In 1886, Irving revived one of his favourite old farces, "Raising the Wind." It was a treat to see him once more enjoying his ingeniously and comically conceived interpretation of Jeremy Diddler, but the character of Peggy offered no real opportunity to Ellen Terry. She made a sweet picture, and it was good-natured of her to act in such a piece, and that is all that can be said. But it gives an opportunity of noting how truly great artists are always willing to play small parts. It is only the self-sufficient semi-amateur who must be Hamlet or nothing. "I love to be a _useful_ actress," is Ellen Terry's constant cry. On July I, 1887, at a benefit performance generously given on behalf of Dr. Westland Marston, Byron's "Werner" was performed, Henry Irving playing the gloomy hero to the Josephine of Ellen Terry. It was an interesting experiment, but, although immense pains were taken over the production, it was not repeated. Werner had been a favourite part with Macready, and I can never think of the piece without recalling an anecdote that was told me by another veteran actor of the old school--Henry Loraine. Loraine and a brother tragedian had had a difference of opinion concerning the "gouts" of blood mentioned in "Macbeth"--in the famous dagger soliloquy-- "I see thee still; And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before." Was the correct pronunciation of "gout" as here used the same as the dread malady "gout" from which so many of us suffer? That was the dispute--concerning it a small wager was made--and it was determined that the great Macready should be the referee. In his declining days, and a ripe old age, Macready was then living in peaceful retirement at Cheltenham, and Loraine, who had been an old comrade of his, called upon him. He was admitted, but he found the once vigorous man sadly ill and weak. He was lying back in an arm-chair wistfully gazing at the virile portrait of himself as Werner that has been made familiar to the public by the print-sellers. On hearing this friend's name, the old actor endeavoured to rouse himself, and, being asked the momentous question as to the "gouts," said with animation: "Of course it is as _I_ always pronounced it,'goots'--it rhymes with 'roots,'--it rhymes with 'roots.'" And then he seemed to forget his friend's presence, and, as it were, fading away, fell back in his chair, and, with a deep sigh, resumed his contemplation of the once active Werner. In 1887 the opportunity for a new "creation" occurred, and it is interesting to see how Ellen Terry availed herself of it. To my friend Alfred C. Calmour I am indebted for the history of his graceful poetical play "The Amber Heart."