"I lived alone with my father and mother," she said, "and the only real recollection I have of my father is his fine white beard, which he grew towards the latter days of his life, and a little advice he once gave me. "'Always count twenty,' he said, 'when you are walking across the quay at Bristol, then you won't hear the sailors swear!' Yet he would use very bad language to me when he was teaching me my parts; for you know I commenced acting at a very early age. I was only three when I made my first appearance--and I ruined the play. It was at the Marylebone Theatre in the 'Three Poor Travellers,' and I was a blind child. My nurse was in the front row of the pit--that is, in the very first row, for there were no stalls. All I thought about was my new shoes--a very pretty, dainty little pair, and as soon as I stepped on the stage, I opened my eyes, caught sight of the delighted face of my nurse, and cried out:-- "'Oh! nursey, dear, look at my new shoes!' "I played at Chute's Theatre in Bristol in many child's parts. When my father went to the wall over the Lincoln Circuit, Mr. Chute engaged him as an actor, and I went with him. I remember in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'--I was _Mustard Seed_, I think, or _Peas Blossom_; at any rate, some small character that required very prettily dressing, and plenty of flowers on my little costume. I am as fond of flowers to-day as I was then. Well, when once I got on the stage in my pretty dress--of which I was particularly proud--before I would leave it, I had to be bought off with apples and oranges! There they would stand at the wings, and the price 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. [Illustration: MRS. KENDAL. _From a Photo. by Bassano._] 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."