KATE TERRY

Now that Ellen Terry has for a time said good-bye to the stage that so sorely missed her, I may pause to glance at the brilliant career of her elder sister Kate, who had been, as we have seen, the constant comrade of her 'prentice days. Apart from her conspicuous successes in the youthful Shakespearean characters at the Princess's, she had, before her engagement at that house came to an end, made a profound impression by the purity and pathos of her acting as Cordelia (she was a very young Cordelia) to the King Lear of Charles Kean. This was in the April of 1858. Even at that early age she had, as the saying goes, "arrived," and would no doubt have been promptly secured by any of the then existing London managers. But, wise in his generation, and conscious of his daughter's conspicuous talents, her father decided that she must have more practice before taking that place on the boards to which she should become entitled.

It is interesting to show here one of the Charles Kean play-bills in which Kate Terry figured. To-day it reads curiously as the programme of a fashionable West End theatre.

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date—once upon a time

scene—no where particular.

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Coral Grottoes of the Genii of the Ocean.

ROCKY PANORAMA OF INTERMINABLE GLOOM.

MONARCH MART OF FASHION

Otherwise Billy Taylor's shop in Tooley Street.

TERRIFIC AND SANGUINARY
COMBAT

Between Billy Taylor and the Bold British Boatswain. Billy hors-de-combat.

QUARTER-DECK OF THE "GALLANT THUNDERERBOMB."

GRAND NAUTICAL DOUBLE SHUFFLE GROG & BACCY
HORNPIPE BY ALL THE CHARACTERS.

OEIL DE BOEUF IN KING CALIMANCO'S PALACE

JAMSETTJEEJEESETYERJIBBAHOY. THE MARINE
RESIDENCE of his MAJESTY OF RARITONGO.

Sea Coast in the Distance.

REGAL AND FLORAL OVATION TO BRITANNIA.

MAGICAL METAMORPHOSIS.

EXTERIOR OF THE PUNCH OFFICE AND PICTURE FRAME MAKER'S SHOP.

How to take a portrait—Drawing taught in one Lesson.

A MODEL FARM YARD.

BRAHAM'S LOCK MANUFACTORY
AND GENERAL OUTFITTER'S WAREHOUSE
MYRIOTERPSICHOREORAMA.

EXTERIOR OF THE COMFORTABLE CATCH'EM & KEEP'EM HOTEL

Here's the Policeman—"Hullo! what are you doing here?"

Love in the Kitchen versus Cupboard Love.

PAS DE PARAPLUIE, by Mr Flexmore.

BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF LONDON BY MOONLIGHT

INTERIOR OF A CONFECTIONER'S SHOP.

THE FLORAL REALMS OF LIGHT

THE NEW PANTOMIME Every Evening.

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VIVANT REGINA ET PRINCEPS.

The result of her father's wise policy was that Kate Terry was fully equipped when, in 1860, she commenced her engagement at the St. James's Theatre, under the management of Mr. Alfred Wigan, whose company included Miss Herbert (who soon became the manageress of the house), Mrs. Alfred Wigan, Miss Nelly Moore, Mr. Terry, Mr. Dewar, and Mr. Emery. Young, beautiful, gifted, well practised in the art that she evidently loved, Kate Terry was well calculated to secure the praise of the critics and the heart of the public. At first the characters entrusted to her were comparatively small, but she industriously tended the firmly planted sapling that was destined to grow, flourish, and yield glorious as well as abundant fruit.

Even the greatest of histrionic geniuses have to wait for their chances, and Kate Terry's first real opportunity did not come until 1862.

A version, by Mr. Horace Wigan, of Victorien Sardou's fine comedy, "Nos Intimes," entitled "Friends or Foes," was in course of presentation, and Miss Herbert's company then included the honoured names of George Vining, Frank and Mrs. Frank Mathews, W. H. Stephens, and F. Charles. This play has been made familiar to later and present-day playgoers as "Peril," the clever adaptation by Clement Scott and B. C. Stephenson, which seems likely to hold the stage for many a long year to come. It proved one of the trump cards of the Bancrofts at the old Prince of Wales's Theatre, and its subsequent revivals have always been attended by success. The Lady Ormonde of "Friends or Foes" was, of course, played by Miss Herbert, and Kate Terry had to content herself with quite a minor part; but she was the conscientious understudy of her manageress, and, when that delightful artiste suddenly fell ill, the burden of the piece—at a moment's notice—had to be borne upon the shoulders of the younger actress.

