The actor tells us of this interesting occasion: “I was cast for Doricourt, a part which I had never played before, and which I thought did not suit me; I felt that this was the opinion of the audience soon after the play began. The house appeared to be indifferent, and I believed that failure was conclusively stamped upon my work, when suddenly, upon my exit after the mad scene, I was startled by a burst of applause, and so great was the enthusiasm of the audience, that I was compelled to reappear upon the scene, a somewhat unusual thing except upon the operatic stage.”[3] This compliment is nearly always paid to our actor when he performs this part. In the criticisms of the piece the efforts of the interesting manageress-actress of course received the chief attention. Dramatic criticism, however, at this time was of a somewhat slender kind, and the elaborate study of an individual performer’s merits was not then in fashion. The play itself was then “the thing,” and accordingly we find the new actor’s exertions dealt with in a curt but encouraging style: “Mr. H. Irving was the fine gentleman in Doricourt: but he was more, for his mad scenes were truthfully conceived and most subtly executed.” Thus the _Athenæum_. And Mr. Oxenford, with his usual reserve, after pronouncing that the comedy was “a compound of English dulness and Italian pantomime,” added that Doricourt “was heavy company till he feigns madness, and the mock insanity represented by Mr. H. Irving is the cause of considerable mirth.” This slight and meagre tribute contrasts oddly with the elaborate fulness of stage criticism in our day. The piece has always continued in the actor’s _répertoire_, after being compressed into a few scenes. The rich, old-fashioned dress and powder suits the performer and sets off his intelligent features, which wear a smiling expression, as though consciously enjoying the comedy flavour of the piece.