[l nustrated [iterviews.
No. XVIL—MISS ELLEN
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TERRY.
From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.]
N the course of my chat with Mr. Irving, which appeaied in the September number of this Magazine, I casually hinted at a little somethmg which practically amounted to a pro-
It was a note from Miss Iillen "Terry.
misc. That note has been honoured, and 1t 1s a pleasurable cffort to sit down and endeavour to rcecollect all that happened during nearly a couple of days spent with her at London
and Winchelsea. Eminent people who aic homely are positive blessings-—and that 1s just what Ellen Terry 1s. - T'he first word she said to me when 1 rcached Winchelsea, as she sat holding the reins behimd Tommy, the pony, whilst Punch, her dog; seemed to be barking an invitation to take my seat by its mistress’s side, was ““ Welcome !7 1 shall always remember that greeting and what came of 1t.
But Winchelsea must wait for a few pages - —there is the house i Barkston Gardens to be visited first, and then away to “ Holiday Home.” 1f you walked round the square of great red brick houses at Earl’s Court which constitutes Barkston Gardens, in the summer
TOWER COTTAGE— PRINCE” AND HIS MISTRESS.
time, you would have no diffi- culty in finding Miss Terry’s house. Its num- ber 1s—flowers— -flowers—flowers ! They fill the windows-sills and block the balcony of the drawing-room. A man may be known by the pictures he hangs on his walls—so may a woman by the flowers she puts in her vases and windows. Here at Barkston Gardens they arc of the simplest and homehiest kind, the tiny blue-bell] marguerite, and the cottage nasturtium. Within this floral exterior I met Miss Terry. She wore a long black gown, which to me suggested Fortia. She is tall, handsome, with a mouth that has a struggle on the stage to keep away the smiles which refuse to be overcome, and eyes that look at vou and twinkle with heart-born merriment. Yet agamnst all this there 1s a stately grace which indicates what falls to the lot of few women--a merry mood at all times, and gifted genius ever shining through it.
Dear old Mrs. Rumball—her friend of twenty years—sat there watching her every movement.
“ My little home !'” said Miss Terry, as 1 entered—“only full of twopenny-halfpenny Vol. iv.—63.