In a charming series of papers entitled "Stray Memories," contributed by her to the _New Review_ about ten years ago, she thus delightfully as well as dutifully recalls memories of her father and mother. "It must be remembered," she says, "that my sister and I had the advantage of exceedingly clever and conscientious parents who spared no pains to bring out and perfect any talents that we possessed. My father was a very charming elocutionist, and my mother read Shakespeare beautifully, and then both were very fond of us and saw our faults with eyes of love, though they were unsparing in their corrections. And, indeed, they had need of all their patience, for, for my own part, I know I was a most troublesome, wayward pupil. However, 'the labour we delight in physics pain,' and I hope, too, that my more staid sister 'made it up to them.'" Can anything be prettier than this daintily recorded, and no doubt uncalled for admission? [Illustration: ELLEN TERRY WHEN EIGHT YEARS OF AGE. _The autograph shows her signature of to-day._ [_To face page 24._ ] With one more glimpse of her home-life in childhood I will bring this chapter of "Beginnings" to a close. Some time ago it occurred to those who are responsible for that always sprightly journal, _The Referee_, to ask some stage celebrities to contribute to their Yule-tide number their impressions of Christmas in their early days--of Christmas, the great and never-to-be-forgotten holiday of little folk. And this is what Ellen Terry conjured up:-- "Really," she said, "I have no Christmas experience worth recounting. Ever since I can remember, Christmas Day has been for me at first a day on which I received a good many keepsakes, and afterwards a day on which I gave a good many little gifts. "But well I remember one particular Christmas Day. I don't know that the remembrance is worth the telling, but I'll tell it all the same, because I was about seven years old, and went to 'a party.' "I was much admired, and I in turn admired greatly a dark, thin boy of about ten, who had recited 'The Burial of Sir John Moore' (so jolly on a Christmas Day!). This thin boy was always going down to eat something, and after the recitation he asked me to come down and have an ice. "You will, of course, understand that this was a _real_ party--a staying-up-late, low-necked dress, and fan sort of party. When we had eaten the ices he suggested some lobster salad--which I thought would be very nice. He went to fetch the salad and left me dreaming of him and of his beautiful dark hair. "Suddenly my dream was interrupted. "A fat boy with stubbly light hair and freckles on his nose stood grinning at me and asking me to have some lemonade. I didn't want any lemonade, and told him so. Thereupon he produced a whole bough of mistletoe from somewhere or another, and without more ado seized me by my head and kissed me, and kissed me, and kissed me,--grinning all the while.