Behind the curtain, one and all rejoice, To join their work to your responsive voice; We've done no more to-day for our sick friend Than we shall keep on doing to the end; In our freemasonry there's this relief, We share life's triumphs--but we share its grief. Nor for ourselves in thanks we stretch our hand, But for the stricken soldier of our band; You found him sorrowing, and gave him ease, A sight of home and country, waving trees, And all the blest retirement, deep and wild, That soothes the body, helpless as a child! Through me our absent friend would like to say You've done a noble charity to-day; For after years of uncomplaining strife, You've saved anxiety and promised life; But, best of all, as antidote to pain, Back to his face you've brought the smiles again. So promise me, before you all depart, To wear 'Sweet William' ever next your heart!" Triumphantly the "Merchant of Venice" pursued its course until, in May 1880, its last act was omitted, and it was succeeded by "Iolanthe," a version by W. G. Wills of Henrik Hertz's Danish play, "King René's Daughter." The chief character in this had been a favourite one with that consummate artiste, Helen Faucit (Lady Theodore Martin). The piece was exquisitely staged, and finely played by Ellen Terry and Henry Irving; it was very tender, and very touching, but it has not taken a permanent place in the Lyceum repertory. On January 3, 1881, Lord Tennyson's two-act drama, "The Cup," the "great little play," as Ellen Terry called it, was produced, and another great victory was gained. Clement Scott considers her acting in this to have been one of the finest of her many inspirations, and says:-- "Ellen Terry as Camma, aptly realised the poet's lines-- 'The lark first takes the sunlight on his wing, But you, twin sister of the morning sun, Forelead the Sun!' Who that ever heard it can forget the pathos of Ellen Terry as she parted from Sinnatus, and delivered these lovely lines-- 'He is gone already; Oh, look! yon grove upon the mountain--white In the sweet moon, as with a lovelier snow! But what a blotch of blackness underneath! Sinnatus, you remember,--yea you must-- That there three years ago, the vast vine-bowers Ran to the summit of the trees and dropt Their streamers earthward, which a breeze of May Took ever and anon and opened out, The purple zone of hill and heaven; there You told your love; and like the swaying vines-- Yea, with our eyes, our hearts, our prophet hopes, Let in the happy distance, and that all But cloudless heaven which we have found together In our three married years! You kissed me there For the first time. Sinnatus, kiss me now.'