At this time there came to London an American actor whose reputation in his own country was very high, and for whom it was claimed that, as a legitimate performer, he was superior to all rivals. This was Mr. Edwin Booth. He was welcomed with cordiality and much curiosity, and by none was he received with such hearty goodwill as by the manager of the Lyceum. Unluckily, he had made his arrangements injudiciously, having agreed to appear under a management which was quite unsuited to the proper exhibition of his gifts. The Princess’s Theatre was a house devoted to melodrama of the commoner type, and was directed by commercial rather than by æsthetic principles. This mistake proved fatal. The manager, finding that there was no likelihood of success, was not inclined to waste his resources, and, no doubt to the anguish of the actor, brought out the pieces in a meagre fashion that was consistent with the traditions of Oxford Street, but fatal to the American’s chances. In this disastrous state of things the manager of the Lyceum came to the rescue of his _confrère_ with a suggestion as delicately conceived as it was generous. He offered him his theatre, with its splendid resources and traditions, his company, and—himself. He proposed that a Shakespearian play should be produced on the customary scale of magnificence, and that he and Booth should fill the leading characters. This handsome offer was, of course, accepted with gratitude, and ‘Othello’ was selected as the play. The arrangements for this “Booth season,” as it might be termed, were of an unusual and certainly laborious kind. The manager, however, was never disposed to spare himself. The programme began on May 2, 1881, when Booth was to appear as Othello, performing on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, the manager playing Iago. On the other nights of the week, ‘The Cup,’ with the lively ‘Belle’s Stratagem,’ was to be performed. In the following week there was the same arrangement, except that Irving took the part of Othello.[27] The night of May 2 was an exciting one, even in the list of exciting Lyceum nights. The Americans were, of course, there in great force. Irving—Booth—Ellen Terry: this surely formed, in theatrical phrase, a galaxy of talent, and the cynosure of a crowded, brilliant audience. It was, indeed, a charming performance—intellectual, highly-coloured, and treated in the romantic fashion which the age seems to demand. The old days of lusty-throated, welkin-splitting declamation, emphasized with strides and lunges, are done with.