"I feel very strongly about girls going on to the stage," said Miss Terry, quietly. "They talk so glibly about it—but they don't understand it a bit. I look upon going on the stage as a divine mission—a mission intended for the few and not the many. You can't teach acting. It is the same as everything else—acting is a gift, a precious gift, which must be highly cultivated, and those who possess it can't go and tie their talent up in a napkin and bury it in the ground. It must—it will come out. I examine lots of girls in elocution—how few of them possess the one thing needful."
But the contents of the little silver teapot were all gone, the cream in the jug at a premium, and the sultana cake a thing of the past. So we went into the house, and a pile of letters was brought out. These are some of the missives which fall to the lot of a great and popular actress:—
"Madam, I am a gentleman, although a clergyman's son. Will you lend me £8?"
Here is another:—
"Dear Madam,—I have just been offered a position of clerk in Manchester. I cannot afford a ticket from London. I should like to go on a bicycle. Will you, dear madam, give me one, and, if you will, will you do a double-barrelled kindness and buy it at my brother's shop?"
"Then," said Miss Terry, "I have any number of letters from people who want to dress me at the theatre for nothing. Poor creatures! They little know what is in store for them. 'Lizzie'—her name is Julia, so I suppose that's why I call her Lizzie—Lizzie has been my maid at the theatre for fourteen years, and I haven't quite killed her yet!"
Birthday presents! On her birthday flowers are arriving at Barkston Gardens all day long; yes, and fruit and vegetables, too. Many old market women know her, and with reason; and when the 27th of Valentine's month comes round they like to send their little presents. Miss Terry might have read,
