Objection was taken to the uncertainty in the touches; the figure did not “stand out” so much as it ought. Much of this, however, was owing to the lack of effect in the Lady Macbeth, who, assuming hoarse and “charnel-house” tones, seemed to suggest something of Meg Merrilies. On the later revival, however, his interpretation became bold, firm, and consistent. The play had, however, a good deal of attraction, and was played for some eighty nights. The King in Tennyson’s play-poem, ‘Queen Mary,’ I have always thought one of the best, most picturesque, of Irving’s impersonations, from the realization it offered of the characters, impressions, feelings, of what he represented: it was complete in every point of view. As regards its length, it might be considered trifling; but it became important because of the _largeness_ of the place it fitted. Profound was the impression made by the actor’s Philip—not by what he had to say, which was little, or by what he had to do, which was less, or by the dress or “make-up,” which was remarkable. He seemed to speak by the expression of his figure and glances; and apart from the meaning of his spoken words, there was another meaning beyond—viz., the character, the almost diseased solitude, the heartless indifference, and other odious historical characteristics of the Prince, with which it was plain the actor had filled himself. Mr. Whistler’s grim, antique portrait conveys this perfectly. His extraordinary success was now to rouse the jealousy, and even malignity, which followed his course in his earlier days, and was not unaccompanied with coarse ridicule and caricature, directed against the actor’s legs even. “Do you know,” said a personage of Whistlerian principles—“do you know, it seems to me there is a great deal of _pathos_ in Irving’s legs, particularly in the _left_ leg!”