Ellen Terry has happier recollections of Puck than of Mamillius, and no wonder, for the part, although trying, is a delightful one. During the two hundred and fifty nights of the performance of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" at the Princess's (a marvellous run for those days) she "revelled in the impish unreason of 'the sprite,'" and since then she has ever felt the charm of parts "where imagination can have free play, and there is no occasion to observe too closely the cold, hard rules of conventionality, and the fetters of dry-as-dust realism." Of her performances in the pantomimes, with which, at Christmas time, Charles Kean found it necessary to supplement his elaborate productions, we can only imagine (and that is easily done) that she was a very fascinating little fairy; and it seems equally certain that when she was called upon to appear in two lengthy entertainments on the same night, she must often have been a very tired little fairy. Concerning her representation of Prince Arthur in "King John," a pathetic little story is extant. At the point where she left the stage in the full and terrible knowledge that her eyes were to be burnt out, she at first (presumably at rehearsal) made her exit with such composure that she received a strong reprimand from Mrs. Kean, who told her that she must give expression to the anguish of the situation. This little scolding caused the easily affected child to shed such earnest tears that her monitress cried out, "Oh, if you can only do that on the stage, what a Prince Arthur you will be!" The hint was taken to heart and adopted, and the success of the impersonation was assured. The new Prince Arthur was honoured with a special call, and the critics were loud and unanimous in their praises, freely acknowledging the dramatic force of the performance, together with its delightful simplicity, tenderness, and truth to nature.