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would go up—up—up—two oranges, three oranges, three oranges and two apples—until I inwardly murmured a childish equivalent for 'sold,' and toddled off.

"I acted Eva in 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' when I was eight. I think I was always a sad child—I looked forty when I was fifteen. After little Eva I used to play anything."

And they were hard times for little Madge—she worked like the brave little woman she was. Her childish thoughts were constantly with her parents—how best could she add to the weekly income. And this is what the same little Madge would do. Night after night, after playing in a serious piece, she would appear in burlesque, sing, dance, and crack her small jokes with the best of them. It was hard work that made her a woman—it was dearly bought experience that gave birth to the sympathetic heart she has to-day.

So at fourteen she was a woman grown—and at fifteen at Hull played Lady Macbeth to Phelps's Macbeth!

"I was dressed in my mother's clothes," Mrs. Kendal said, "and I fear I must have looked a fearful guy!"

At rehearsal Phelps looked upon the young woman.

"And who—who is this child?" asked the great actor.

"Madge Robertson," the manager answered; "a rare favourite here. It was a choice between her and a very old woman, Mr. Phelps."

"Then let the young woman play, by all means," Phelps said.

What a night it was!, At the end of the play they wanted her on again, but Phelps was obdurate. A party of men came round, and threatened to throw Phelps into the Humber! Phelps remained firm.

"He was kindness itself through it all," Mrs. Kendal assured me, "and though I did not go on again, he proved his thoughtfulness a little later on by sending for me to play Lady Teazle. I played the leading parts during the three nights Phelps remained in Hull in 'The Man of the World,' 'Richelieu,' and 'Macbeth.' On July 29th, 1865, I made my debut in London, at the Haymarket, as Ophelia to the Hamlet of Walter Montgomery. Poor Montgomery! He was what you would call a 'lady-killer'—very conceited, but, withal, very kind. He once wrote a letter to my father, and added a postscript, saying: 'Keep this letter. Should poverty fall upon you or yours, your great-grandchildren may be able to sell it for a good sum of money!' I was only with him six weeks."

The only play of her brother's in which Mrs. Kendal has appeared was "Dreams," when the Gaiety first opened. At this time the managers always tried to induce Mrs. Kendal to appear in a riding habit—a costume in which she looked strikingly handsome.

"Alfred Wigan played in 'Dreams,'" continued Mrs. Kendal. "His wife was one of the kindest women I ever met. She gave me a gold bracelet for a very curious little service I used to render her husband every night. He had to sing a song in 'Dreams,' and one or two of the high notes were beyond his reach. I used to take these notes for him, and the audience never guessed the truth."

"And have you not played Desdemona?" I asked.

"Oh! yes—and to a real black man, and so he did not have to put his head up the chimney to make himself up for the part! His name was Ira Aldridge, and scandal said he was the dresser of some great actor whom he used to imitate. But he had very ingenious ideas as to the character of Othello. He thought him a brute, and played him as such. His great notion was to get the fairest woman possible for Desdemona—and I was selected, for at that time my hair was quite golden.

"In one part of the play he would cry out, 'Give me thy hand, Desdemona!" and certainly the effect of my hand in his huge grasp was impressive. Then in the last act he would pull me from the couch by the hair of my head. Oh! there was something in his realism, I can tell you!"