Her triumph was instantaneous and complete. Bravely, and with consummate skill, she went through her trying ordeal, and when the curtain fell it was evident that her permanent popularity on the London stage was secure.

It is ridiculous to depend upon that "will-o'-the-wisp" called "luck"; but there is no doubt that if we are ready for it, and promptly avail ourselves of it, chance will sometimes do us a good turn.

But no one can afford to neglect the truth of the old warning reminding us that opportunities are very sensitive things, and that if you slight them on their first visit you seldom see them again. Of that memorable performance at the St. James's, Clement Scott says:—

"On that never-to-be-forgotten night this young girl, Kate Terry, made an astounding success. Her name was scarcely known; no one knew that we had amongst us a young actress of so much beauty, talent, and, what was more wonderful still, true dramatic power, for the temptation scene wants acting, and not the kind of trifling that we see in these modern and amateurish days."

The next morning, Tom Taylor in the Times let himself go, and blew the trumpet in praise of the new actress, Kate Terry. Her fame was made from that minute. She never turned back.

Quickly she became the stage divinity of her day, and she remained the idol of London playgoers until, on her early marriage, she retired into private life. Those who saw her will never forget either her personal charm or the perfection of her art, and they will, I think, like to take a glimpse with me into a cherished past. We are told that times of special happiness should be regarded as a sort of reserve fund, to be drawn upon in dark or cloudy days, and the evenings of long ago, when we delighted in the acting of Kate Terry, were times of exceeding happiness. The little world of the theatre in which we have revelled is still open to us, and it is always pleasant to turn over the brightest pages of its history.

Many of us know how old fox-hunters are never so happy as when they are recalling the glorious "runs" of the past. How they met at Quinton Cross Roads; found "one of the right sort" in Bamkin's Gorse; ran him at a rattling pace over Lickford Common; had a check in Bowler's Wood; lost him in Messer's Osier Beds; found him again, and followed him over that dangerous water jump, Priddis Brook, low lying, as it broadly flows between thick quick-set hedges; and finally ran him to earth in Linnecor Coppice.

So are old playgoers supremely content when with congenial souls they discuss the famous and favourite actors and actresses they have seen and admired in bygone days. So they will follow them from their initial efforts in the provinces, through their series of triumphs in this or that London theatre. To such theatrical enthusiasts as these their collections of old play-bills are as precious and replete with pleasurable reminiscences as are the "pads" of many defunct reynards nailed to the stable doors of the fox-hunter.

At about the time when Kate Terry made her unmistakable mark at the St. James's, Charles Albert Fechter was the actor-hero of the hour.

He came to fulfil his trying ordeal in London with great credentials. Charles Dickens had described seeing him first, quite by accident, in Paris, having strolled in to a little theatre there one night. "He was making love to a woman," Dickens wrote, "and he so elevated her as well as himself by the sentiment in which he enveloped her, that they trod in a purer ether, and in another sphere, quite lifted out of the present. 'By heavens!' I said to myself, 'a man who can do this can do anything. I never saw two people more purely and instantly elevated by the power of love. The man has genius in him which is unmistakable.'"

In due course Fechter, having made his triumph on English boards, became the manager of the Lyceum Theatre. It was a great undertaking for a French actor, for he had to contend against the conservatism of not only our audiences, but of English actors and critics. That he was the best "love-maker" our stage had seen was readily admitted, and the fascination of his love-scenes was certain to be an attraction. But no actor can make the success of a love-scene unless he is assisted by a perfectly accomplished and responsive actress. Who was to be the heroine of Fechter's reign at the Lyceum? She was found in Kate Terry, and she right worthily shared in his notable victories.

