Mr. Kendal is a striking-looking man--the very ideal of a picturesque soldier, with a constitution of steel. He talks to you frankly, easily, for there is not two penny-worth of presumption about him. He lives and labours very quietly--he enjoys his days, and a good cigar. He divides his talents between the stage and the brush. His pencil and palette have been with him in far-off places, and there is always a corner in his bag for them if he only travels twenty miles from Harley Street. His 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?'