Among those who had taken note of Irving’s efforts was a “long-headed” American manager, whose loudly-expressed criticism was that “he ought to play Richelieu!” This was a far-seeing view. Many years before, this manager had been carrying round the country his two “prodigy” daughters, who had attracted astonishment by their precocious playing in a pretty little piece of courtship, called ‘The Young Couple.’ The elder later won favour by her powerful and intense acting in ‘Leah’; and he was now about taking a theatre with a view of bringing forward his second daughter, Isabel. It seems curious now to think that the handsome, elegantly-designed Lyceum Theatre, built by an accomplished architect on the most approved principles, was then lying derelict, as it were, and at the service of any stray _entrepreneur_. It could be had on very cheap terms, for at this time the revival of theatrical interest had not yet come; the theatre, not yet in high fashion, was conducted on rude, coarse lines. The attractions of the old correct comedy, as seen at the Haymarket, were waning, and the old companies were beginning to break up. Buckstone and Webster were in their decay, yet still lagged ingloriously on the stage. The pit and galleries were catered for. Theatres were constantly opening, and as constantly closing. Burlesques of the Gaiety pattern were coming into favour. In this state of things the shrewd American saw an opportunity. He had an excellent coadjutor in his wife, a clever, hard working lady, with characteristics that often suggested the good-natured Mrs. Crummles, but without any of her eccentricities. Her husband took the Lyceum, and proceeded to form a company; and one of his first steps was to offer an engagement to Irving. The new venture started on September 11, 1871, with an unimportant piece, ‘Fanchette,’ founded on George Sand’s ‘Petite Fadette,’ in which our actor had a character quite unsuited to his gifts, a sort of peasant lover.[8] The object was to introduce the manager’s daughter, Isabel, in a fantastical part, but the piece was found “too French,” and rather far-fetched. It failed very disastrously. The young actor, of course, had to bear his share in the failure; but he could not have dreamt at that moment that here he was to find his regular home, and that for twenty long years he was destined never to be away from the shadow of the great portico of the Lyceum.