One of the earliest productions was the first English version of the French play that (in spite of many other and differently named versions) has been made familiar to us as "The Duke's Motto." In this Kate Terry appeared as Blanche de Nevers, and in speaking of the impersonation Charles Dickens, who, for the sake of his friend Fechter, was inclined to be very critical, said that it was "perfectly charming,"—"the very best piece of womanly tenderness he had ever seen on the stage."

No doubt Kate Terry contributed largely to Fechter's Lyceum successes. She could not only act, but she so threw herself into her characters that she could listen to those who acted with her, and let her audiences not only see, but believe that she was listening with all her heart and soul. The exercise of this rarely displayed histrionic gift was invaluable in the beautiful love-scenes of Fechter.

But in her girlish days Kate Terry had shown that she understood the value of action on the stage, and knew that when deftly handled it could make an even deeper impression than words.

Speaking of Charles Kean's great production of "Henry the Fifth" at the Princess's in 1859 the notoriously keen critic of the AthenÆum said:—"The union of England and France in one kingdom is the ambitious sentiment of the play, and the heroism of the English character the spirit that pervades the scenes. This is exemplified in the small as well as the great incidents, and in none, in acting, did it come out more significantly than in the little part of the boy belonging to the Pistol group of characters at the end of the first act. Miss Kate Terry, as the impersonator of the brave youth, in the heroic and pleasing attitude with which he listened to the sound of the drum, and the measured march with which he followed delightedly the spirit-stirring music, showed us at once the sympathetic gallantry of the English lad going to the wars. There was in it an intelligible indication of the wonderful daring by which the battle of Agincourt was won. To men who were once such lads as he nothing was impossible. The trait was well brought out; and that little bit of acting, in regard to its completeness, was the gem of the performance."

And so Kate Terry shared in Fechter's Lyceum conquests, and in "Bel Demonio, a Love Story," adapted by John Brougham from the French drama "L'Abbaye de Castro," she played Lena to his Angelo. A little later she was the "pretty Ophelia" to the much discussed Hamlet of Fechter, and again honours were divided.

How critics differed concerning the new Hamlet!

Writing long after the glamour of the impersonation has passed away, Clement Scott has told us how Hamlet was represented "in a new way, in a fresh style, with carefully considered new business; with a sweetly pathetic face showing 'the fruitful river of the eye,' and in a long flaxen Danish wig.

"'A Frenchman play Hamlet!'" he says. "There was a yell of execration in the camp of the old school of playgoers, and the feathers began to fly. Hamlet in a fair wig indeed! Hamlet in broken English! Oh! you should have heard the shouts of indignation, the babble of prejudice! The upholders of the mouthing, moaning, gurgling Hamlets—the Hamlets who obeyed every precept in his advice to the players, and 'imitated nature so abominably,' the Hamlets who strutted and stormed—held indignation meetings at their clubs, and metaphorically threw their 'scratch wigs' into the air with rage and indignation.

"I, of course, became the easiest convert to the new Fechter school, and elected to serve under his brilliant banner. In fact, I will candidly own that I never quite understood Hamlet until I saw Fechter play the Prince of Denmark. Phelps and Charles Kean impressed me with the play; but with Fechter I loved the play, and was charmed as well as fascinated by the player."

I am among the many who yielded to that charm, and wish that the delightful experience of seeing Fechter's Hamlet and Kate Terry's Ophelia might be repeated.

When, early in 1870, Fechter left England for America, Charles Dickens contributed to the Atlantic Monthly an article in his praise. "I cannot," said the great novelist, "wish my friend a better audience than he will find in the American people, and I cannot wish them a better actor than they will find in my friend." Charles Dickens, it will be remembered, was one of the keenest of all dramatic critics.

