Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2) by Frances Ann Kemble (best e reader for android .txt) 📕

     The Poor King's Death Gave Me A Holiday On Monday, Tuesday, And

     Wednesday, And We Eagerly Embraced The Opportunity Its Respite

     Afforded Us Of Visiting Loch Lomond And The Entrance To Loch Long.

     As Almost My First Thought When We Reached The Lake Was, "How Can

     People Attempt To Describe Such Places?" I Shall Not Terminate My

     Letter With "Smooth Expanses Of Sapphire-Tinted Waves," Or "Purple

     Screens Of Heath-Clad Hills Rising One Above Another Into The

     Cloudless Sky." A Volume Might Be Written On The Mere Color Of The

     Water, And Give No Idea Of It, Though You Are The Very Person Whose

     Imagination, Aided By All That You've Seen, Would Best Realize Such

     A Scene From Description. It Was Heavenly, And We Had Such A

     Perfect Day! I Prefer, However, The Glimpse We Had Of Loch Long To

     What We Saw Of Loch Lomond. I Brought Away An Appropriate Nosegay

     From My Trip, A White Rose From Dumbarton, In Memory Of Mary

     Stuart, An Oak Branch From Loch Lomond, And A Handful Of Heather,

     For Which I Fought With The Bees On The Rocky Shore Of Loch Long.

     I Like My Glasgow Audience Better Than My Edinburgh One; They Are

     Not So Cold. I Look For A Pleasant Audience In Your Country, For

     Which We Set Out To-Morrow, I Believe. My Aunt Desires To Be

     Remembered To You, And So Does My Father, And Bids Me Add, In

     Answer To Your Modest Doubt, That You Are A Person To Be Always

     Remembered With Pleasure And Esteem. I Am Glad You Did Not Like My

     Bath Miniature; Indeed, It Was Not Likely That You Would.

               Believe Me Always Yours Affectionately,

                                                              F. A. K.

During Our Summer Tour My Mother, Who Had Remained In London,

Superintended The Preparation Of A New House, To Which We Removed On Our

Return To Town. My Brother Henry's Schooling At Westminster Was Over,

Which Had Been The Reason For Our Taking The House At Buckingham Gate,

And, Though It Had Proved A Satisfactory Residence In Many Respects, We

Were Glad To Exchange It For The One To Which We Now Went, Which Had

Many Associations That Made It Agreeable To My Father, Having Been My

Uncle John's Home For Many Years, And Connected With Him In The Memory

Of My Parents. It Was The Corner House Of Great Russell Street And

Montague Place, And, Since We Left It, Has Been Included In The New

Court-Yard Of The British Museum (Which Was Next Door To It) And Become

The Librarian's Quarters, Our Friend Panizzi Being Its First Occupant

Afterward. It Was A Good, Comfortable, Substantial House, The Two

Pleasantest Rooms Of Which, To Me, Were The Small Apartment On The

Ground Floor, Lined With Books From Floor To Ceiling, And My Own

Peculiar Lodging In The Upper Regions, Which, Thanks To My Mother's

Kindness And Taste, Was As Pretty A Bower Of Elegant Comfort As Any

Young Spinster Need Have Desired. There I Chiefly Spent My Time,

Pursuing My Favorite Occupations, Or In The Society Of My Own Especial

Friends: My Dear H---- S----, When She Was In London; Mrs. Jameson, Who

Often Climbed Thither For An Hour's Pleasant Discussion Of Her Book On

Shakespeare; And A Lady With Whom I Now Formed A Very Close Intimacy,

Which Lasted Till Her Death, My Dear E---- F----.

I Had The Misfortune To Lose The Water-Color Sketches Which Mrs. Jameson

Had Made Of Our Two Drawing-Rooms In James Street, Buckingham Gate. They

Were Very Pretty And Skillful Specimens Of A Difficult Kind Of Subject,

And Valuable As Her Work, No Less Than As Tokens Of Her Regard For Me.

The Beautiful G---- S----, To Whose Marriage I Have Referred, Had She

Not Been A Sister Of Her Sisters, Would Have Been Considered A Wit; And,

In Spite Of This, Was The Greatest Beauty Of Her Day. She Always

Reminded Me Of What An American Once Said In Speaking Of A Countrywoman

Of His, That She Was So Lovely That When She Came Into The Room She Took

His Breath Away. While I Was In Bath I Was Asked By A Young Artist To

Sit For My Miniature. His Portrait Had Considerable Merit As A Piece Of

Delicate, Highly Finished Workmanship; It Was Taken In The Part Of

Portia, And Engraved; But I Think No One, Without The Label Underneath,

Would Have Imagined In It Even The Intention Of My Portrait. Whether Or

Not The Cause Lay In My Own Dissimilar Expressions And Dissimilar

Aspects At Different Times, I Do Not Know; But If A Collection Was Made

Of The Likenesses That Have Been Taken Of Me, To The Number Of Nearly

Thirty, Nobody Would Ever Imagine That They Were Intended To Represent

The Same Person. Certainly, My Bath Miniature Produced A Version Of My

Face Perfectly Unfamiliar To Myself And Most Of My Friends Who Saw It.

