It is strange that there should be so much reluctance in the English mind to entertain the idea of a National Theatre. In regard to other forms of art, the need of public support is recognised and accepted. The treasures of sculpture and painting accumulated in the British Museum, the National Gallery, and the South Kensington Museum owe their existence, in part at least, to the expenditure of the money of the people, and when the Royal Academy failed to initiate any comprehensive system of art teaching, it was undertaken by the nation. On every ground of public policy the claims of the drama might be urged with even greater plausibility. Its appeal as an educational force is even greater and more immediate, and as a humanising influence it is capable of reaching that larger class who are not yet prepared to appreciate the masterpieces of ancient art. Of the countless thousands who can enjoy Molière’s incomparable humour, how many are there who would pause before Leonardo’s _Monna Lisa_ in the Louvre? How many again in our own country, of those who are familiar with the tragedies of Shakespeare, ever find their way into the British Museum or the National Gallery? And yet the prejudice against the public support of the theatre endures, and can only, I think, be broken down by the demands of the democracy. If a national theatre is to be established in England, it must realise that it has a national mission. The Theatre Français was established at a time when means of communication were difficult, and when, therefore, it was only possible to cater for the public of the metropolis. But under modern conditions a national theatre might, in a fuller and larger sense, serve the interests of the country as a whole. The great provincial cities might share the fruits of its labours; and when this is realised I cannot but think that, even though the Government may remain apathetic, the needful support for such an institution will not be wanting. During the later years of his life upon the stage, Toole no longer held with any influence the attention of a London audience. In the earlier days of the Gaiety, where he had appeared as a dominant figure, his success in a material sense then far outstripped that of his comrade, and in some of Irving’s earlier engagements in the provinces Toole was his manager; but even in those later days, when the comedian had partly lost his hold upon the theatre, he remained a lovable and a fascinating figure in private life, and I am sure there was no one who welcomed with greater enthusiasm Irving’s steady advance to the front rank of his profession.