His admiration for Fechter's much discussed rendering of Hamlet is expressed in the following words:—

"Perhaps no innovation in art was ever accepted with so much favour by so many intelligent persons, pre-committed to, and pre-occupied by, another system, as Fechter's Hamlet. I take this to have been the case (as it unquestionably was in London), not because of its picturesqueness, not because of its novelty, not because of its many scattered beauties, but because of its perfect consistency with itself. Its great and satisfying originality was in its possessing the merit of a distinctly conceived and executed idea. Fechter's Hamlet, a pale woe-begone Norseman, with long flaxen hair, wearing a strange garb, never associated with the part upon the English stage (if ever seen there at all), and making a piratical sweep upon the whole fleet of little theatrical prescriptions without meaning, or like Dr. Johnson's celebrated friend, with only one idea in them, and that a wrong one, never could have achieved its extraordinary success but for its animation by one pervading purpose, to which all changes were made intelligently "sub-servient."

And yet of Fechter's Hamlet in America, William Winter, that greatest and most deservedly honoured of transatlantic critics and authorities on things theatrical, has said:—

"About 1861 Charles Fechter appeared upon the English stage and gave an extraordinary performance of Hamlet. It subsequently (1869-70) reached America. It was 'the rage' on both sides of the sea. In a technical sense it was a performance of ability, but it was chiefly remarkable for light hair and bad English. Fanny Kemble tells a story of a lady who, at a dinner in London, was asked by a neighbouring guest whether she had seen Mr. Fechter as Hamlet. 'No,' she said, 'I have not; and I think I should not care to hear the English blank verse spoken by a foreigner.' The inquirer gazed meditatively upon his plate for some time, and then said, 'But, Hamlet was a foreigner, wasn't he?'

"That is the gist of the whole matter. We were to have the manner of 'nature' in blank verse. We were to have Hamlet in light hair, because Danes are sometimes blonde. We were to have the great soliloquy on life and death omitted, because it stops the action of the play.[1] We were to have the blank verse turned into a foreigner's English prose. We were to have Hamlet crossing his legs upon the gravestone, as if he were Sir Charles Coldstream; and this was to be 'nature.' Mr. Fechter's plan may have been finely executed, but it was radically wrong, and it could not be rightly accepted. Some courage was required to oppose it, because Mr. Fechter had come to us (to me among others) personally commended by no less a man than the great Charles Dickens."

But if critics differed with regard to the merits of Fechter's Hamlet, there was a perfect chorus of praise for the exquisitely portrayed Ophelia of Kate Terry. It is interesting to note that this victory was won on the same stage on which, in the same part, Ellen Terry was to commence her stage history-making engagement with Henry Irving.

When Fechter's brief reign at the Lyceum came to an end, Kate Terry went to support Henry Neville at the Olympic Theatre. This admirable actor was then at the height of his still well sustained popularity.

Handsome, graceful, endowed with a beautiful voice, and a master of his art, Henry Neville was an ideal hero of romance, and though to-day he elects to play quieter parts, and to delight his audiences with his rich appreciation of comedy, he looks as young and dashing as he did in the days of 1864.

Kate Terry's first appearance at the little Wych Street playhouse was in a piece entitled "The Hidden Hand," an adaptation by Tom Taylor, from the French drama by MM. D'Ennery and Edmond, called "L'Aieule." She and Henry Neville distinguished themselves in the characters of Lord and Lady Penarvon, and the company included Miss Louisa Moore, Miss Lydia Foote, Miss Nelly Farren, and Charles Coghlan. Later came Sterling Coyne's comedy called "Everybody's Friend," which, under the title of "The Widow Hunt," was destined in later years to be made famous by that admirable American comedian, John Sleeper Clarke. Who, having seen it, will ever forget the delicious drollery of his Major Wellington de Boots? The Major of the Olympic days was Mr. Walcot, who, although announced as an American actor, was an Englishman by birth. Kate Terry was the Mrs. Swansdown, Henry Neville the Felix Featherley, and Mrs. Leigh Murray Mrs. Major de Boots.

Other successes were made in Tom Taylor's five-act drama "Settling Day," and the same playwright's "The Serf." The production of the latter piece being the "benefit" night of the gifted actress, she delivered an address written for her by the grateful author.

In "Twelfth Night" Kate Terry doubled the parts of Viola and Sebastian; and a notable hit was made in Tom Taylor's stage version of Miss Braddon's novel "Henry Dunbar." In Leicester Buckingham's "Love's Martyrdom" she again distinguished herself.