                                                         DUBLIN, ----.

     DEAR MRS. JAMESON,

     I Received Your Third Kind Letter Yesterday Morning, And Have No

     More Time To-Day Than Will Serve To Inclose My Answer To Your

     Second, Which Reached Me And Was Replied To At Glasgow; Owing To

     Your Not Having Given Me Your Address, I Had Kept It Thus Long In

     My Desk. You Surely Said Nothing In That Letter Of Yours That The

     Kindest Good Feeling Could Take Exception To, And Therefore Need

     Hardly, I Think, Have Been So Anxious About Its Possible

     Miscarriage. However, "Misery Makes One Acquainted With Strange

     Bed-Fellows," And I Am Afraid Distrust Is One Of Them. You Will Be

     Glad, I Know, To Hear That I Have Been Successful Here, And Perhaps

     Amused To Know That When Your Letter Reached Me Yesterday, I Was

     Going, _En Lionne_, To A Great Dinner-Party At Lady Morgan's. You

     Ask Me For Advice About Your Shakespeare Work, But Advice Is What I

     Have No Diploma For Bestowing; And Such Suggestions As I Might

     Venture, Were I Sitting By Your Side With Shakespeare In My Hand,

     And Which Might Furnish Pleasant Matter Of Converse And Discussion,

     Are Hardly Solid Enough For Transmission By Post.

     I Have Been Reading The "Tempest" All This Afternoon, With Eyes

     Constantly Dim With Those Delightful Tears Which Are Called Up

     Alike By The Sublimity And Harmony Of Nature, And The Noblest

     Creations Of Genius. I Cannot Imagine How You Should Ever Feel

     Discouraged In Your Work; It Seems To Me It Must Be Its Own

     Perpetual Stimulus And Reward. Is Not Miranda's Exclamation, "O

     Brave New World, That Has Such People In It!" On The First Sight Of

     The Company Of Villainous Men Who Ruined Her And Her Father, With

     The Royal Old Magician's Comment, "'Tis New To Thee!" Exquisitely

     Pathetic? I Must Go To My Work; 'Tis "The Gamester" To-Night; I

     Wish It Were Over. Good-By, My Dear Mrs. Jameson. Thank You For

     Your Kind Letters; I Value Them Very Much, And Am Your Affectionate

                                                            F. KEMBLE.

     P.S.--I Am Very Happy Here, In The Society Of An Admirable Person

     Who Is As Good As She Is Highly Gifted,--A Rare Union,--And Who,

     Moreover, Loves Me Well, Which Adds Much, In My Opinion, To Her

     Other Merits. I Mean My Friend Miss S----.

My Only Reminiscence Connected With This Dinner At Lady Morgan's Is Of

Her Kind And Comical Zeal To Show Me An Irish Jig, Performed _Secundum

Artem_, When She Found That I Had Never Seen Her National Dance. She

Jumped Up, Declaring Nobody Danced It As Well As Herself, And That I

Should See It Immediately; And Began Running Through The Rooms, With A

Gauze Scarf That Had Fallen From Her Shoulders Fluttering And Trailing

After Her, Calling Loudly For A Certain Young Member Of The Viceregal

Staff, Who Was Among The Guests Invited To A Large Evening Party After

The Dinner, To Be Her Partner. But The Gentleman Had Already Departed

(For It Was Late), And I Might Have Gone To My Grave Unenlightened Upon

The Subject Of Jigs If I Had Not Seen One Performed, To Great

Perfection, By Some Gay Young Members Of A Family Party, While I Was

Staying At Worsley With My Friends Lord And Lady Ellesmere, Whose

Children And Guests Got Up An Impromptu Ball On The Occasion Of Lady

Octavia Grosvenor's Birthday, In The Course Of Which The Irish National

Dance Was Performed With Great Spirit, Especially By Lord Mark Kerr And

Lady Blanche Egerton. It Resembles A Good Deal The Saltarello Of The

Italian Peasants In Rhythm And Character; And A Young Irishman, Servant

Of Some Friends Of Mine, Covered Himself With Glory By The Manner In

Which He Joined A Party Of Neapolitan Tarantella Dancers, Merely By Dint

Of His Proficiency In His Own Native Jig. A Great Many Years After My

First Acquaintance With Lady Morgan In Dublin, She Renewed Our

Intercourse By Calling On Me In London, Where She Was Spending The

Season, And Where I Was Then Living With My Father, Who Had Become

Almost Entirely Deaf And Was Suffering From A Most Painful Complication

Of Maladies. My Relations With The Lively And Amusing Irish Authoress

Consisted Merely In An Exchange Of Morning Visits, During One Of Which,

After Talking To Me