which greeted the veteran as he presented himself in a small character. [29] For a time the house was “on crutches,” as it is called, an operation of considerable architectural delicacy. In the great “cellarage” below the stage, huge storehouses filled with the rubbish of half a century, were discovered masses of decayed peacocks’ feathers, which much perplexed the explorers and everybody else, until it was recalled that these were the antique “properties” used by Madame Vestris in one of her Planché burlesques. The labour was herculean, and the indefatigable Bram Stoker threw himself with heart and soul into the business. We might lament, however, that the beautiful interior suffered somewhat in the later alterations. The elegant contour was disturbed; the double pillars, which recurred periodically in the dress tier, were reduced to a single one. The fine entrance-hall lost its symmetry from being enlarged. But such sacrifices are absolutely necessary, and are not the first that have had to be made under “the form and pressure of the time.” The alterations cost a very large sum indeed, but our manager has always been an improving tenant, and has periodically laid out vast sums on the improvement and decoration of his house. [30] Mr. Labouchere, a shrewd observer, a friend and admirer of the actor’s abilities, always speaks out his opinions in plain, blunt terms: “An actor must, in order to win popularity, have mannerisms, and the more peculiar they are, the greater will be his popularity. No one can for a moment suppose that Mr. Irving could not speak distinctly, progress about the stage after the fashion of human beings, and stand still without balancing to and fro if he pleased. Yet, had he not done all this, he would—notwithstanding that there is a touch of real genius about his acting sometimes—never have made the mark that he has. He is, indeed, to the stage what Lord Beaconsfield was to politics. That exceedingly able man never could utter the resonant clap-trap in which he so often indulged, and which made men talk about him, without almost showing by his manner that he himself despised the tricks which gave him individuality. Were Mr. Irving at present to abate his peculiarities, his fervent worshippers would complain that their idol was sinking into mere common-place. Therefore, as I sincerely hope that, for his sake, the idolaters will continue to bow down before him and fill his treasury, I trust that he will never change.” There is a cynical flavour in this, and it is not very flattering to the audience, but underlying it there is some truth. [31] A rapturous article from a Liverpool critic, Mr. Russell, had appeared in _Macmillan’s Magazine_, which was, indeed, somewhat indiscriminating in its praises of the Lyceum ‘Romeo and Juliet.’