognise the ability, ease, reserve, and force of the Lyceum manager.[56] They, too, will have their “archæology” and their built-up temples, designed by painters of repute, and crowds; but there is present only the sense of stage effect and the flavour of the supernumerary. The secret is the perfect subordination of such details to the general effect. They should be, like the figures on a tapestry, indistinct, but effective as a background. Charles Lamb’s well-worn dictum, that ‘Lear’ should never be acted, was trotted forth in every criticism. There is some truth in this exaggerated judgment, because it can never be _adequately_ presented, and the performance must always fall short of the original grandeur. With his remarks on the pettiness of the stage-storm,