On June 20, 1866, she again took a benefit at the theatre she had served so well, and on this occasion appeared for the first time as Julia in "The Hunchback" of Sheridan Knowles, and once more delivered an address specially written for her by Tom Taylor. But the great event of the evening was the appearance (also for the first time) of Ellen Terry as the sprightly Helen. In order that she might serve her sister she made this brief departure from her retirement, and acted with great spirit and animation.

A little later on she appeared at the Prince's Theatre at Manchester in the first performance of a new play by Dion Boucicault originally called "The Two Lives of Mary Leigh" but subsequently renamed "Hunted Down." This proved to be a memorable evening. Not only did Kate Terry add to her laurels as the heroine, but Henry Irving, in the character of Rawdon Scudamore, made his first great impression. Hitherto he had only been known as a very earnest actor in the provincial stock companies—but in this play he found his chance, seized it, and made his mark.

Irving, who was then most anxious to get to London, made a stipulation with Boucicault before he accepted the part to the effect that if he succeeded he should have the opportunity of appearing in it in the production of the play in the metropolis. This was acceded to, and on the opening night the dramatist was so struck with his splendid performance that he induced his friend and brother playwright, Charles Reade, to travel to Manchester in order that he might see this remarkable impersonation. It was then that these two experts decided that in Henry Irving they saw the coming leading actor of his day.

On November 5, 1866, "Hunted Down" was produced at the St. James's Theatre, with Miss Herbert in the character created by Kate Terry; Rawdon Scudamore at once "took the town" and excited the admiration of the critics, and so the name and fame of Henry Irving were made out of material that has never faded. It is curious to remember that our famous actor's first great success was made with Kate Terry, and that most of his later triumphs have been shared with Ellen Terry.

Kate Terry's next London home was the Adelphi Theatre. There she created the character of Anne Carew in Tom Taylor's evergreen play "A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing" (a part that was in after years most beautifully played by Mrs. Kendal at the St. James's), and won great favour in "A Sister's Penance," by Tom Taylor and A. W. Dubourg. In the latter production she was associated with Miss Fanny Hughes, John Billington, and Hermann Vezin. "Good acting by Kate Terry" is the verdict pronounced upon the piece in the pages of Edward Leman Blanchard's happily preserved diary.

Probably Kate Terry's sojourn at the Adelphi will be best remembered by her exquisitely tender rendering of the sweet character of Dora in Charles Reade's happy stage version of Tennyson's poem bearing that name.

We all know the touching story telling that—

We remember how the stern old man desired that the cousins should marry, and we know that while Dora would willingly give her heart to William, he is cold to her. We recall his scene with his father and how he said—

Then we follow William out of the house whose doors are mercilessly closed behind him, see him marry his sweetheart Mary, know that all things fail with him until despair brings him to his death-bed. Now we realise the depth and unselfishness of Dora's love. She goes to the aid of the woman who has really spoilt her life's dream of happiness, and through her dead darling's child endeavours to secure poor stricken Mary's prosperity by a reconciliation with the still angry and always stubborn farmer Allan. Her simple, loving plan succeeds. The child softens the obdurate heart—

Yes, we all know the finely conceived and tenderly told story of love, anger, self-effacement, and forgiveness, but I do not think that any of us realised the manifold beauties of Dora's character until it was interpreted to us by Kate Terry. The portrait was painted in the most delicate tints, but beneath the surface of it the pure mind and devoted heart were ever apparent. The impersonation must have been truly satisfying to the poet who always had a longing to see the children of his fancy on the stage.

The critic of the Examiner was right when he spoke of Kate Terry's Dora as "still a thoroughly country girl, simple, yet shrewd, with depths of womanly feeling, and little feminine piquancies; meek as a mouse, but with something in her of the power of angels, she trips on her way of quiet loving-kindness in a shabby hat and cotton gloves, and morsel of silk cape over a dress with a narrow skirt. Her uncle gives her money for fine dress; but of that, and of all that she can call hers to give, the utmost toll is taken for the sustenance of the unhappy outcasts. How touching it all is, and true with the real poetry of life, we feel throughout; the interest in the character rises steadily as the play goes on, and culminates as it should in the last scene."

