"At the conclusion of the tragedy, in the course of which Miss Terry was called for at the end of each act, except the fourth, when the good taste of the more intelligent part of the audience suppressed the demand, Miss Terry came on before the curtain in obedience to a thundering summons from every part of the house, and almost overcome with the combined excitement of the part and the occasion, stood for some moments curtseying and smiling under the showers of bouquets and the storm of kindly greeting. Nor when she had retired with her armful of flowers--looking in the white robe and dishevelled hair of Juliet's death scene, as she used to look in Ophelia--was the audience satisfied. Again Miss Terry was recalled, and again she appeared to receive the loud and long-continued plaudits of the crowd. Then the stalls began to clear. But the storm of voices and clapping of hands continued from pit, boxes, and gallery, through the overture of the farce, swelling till it threatened to grow into a tempest. The curtain rose for the farce; still the thunder roared. One of the actors, quite inaudible in the clamour, began the performance, but the roar grew louder and louder, till at last Mr. Phillips came on, in the dress of Friar Lawrence, and with a stolidity so well assumed that it seemed perfectly natural, asked, in the stereo-typed phrase of the theatre, the pleasure of the audience. '_Kate Terry!_' was the reply from a chorus of a thousand stentorian voices; and then the fair favourite of the night appeared once more, pale, and dressed to leave the theatre, and when the renewed roar of recognition had subsided, in answer to her appealing dumb show, spoke, with pathetic effort, a few hesitating words, evidently the inspiration of the moment, but more telling than any set speech, to this effect:--'How I wish from my heart I could tell you how I feel your kindness, not to-night only, but through the many years of my professional life. What can I say to you but thanks, thanks and good-bye!' After this short and simple farewell, under a still louder salvo of acclamation, unmistakably proving itself popular by its hearty uproariousness, the young actress, almost overpowered by the feelings of the moment, retired with faltering steps, and the crowded audience poured out of the house, their sudden exit _en masse_ being in itself one of the most flattering tributes to the actress whose last appearance had drawn them together. "We have to turn over the pages of theatrical history in order to find a parallel to this demonstration of affection coupled to gratitude. And after the excitement of it was over, we, who had learnt to love her perfectly portrayed art and sweet presence, sighed to think that she would no longer grace the stage." Continuing, the _Times_ critic said:--