In the October of 1877 there was a greater and even a unique triumph. This was in W. S. Gilbert's whimsically conceived and wittily written farcical comedy "Engaged,"--in its way a gem of the first water, with its every facet cut and polished to the point of resplendency. Good as was the acting of George Honey as Cheviot Hill, Fred Dewar as Angus Macalister, Harold Kyrle (Kyrle Bellew) as Belvawney, Henry Howe as Mr. Symperson, Lucy Buckstone as Miss Symperson, Emily Thorne as Mrs. Macfarlane, and Julia Stewart as the "Lowland Lassie," Maggie Macfarlane, the Belinda Treherne of Marion Terry capped them one and all. It was, indeed, an impersonation as humorous as it was original. If it had not been interpreted as she interpreted it, the very fabric of the work might have fallen; but the extreme cleverness of her acting in a most difficult part held it up, and she became a joy to all endowed with a true sense of fun. It will be remembered that the character is that of a young lady who, apparently steeped in romantic notions, possesses a remarkably matter-of-fact mind. She manifestly believes in herself, but, under the surface of her honeyed rhodomontade, she has to let the audience see the under-current of her secret and worldly aspirations. Badly done, the character would have been impossible. Handled as it was by Marion Terry it became not only delicious in its humour, but strangely convincing. Let us listen to the ring of one or two of the sentences with which she was called upon to deal. In the first act she meets the susceptible Cheviot Hill; he immediately falls in love with her, and in reply to his words of gushing admiration she says-- "I cannot deny that there is much truth in the sentiments you so beautifully express, but I am, unhappily, too well aware that, whatever advantages I may possess, personal beauty is not among the number." And when he has replied-- "How exquisitely modest is this chaste insensibility to your own singular loveliness! How infinitely more winning than the bold-faced self-appreciation of underbred country girls!" She answers-- "I am glad, sir, that you are pleased with my modesty. It has often been admired." The whole house rocked with laughter, and there, on the stage, stood the graceful, pretty, and impassive girl, who, in a very remarkable way, had given meaning to the writer's every word. Her lines were so ridiculous, yet so telling, that we all felt it a wonder that she did not laugh with us. No! Like the perfect, well-graced actress she has ever been, she lived in her part, and seemed absolutely to forget that she was playing to a crowded audience. One more instance.