It would be very wrong to take leave of Dora without saying a word of praise with regard to the Farmer Allan of Henry Neville. It was a virile, as well as a pathetic, embodiment of a firmly drawn but not too sympathetic, and, consequently, very difficult character.

Soon after this, the rumour reached envious playgoers that Kate Terry was about to become the wife of Mr. Arthur Lewis—a gentleman very well known in literary and artistic circles—and that her marriage would involve her retirement from the stage.

Crowded were the houses that then assembled to see their favourite as Juliet, Beatrice, Julia, Pauline, and in other great characters. On the 2nd September, 1867, she gave her farewell performance, and the occasion was thus recorded in the Times:—

"It is seldom that the theatrical chronicler has to describe a scene like that at the Adelphi on Saturday, when Miss Kate Terry took her farewell of the stage as Juliet. Successes, demonstrations, and ovations of a kind may be made to order; but the scene of Saturday was one of those genuine, spontaneous, and irrepressible outbursts of public recognition which carry their credentials of sincerity along with them. The widespread feeling that the stage is losing one of its chosen ornaments had been manifested by the full houses, more and more crowded on each successive night, which, even at this deadest of the dead season, have been attracted to the Adelphi by Miss Terry's farewell performances. Their attraction came to its climax and its close on Saturday, when the theatre was crammed from the orchestra to the remotest nook in the gallery where a spectator could press or perch, with such an audience as we have never before seen gathered within its walls.

"At the conclusion of the tragedy, in the course of which Miss Terry was called for at the end of each act, except the fourth, when the good taste of the more intelligent part of the audience suppressed the demand, Miss Terry came on before the curtain in obedience to a thundering summons from every part of the house, and almost overcome with the combined excitement of the part and the occasion, stood for some moments curtseying and smiling under the showers of bouquets and the storm of kindly greeting. Nor when she had retired with her armful of flowers—looking in the white robe and dishevelled hair of Juliet's death scene, as she used to look in Ophelia—was the audience satisfied. Again Miss Terry was recalled, and again she appeared to receive the loud and long-continued plaudits of the crowd. Then the stalls began to clear. But the storm of voices and clapping of hands continued from pit, boxes, and gallery, through the overture of the farce, swelling till it threatened to grow into a tempest. The curtain rose for the farce; still the thunder roared. One of the actors, quite inaudible in the clamour, began the performance, but the roar grew louder and louder, till at last Mr. Phillips came on, in the dress of Friar Lawrence, and with a stolidity so well assumed that it seemed perfectly natural, asked, in the stereo-typed phrase of the theatre, the pleasure of the audience. 'Kate Terry!' was the reply from a chorus of a thousand stentorian voices; and then the fair favourite of the night appeared once more, pale, and dressed to leave the theatre, and when the renewed roar of recognition had subsided, in answer to her appealing dumb show, spoke, with pathetic effort, a few hesitating words, evidently the inspiration of the moment, but more telling than any set speech, to this effect:—'How I wish from my heart I could tell you how I feel your kindness, not to-night only, but through the many years of my professional life. What can I say to you but thanks, thanks and good-bye!' After this short and simple farewell, under a still louder salvo of acclamation, unmistakably proving itself popular by its hearty uproariousness, the young actress, almost overpowered by the feelings of the moment, retired with faltering steps, and the crowded audience poured out of the house, their sudden exit en masse being in itself one of the most flattering tributes to the actress whose last appearance had drawn them together.

