It was followed by the scenes from ‘Don Quixote,’ and here, again, we must admire that admirable power of conceiving a character in which Irving excels, and in which all true actors should excel. It was admitted that the piece was a “poorish” thing, but here was supplied the living image of the hapless and ever interesting “Don,” who lived, moved, and had his being before us, in the most perfect way. There was a general dreaminess over him; his soul was so filled with high chivalrous visions that he was indifferent to the coarsely prosaic incidents going on about him. He filled the stage; the rest were mere puppets. The character, in spite of the shortcomings of the piece, might be made one of his best. “One of these days”—always an indefinite period—we may look to see him in a vigorous, well-written drama on this subject. And here it may be said that this long connection of Wills and his school with the Lyceum has tended somewhat to the sacrifice of brisk dramatic action, which is always enfeebled by an excess of poetical recitations. There are still many fine subjects and fine dramas which would kindle all the actor’s powers afresh and stir his audiences. What a fine piece, for instance, could be made of Victor Hugo’s ‘Notre Dame’! We already see our actor as the mysterious and romantic monk—one more addition to his ecclesiastical gallery. What opportunities for scenery and music! One of the most picturesque of stories is that of Theodore of Corsica, he who dreamed of being a king and actually became one, and who died in the King’s Bench Prison in the most piteous state of misery. We should like to see him, too, as Rodin, in Sue’s ‘Wandering Jew,’ and, better still, in ‘Venice Preserved,’ or in ‘Mlle. de Belleisle.’ After his twenty years’ fruitful work at the Lyceum—twenty years and more of picturesque labour during which a new interest was created in the stage—an official recognition was to be given of our actor’s high position. The year 1895 will henceforth be notable as the year of the first tardy honour ever bestowed on an English actor by the Crown. We have had titled players in abundance on the stage, but they have not owed their honours to the stage. It has been said that Sir Richard Steele and Sir Augustus Harris are the only two titled managers. When, in May, the usual list of what are called “birthday honours” came out, the public was delighted to find their favourite included, in company with a poet, a novelist, and a successful traveller. Few Government acts have given such general satisfaction. There was a general chorus of appreciation. Already a lecturer before the Universities and a doctor of letters, the leading player of his time was now officially recognised.