peculiarity of painting--so to speak--lies in the fact that he never
fails to chronicle the view obtained from any hotel where he may be
staying. He showed me a book full of these hasty impressions--all of
which were most beautifully done--many of them he could only give ten
minutes or a quarter of an hour to. Two of these I brought away for
reproduction in these pages; they are both unfinished, however--the
pencil reminders of certain little additions tell that.

[Illustration: SKETCH FROM THE QUEEN's HOTEL, MANCHESTER, BY MR.
KENDAL.]

The first of these is a view of the Infirmary as seen from Mr. Kendal's
window at the Queen's Hotel, Manchester; the second--done in a quarter
of an hour--shows the way the Americans erect their buildings for
exhibiting a cyclorama--popularly known here as a panorama. It was done
from a back window in an hotel in Cleveland, U.S.A. The actor-artist
never learnt drawing, save for a few hours' lessons he took at the Slade
Schools under the tuition of Le Gros. He draws everything that impresses
him--his painting memory is remarkable. He sees a man's face in the
street, carries it home in his mind, and it will be very faithfully put
on paper or canvas.

We talked for a long time on "pictures"--he was so happy and earnest
about it that it was some time before we made an attempt to tread the
boards and get behind the footlights.

Mr. Kendal--William Hunter Grimston--was born at Notting Hill, and just
outside the sound of Bow Bells, on December 16th, 1843. His parents
belonged to the Low Church, and their views of the theatre in general,
and on adopting the stage as a profession in particular, will be readily
understood. Mr. Kendal was intended for the Army--how he came to "go on"
the stage is best told in his own words:

"I had only been to three or four pantomimes previously," he said, "and
one night--I was about eighteen years of age at the time--I found myself
in the stalls of the old Soho Theatre, in Dean Street, Soho, now known
as the Royalty Theatre. My paper and pencil were out, and I was busily
engaged in making sketches of the various actors and actresses. The
piece was 'Billie Taylor.' Suddenly I felt a gentle tap on the shoulder
from behind. I turned round.

"'Would you allow me to take those sketches round and show the 'parties'
interested?' a gentleman asked.

"'Certainly; with pleasure,' I replied.

"'Perhaps you would like to come behind the scenes as well?'

"It wa