"We have to turn over the pages of theatrical history in order to find a parallel to this demonstration of affection coupled to gratitude. And after the excitement of it was over, we, who had learnt to love her perfectly portrayed art and sweet presence, sighed to think that she would no longer grace the stage." Continuing, the Times critic said:—

"This remarkable manifestation of popular favour and regard is worth recording, not only as a striking theatrical incident, which those who were present can never forget, but because it proves that the frequenters of even the pit and gallery of a theatre where, till Miss Terry came, the finer springs of dramatic effect have very rarely been drawn on, can rapidly be brought to recognise and value acting of a singularly refined and delicate kind—so refined and delicate indeed that some of those who profess to guide the public taste have been apt to insist on its wanting physical power. On Saturday night it was made evident to demonstration, if other evidence had been wanting, that Miss Terry had wrought her spells over the frequenters of pit and gallery as well as of boxes and stalls. In the interests of refined dramatic art this is a cheering set-off to many indications that seem to make the other way. It shows that if the theatrical masses—those who are roughly lumped up as the 'British Public'—are unable to discriminate nicely between diamonds and paste, and so take a good deal of coarse glassware for real stones, they are nevertheless susceptible to the influence of refined, earnest, intelligent, and conscientious acting when they have the rare opportunity of seeing it. How well Miss Terry's acting merits all these epithets has been abundantly proved, not only through her recent course of farewell performances, in which she has filled a range of parts so widely different as to show a variety of power in itself as rare as the grace, refinement, intelligence, and feeling she has put into her acting from four years old to four-and-twenty."

Surely few actresses have won such heartfelt and well-merited words of praise as these? No wonder that the thousands to whom she had given endless delight grudged her her early won freedom from the perpetual anxieties of stage life.

The Romeo of that eventful evening was her long-time stage comrade, Henry Neville. For more than thirty years Kate Terry was absent from the stage, but her name lived as a sweet memory in the minds of those who had been fortunate enough to appreciate her rare and perfectly cultured gifts. In the spring of 1898 she was induced to emerge from her retirement to support her old friend, John Hare, in Mr. Stuart Ogilvie's comedy, "The Master," at the Globe Theatre. Unluckily, the part that she had consented to play afforded her few opportunities, the lady she represented being simply a sweet and gentle wife and mother, with a pleasant presence, a delightful smile, and a voice (the sweet voice of days gone by) characterised by very winning tenderness. In itself a charming part, but not one that gave scope for acting. But in this piece she had the intense satisfaction of seeing her clever and beautiful daughter, Miss Mabel Terry Lewis, make a marked impression on critical West End audiences. Indeed, this charming young lady was one of the chief attractions of "The Master."

In the autumn of the same year it was my privilege to sit by Mrs. Arthur Lewis (and to hear the ever-to-be-remembered Kate Terry voice) while her daughter was playing with John Hare and his company at the Theatre Royal, Birmingham.

The piece was T. W. Robertson's "Ours." John Hare was in his original character of the Russian Prince Perovsky, and the Blanche Haye was Miss Mabel Terry Lewis. The young artiste played the part with an unaffected girlishness, imbued with true tenderness, that touched all hearts, and it was evident that this latest recruit from the famous Terry family was worthy to bear her honoured name.

It was pretty to watch the mother, the former heroine of a hundred stage victories, as with the skill of an expert she noted how her sweet young daughter won her way into the marked sympathy of her audience.

By way of interesting records of the early appearances of these famous Terry sisters, I am able to produce here some matter that I hope my readers will like to have brought under their notice.

The bills of the "Royal Entertainments" given "By Command" in 1852 and 1853 at Windsor Castle are now historic. It will be seen that in them both Kate Terry and her father took part. The bill of "The Winter's Tale" at the Princess's in which both of the sisters appeared was given to me by Ellen Terry. It dates (after one hundred and two nights) her first appearance as the baby boy Mamillius.

I am permitted to produce in extenso the letter in which Charles Dickens, writing to his friend Macready, referred to the impression made upon him by Kate Terry's acting with Fechter. There is a pleasant little history attached to this letter of which, when he wrote it, Dickens never dreamt. In due course, and in common, alas! with too many household gods, it came under the hammer of the auctioneer. Henry Irving, with that delicate tact and taste which distinguish his every action (and which must mean much preceding thought in the life of an over busy man), bought it, and, on a Christmas Day, sent it as the most delightful of Christmas cards to the Kate Terry of those bygone times.

