shes of her late Royal Highness the Duchess of
Cambridge."

It is only just possible to hasten through the collection of substantial
reminiscences which add to the charm of this corner of the house. The
quaint white china hare was given to Mrs. Kendal many years ago by Mr.
John Hare, when playing together at the Court. A curious but vividly
suggestive idea of Japanese wit, in the shape of a couple of
characteristically dressed figures, typifies "Health" and "Wealth"; the
figure, representing "Health" has a countenance of the deepest red, the
other a face all golden and as resplendent as the sun. In a small frame
is the letter from the Goethe Club of New York, making Mrs. Kendal an
honorary member. She is the only woman member of this club. And this
pretty little doll dressed as a Quakeress--a charming compliment to the
recipient--was presented by the Quakeresses of Philadelphia, who never,
never, never go the play, yea, verily! So they sent this as a tribute of
their admiration for the talents and character of the woman who has been
called "The Matron of the Drama."

[Illustration: MRS. KENDALL'S LITTLE QUAKERESS.]

We sat down on a settee in front of the fire. The cushions were of white
lawn marked with the initial "M.," and were worked by the late Lady
Eglinton.

Mrs. Kendal's happy and homely face is familiar to all. She has a truly
tender and sympathetic expression there at all times. Her hair was once
that of the fair one with golden locks, now it is of a rich brown
colour--very neatly and naturally trimmed about her head. She is very
kind--very motherly; just the woman you would single out in time of
trouble and ask, "What would you advise me to do?" I gathered these
impressions whilst listening to many things she said of which I need not
write. Her views on theatrical life are strong, nay, severe. She is not
afraid to speak, and she hits hard and sends her shots home. But you
cannot mistake the earnestness of her manner, the true intent of her
motives.

"I am only a common-place woman," she said to me. "I used to be ever so
light-hearted--now, I'm a morbid creature. Here we are sitting down by
the fireside. I may tell you happy reminiscences that may make one
merry, and all the time I should be thinking about--what? Cancer! I
return to my dressing-room from the stage at night. As I am passing
along a fellow player may turn to me and say, 'How well the play has
gone to-night!' I am only thinking of those who