[2] It is not surprising that many more should have been found to claim the credit of “discovering” Henry Irving. Mr. W. Reeve writes: “A long talk again with Miss Herbert. As I have two theatres on my hands and a company, decided not to go. She seemed very disappointed; asked me what she should do. Thought of Henry Irving, who followed me in Manchester; advised her to write to Mr. Chambers; promised to do so as well, if engaged, for Mr. Knowles to release him. Wrote to Chambers about Irving.” All which, as I know from the best authority, is somewhat imaginative. The engagement was entirely owing to Boucicault. [3] Related in one of his conversations with Mr. Joseph Hatton. I have heard Mr. Walter Lacy describe the modest, grateful fashion in which our actor received some hints given him at rehearsal by this old and experienced performer as to the playing of his part. [4] I may be allowed to refer those who would learn the importance of this agent of “facial expression” to a little treatise of my own, _The Art of Acting_—lecture at the Royal Institution, where it is fully discussed. [5] Of this night, my friend Mr. Arthur A’Beckett has recently recalled some memories: “All the dramatic critics were assembled. John Oxenford—kindest of men and ripest of scholars—for the _Times_, E. L. Blanchard for the _Daily Telegraph_, John Hollingshead (still amongst us), the predecessor of my good friend Moy Thomas of the _Daily News_, Leicester Buckingham for the _Morning Star_, Desmond Ryan (I think) for the _Standard_, Heraud for the _Illustrated London News_, Tomlins or Richard Lee for the Advertiser, and Joseph Knight (again one of our veterans) for the _Sunday Times_. There were others—Clement Scott, W. S. Gilbert, Andrew Halliday, Tom Robertson, Harry Leigh, Jeff Prowse, Tom Hood—all members of the Savage Club in the days before clay-pipes went out of fashion. We were assembled to see a new piece by Dion Boucicault, then one of the most prolific of dramatists. Well, we were waiting for the curtain to draw up on the first act of the new play. It was called ‘Hunted Down,’ and it was buzzed in the stalls that Dion had picked up a very clever young actor in the provinces, who, after a short career in town, had made his mark in Manchester. He was called Henry Irving. Then there was another comparatively new name on the bills—Ada Dyas. The piece had a strong plot, and was fairly successful; but, assisted by the title, I believe it was a fight against long odds. A repentant woman ‘with a past’ was hunted down. I fancy Miss Herbert (one of the most charming actresses that ever trod the boards) was the ‘woman with the past,’ and that it was she who was ‘hunted down.’ But, although my impressions of the play are vague and blurred, I can see Henry Irving as the most admirable villain—cool, calm, and implacable—and Ada Dyas as his suffering wife. They stand before me as I write, two distinct figures. Of