The new manager made some decorative alterations in the theatre which, considering the little time at his disposal, did credit to his taste and promptitude. The auditorium was treated in sage green and turquoise blue; the old, familiar “cameos” of Madame Vestris’s day, ivory tint, were still retained, while the hangings were of blue silk, trimmed with amber and gold, with white lace curtains. The ceiling was of pale blue and gold. The stalls were upholstered in blue, “a special blue” it was called; escaloped shells were used to shield the glare of the footlights. The dressing-rooms of the performers, the Royal box, and Lady Burdett-Coutts’ box were all handsomely decorated and re-arranged, the whole being directed by Mr. A. Darbyshire, a Manchester architect. This, however, was but the beginning of a long series of structural alterations, additions, and costly decorations, pursued over a term of a little over a dozen years. On Monday, December 30, 1878, the theatre was opened with the revived ‘Hamlet.’ This was the first of those glittering nights—_premières_—which have since become a feature of a London season. From the brilliancy of the company—which usually includes all that is notable in the arts and professions—as well as from the rich dresses, jewels, and flowers, which suggest the old opera nights, the spectacle has become one of extraordinary interest, and invitations are eagerly sought. Here are seen the regular _habitués_, who from the first have been always invited: for the constancy of the manager to his old friends is well known. The play was given with new scenery, dresses, music, etc. The aim was to cast over the whole a poetical and dreamy glamour, which was exhibited conspicuously in the treatment of the opening scenes when the Ghost appeared. There were the mysterious battlements seen at a distance, shadowy walls, and the cold blue of breaking day. There were fine halls, with arches and thick pillars of Norman pattern. Irving’s version of the part was in the main the same as before, but it was noted that he had moderated it, as it were; it became more thoughtful. Of course, much interest and speculation was excited by the new actress, who exhibited all her charming grace and winsomeness, with a tender piteousness, when the occasion called. “Why,” she told an interviewer, “I am so high strung on a first night that if I realized there was an audience in front staring at me, I should fly off and be _down at Winchester in two twos_!” On this momentous night of trial she thought she had completely failed, and without waiting for the fifth act she flung herself into the arms of a friend, repeating, “I have failed, I have failed!” She drove up and down the Embankment half a dozen times before she found courage to go home.