“After Mr. Irving has grouped the men on the benches, he steps back and looks at the table. ‘We ought to have on it some kind of mace or crozier,’ he says—‘a large crozier. Now for the “make up.” All the barons and everyone who has a moustache must wear a small beard. All the gentlemen who have no beards remain unshaven. All the priests and bishops are unshaven. The mob can have slight beards, but this is unimportant. Now, take off your hats, gentlemen, please. Some of you must be old, some young. Hair very short;’ and he passes from group to group selecting the different people. ‘Now, I think that is all understood pretty well. Where are the sketches for dresses?’ “The sketches are brought, and he goes carefully through them. Miss Terry and Mr. Terriss also look over the big white sheets of paper. The fox-terrier strolls up to the group, gives a glance at them, and walks back again to Miss Terry’s chair with a slightly cynical look. Then Mr. Irving returns to the groups by the benches. ‘Remember, gentlemen, you must be arguing here, laying down the law in this way,’ suiting the action to the word. ‘Just arrange who is to argue. Don’t do it promiscuously, but three or four of you together. Try to put a little action into it. I want you to show your arms, and not to keep them glued to your sides like trussed fowls. No; that isn’t half enough action. Don’t be frightened. Better make too much noise rather than too little, but don’t stop too suddenly. Start arguing when I ring the first bell. As I ring the second bell, you see me enter, and stop.’ The dog stands one bell, but the second annoys him, and he disappears from the stage altogether, until the people on the benches have finished their discussion. “Mr. Irving next tries the three-cornered stools which are placed around the table, but prefers square ones. The dog returns, walks over to the orchestra, looks vainly for a rat, and retreats under the table in the centre of the stage as if things were getting really too much for him. But his resting-place is ill-chosen, for presently half-a-dozen angry lords jump on the table, and he is driven forth once more. After a stormy scene with the lords, Mr. Irving walks up the steps again. ‘When I say “I depart,” you must let me get up the steps. All this time your pent-up anger is waiting to burst out suddenly. Don’t go to sleep over it.’ He looks at the table in the centre of the stage, and turns to a carpenter. ‘This table will never do. It has to be jumped on by so many people that it must be very strong. They follow me.’ (To Miss Terry) ‘They’d better catch hold of me, up the steps here.’ “Miss Terry: ‘They must do something. They can’t stand holding you like that.’ “Mr. Irving: ‘No.’ The door opens suddenly at top of steps, and discovers the crowd, who shout, ‘Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.’ “The doors open and the crowd shout, but the effect is not good.