The letter from Tom Taylor to Ben Terry, in which he signifies his warm approval of his daughter's acting in his greatest stage success, "The Ticket-of-Leave Man," is very noteworthy.

The Manchester bill (October 4th and 5th, 1867) shows that Kate Terry after her London farewell felt bound to say good-bye to her loyal friends and admirers in Lancashire; that Charles Wyndham was among her supporters; and that her sister Ellen (although she had declared that she had retired from the stage) came to the fore in honour of her sister.

The picture of Kate Terry as Ariel was taken in 1856 when she was only twelve years old!

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Thursday, 19th February 1863.

"My dearest Macready,—I have just come back from Paris, where the Readings—Copperfield, Dombey and Trial, and Carol and Trial, have made a sensation which modesty (my natural modesty) renders it impossible for me to describe. You know what a noble audience the Paris audience is! They were at their very noblest with me.

"I was very much concerned by hearing hurriedly from Georgey that you were ill. But when I came home at night she showed me Kate's letter, and that set me up again. Ah! you have the best of companions and nurses, and can afford to be ill now and then, for the happiness of being so brought through it. But don't do it again, yet awhile, for all that.

"LegouvÉ (whom you remember in Paris as writing for the Ristori) was anxious that I should bring you the enclosed. A manly and generous effort, I think? Regnier desired to be warmly remembered to you. He has been losing money in speculation, but looks just as of yore.

"Paris generally is about as wicked and extravagant as in the days of the Regency. Madame Viardot in the OrphÉe, most splendid. An opera of 'Faust,' a very sad and noble rendering of that sad and noble story. Stage management remarkable for some admirable, and really poetical effects of light. In the more striking situations, Mephistopheles surrounded by an infernal red atmosphere of his own. Marguerite by a pale blue mournful light. The two never blending. After Marguerite has taken the jewels placed in her way in the garden, a weird waning draws on, and the bloom fades from the flowers, and the leaves of the trees droop and lose their fresh green, and mournful shadows overhang her chamber window, which was innocently bright and gay at first. I couldn't bear it, and gave in completely.

"Fechter doing wonders over the way here with a picturesque French drama. Miss Kate Terry in a small part in it, perfectly charming. You may remember her making a noise years ago, doing a boy at an Inn in the 'Courier of Lyons'? She has a tender love-scene in this piece, which is a really beautiful and artistic thing. I saw her do it at about three in the morning of the day when the theatre opened, surrounded by shavings and carpenters, and (of course) with that inevitable hammer going; and I told Fechter 'that is the very best piece of womanly tenderness I have ever seen on the stage, and you will find no Audience can miss it.' It is a comfort to add that it was instantly seized upon, and is much talked of.

"Stanfield was very ill for some months; then suddenly picked up, and is really rosy and jovial again. Going to see him when he was very despondent, I told him the story of Fechter's piece (then in rehearsal) with appropriate action; fighting a duel with the washing-stand, defying the bedstead, and saving the life of the sofa-cushion. This so kindled his old theatrical ardour, that I think he turned the corner on the spot.

"With love to Mrs. Macready and Katie, and (be still, my heart!) Benvenuta, and the exiled Johnny (not too attentive at school, I hope?), and the personally-unknown young Parr,—Ever, my dearest Macready, your most affectionate

"Charles Dickens."

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"Canterbury, Fountain Hotel,
Saturday, 15th August 1868.

"Dear Mr. Terry,—I am desirous of letting you know my opinion of Kate's acting of May Edwards in 'The Ticket-of-Leave Man,' here.

"My impression, in the most general form I can state it, is simply this, that I have never had any one character in any piece I have written, from first to last, impersonated so entirely to my satisfaction. She played with a grace, intelligence, and delicacy and truth of feeling which completely carried away the audience, and what is more—the author. If she had played the part in town I should think it would have doubled the success of the piece.

"You are quite at liberty to make this opinion of mine known in any quarter where you may think it useful to your daughter that it should be known.— Yours very truly,

Tom Taylor.

"Mr. B. Terry."

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