in the important branch of clear articulation. Father, as I have already
said, was a very charming elocutionist, and my mother read Shakespeare
beautifully. They were both very fond of us and saw our faults with eyes
of love, though they were unsparing in their corrections. In these early
days they had need of all their patience, for I was a most troublesome,
wayward pupil. However, "the labor we delight in physics pain," and I
hope, too, that my more staid sister made it up to them!

The rehearsals for "A Winter's Tale" were a lesson in fortitude. They
taught me once and for all that an actress's life (even when the actress
is only eight) is not all beer and skittles, or cakes and ale, or fame
and glory. I was cast for the part of Mamilius in the way I have
described, and my heart swelled with pride when I was told what I had to
do, when I realized that I had a real Shakespeare part--a possession
that father had taught me to consider the pride of life!

But many weary hours were to pass before the first night. If a company
has to rehearse four hours a day now, it is considered a great hardship,
and players must lunch and dine like other folk. But this was not Kean's
way! Rehearsals lasted all day, Sundays included, and when there was no
play running at night, until four or five the next morning! I don't
think any actor in those days dreamed of luncheon. (Tennyson, by the
way, told me to say "luncheon"--not "lunch.") How my poor little legs
used to ache! Sometimes I could hardly keep my eyes open when I was on
the stage, and often when my scene was over, I used to creep into the
greenroom and forget my troubles and my art (if you can talk of art in
connection with a child of eight) in a delicious sleep.

At the dress-rehearsals I did not want to sleep. All the members of the
company were allowed to sit and watch the scenes in which they were not