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THE MASONIC REVIEW T 1 I 1 C LEADING JOURNAL OK JTutsomc anb Social ( Events for 5 reemasons ,

CONTAINING RI-XOUDS OK THE CRAFT , MARK , AND HIGHER DEGREES . Published the 7 th of each . Month . 1 * 1 HC 13 SIXPENCE . RATES OF YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION ( including postage ) ,

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Eminent Masons At Home.

Eminent Masons at Home .

No . IV . —MR . EDWARD TERRY , AT PRIORY LODGE , BARNES . BARNES COMMON has not altered much since the dying generation were children . Horses graze in the more open parts , and nursemaids perambulate their baby-carriages just as they used to do fifty years ago . Tlie railway station has wrought the

most change , and has grown but recently into quite an important range of buildings ; but , as you strike across the Common in the direction of the river , you tread the same paths and pass the same furze bushes that you did when nothing more important than a game of cricket occupied your soul . Surely the lazy little urchins

who lay on their backs and " shy" stones at the sparrows have remained stationary during the whirl of years , and are the self-same urchins whom you chastised early in the fifties ; or is it that this class of individual has not improved upon the youthful proclivities of its forefathers ? But they are civil are these Barnes lads , and

when you ask them if they know where Mr . Terry lives , they look at you with an incredulous smile , as if you wished to impose upon their rustic knowledge . However , half-a-dozen voices and as many fingers are united in directing you ; and then you get a good-natured laugh as a reward of your own ignorance . Not know where Mr . Terry lives !

The voracious builder has dealt mercifully with this suburb . There are more houses certainly , and the shade of Queen Anne has been cast down in one or two places , but many old places remain , and man } ' meadows and stretches of timbered land have not yet surrendered themselves to his hand . You traverse the common ,

and get on to the asphalted paths of civilisation , and eventually leave " The Red Lion " on your right , sanctified with the memories of the old coaching days ; and there , but a few paces to the left , nearly opposite the old and picturesque Barnes Church , with its

Eminent Masons At Home.

range of willow sentinels along the side walk gnarled and stunted and furrowed into all manner of shapes , you are at the gates of Priory Lodge , where " Dick Phenyll " retires after he has brought peace and repose to his friends the Wedderburn ' s in his chambers in the Temple . There is a dramatic air about the place , though you can't tell

why . Perhaps the grcen-baized man-servant , who is so sedately cleaning the windows of the servants' quarters , sends you momentarily back to the haunts of Bohemia ; but the neat little maid who answers your ring and ushers you into the home of the abdicated Prince of Burlesque , dispels the illusion . Springing up

tlie garden steps at the further end of the hall , clad in whites , and with his racquet fresh from the court in the grounds , comes Edward Terry ; and then back rush the dramatic illusions . Your mind gets mixed up with visions of the old days , and you see Little Don Coesar and Doctor Faust , the Grasshopper , and all the rest of them , tearing

him to pieces through jealousy and remorse . You see this self-same man who stands before you " clothed and in his right mind , " sneaking through a doorway , dressed in all the amusing absurdities of

byegone " parts , " and you wonder why his locks have no touch of grey , and why his face is not furrowed by the mark of creeping time . But you dream these things , for the Grand Treasurer of the English Craft has not yet reached the meridian of life , and his well-known voice will ring with power for many and many a day to come . At least , you will hope so . It is a lovely morning , and

the gardens invite you to wander through their shady walks . Of course , you must see the tennis-court , hidden away in an old world corner , amid elms that certainly were not planted yester-year . There you find your hostess , with her son and daughter , and you know you have disturbed tlie game that was in progress . A

pleasant and a kind face has Mrs . Terry—a face that would have been a mine of wealth to the sympathies of the drama had she not severed , long since , her connection with the stage , and she introduces her daughter to you . Master Bertie wants no introduction . He inquires after your health in a frank and spontaneous

fashion , and sad it is to hear that although a chip of the old block , Master Bertie will have to turn his attention to the sober lanes of the law , and eventually struggle on to silk and importance . But what if we thus lose another Edward Terry ?

Uie four or five acres of gardens that surround Priory Lodge have been under the gardener ' s care but a short time , for the "Lodge" was empty some months and Edward Terry has only recently entered into possession . With his spare time equally devoted to the cultivation of his charming grounds and his parochial obligations , Edward Terry takes pride in escorting you round the

lawns and satisfying your inquisitive nature to its utmost . He steals his wife's peaches when she is not looking , so that you may taste of the delicacies of his hot-houses . He tests the grapes hanging in clusters overhead to see if not one bunch among them is ready for the sickle , and he demonstrates his love for

horticulture by giving you an impromptu lecture upon the growth of cacti and of many beautiful plants which crowd his conservatory with bloom . There is a curious old smoking bower in the grounds which is reached from a secluded shrubbery by a rickety flight of brick steps . The bower itself is lined with a series of beautiful

genuine Dutch tiles depicting well-known scriptural subjects , but Master Bertie has taken possession of this bower and has serious intentions of turning it into a wigwam of the Sioux Indians if appearances go for anything . An orchard and a miniature poultryyard adjoin the stables , and to the south , beyond the extremity of the grounds the breezy common , bathed this morning in warm sunshine , stretches away until the railway breaks the line of

. Edward Terry ' s den is the den of a man who has seen much , and appreciates much of it . It is not quite yet in order , but when another winter has passed , and the Wisteria and Virginia creeper veil the verandah again in luxuriant foliage , the reminiscences of his travels and his calling will be more apparent than they