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

Spirit With Which My Distaste For My Profession Often Affected Me. While

At Liverpool, I Received A Letter From My Brother John Which Filled Me

With Surprise And Vexation. After His Return From Germany He Had

Expressed His Determination To Go Into The Church; And We All Supposed

Him To Be In The Country, Zealously Engaged In The Necessary Preparatory

Studies. Infinite, Therefore, Was My Astonishment To Receive From Him A

Letter Dated From Algeciras, In Spain, Telling Me That He And Several Of

His College Companions, Sterling, Barton, Trench, And Boyd Among Others,

Had Determined To Lend The Aid Of Their Enthusiastic Sympathy To The

Cause Of Liberty In Spain. The "Cause Of Liberty In Spain" Was Then

Represented By The Rash And Ill-Fated Rising Of General Torrijos Against

The Spanish Government, That Protean Nightmare Which, In One Form Or

Another Of Bigotry And Oppression, Has Ridden That Unfortunate Country

Up To A Very Recent Time, When Civil War Has Again Interfered With

Apparently Little Prospect Of Any Better Result. My Distress At

Receiving Such Unexpected News From My Brother Was Aggravated By His

Forbidding Me To Write To Him Or Speak Of His Plans And Proceedings To

Any One. This Concealment, Which Would Have Been Both Difficult And

Repugnant To Me, Was Rendered Impossible By The Circumstances Under

Which His Letter Reached Me, And We All Bore Together, As Well As We

Could, This Severe Disappointment And The Cruel Anxiety Of Receiving No

Further Intelligence From John For A Considerable Time. I Was Bitterly

Grieved By This Letter, Which Clearly Indicated That The Sacred

Profession For Which My Brother Had Begun To Prepare Himself, And In

Which We Had Hoped To See Him Ere Long Honorably And Usefully Laboring,

Was As Little Likely To Be Steadily Pursued By Him As The Legal Career

Which He Had Renounced For It. Richard Trench Brought Home A Knowledge

Of The Spanish Tongue Which Has Given To His Own Some Beautiful

Translations Of Calderon's Masterpieces; And His Early Crusade For The

Enfranchisement Of Spain Has Not Militated Against The Well-Deserved

Distinction He Has Achieved In The High Calling To Which He Devoted

Himself. With My Brother, However, The Case Was Different. This Romantic

Expedition Canceled All His Purposes And Prospects Of Entering The

Church, And Alfred Tennyson's Fine Sonnet, Addressed To Him When He

First Determined To Dedicate Himself To The Service Of The Temple, Is

All That Bears Witness To That Short-Lived Consecration: It Was Poetry,

But Not Prophecy.

                                        MANCHESTER, September 3, 1830.

     MY DEAREST H----,

     I Received You Letter And The Pretty Balbriggan Stockings, For

     Which I Thank You Very Much, Quite Safely. I Have Not Been Able To

     Put Pen To Paper Till Now, And Even Now Do Not Know Whether I Can

     Do More Than Just Tell You That We Have Heard Nothing Further

     Whatever From My Brother. In His Letter To Me He Said That He Would

     Write Home Whenever He Could Do So Safely, But That No Letter Of

     Ours Would Reach Him; And, Indeed, I Do Not Now Know Where He May

     Be. From The First Moment Of Hearing This Intelligence, Which Has

     Amazed Us All So Much, I Have Felt Less Miserable Than I Could Have

     Thought Possible Under The Circumstances; My Mind, I Think, Has

     Hardly Taken Hold Of The Truth Of What Has Come So Unexpectedly

     Upon Me. The Very Impossibility Of Relieving One's Suspense, I

     Suppose, Compels One Not To Give Way To Its Worst Suggestions,

     Which May, After All, Be Unfounded. I Cannot Communicate With Him,

     And Must Wait Patiently Till He Can Write Again; He Is In God's

     Hand, And I Hope And Pray That He May Be Guided And Protected. My

     Great Anxiety Is To Keep All Knowledge Of His Having Even Gone

     Abroad, If Possible, From My Mother. She Is Not In A State To Bear

     Such A Shock, And I Fear That The Impossibility Of Ascertaining

     Anything About Him At Present, Which Helps _Me_ To Remain Tolerably

     Collected, Would Almost Drive Her Distracted.

     The News Of The Revolt In The Netherlands, Together With The Fact

     That One Of Our Dear Ones Is Away From Us In Scenes Of Peril And

     Disturbance, Has, I Think, Shaken My Father's Purpose Of Sending

     Henry To Heidelberg. It Is A Bad Thing To Leave A Boy Of Eighteen

     So Far From Home Control And Influences; And He Is Of A Sweet,

     Affectionate, Gentle Disposition, That Makes Him Liable To Be

     Easily Led And Persuaded By The Examples And Counsels Of Others.

     Moreover, He Is At The Age When Boys Are Always In Some Love-Scrape

     Or Other, And If He Is Left Alone At Heidelberg, In His Own

     Unassisted Weakness, At Such A Distance From Us All, I Should Not

     Be Surprised To Hear That He Had Constituted Himself The Lord And

     Master Of Some Blue-Eyed _Fräulein_ With Whom He Could Not Exchange

     A Dozen Words In Her Own Vernacular, And Had Become A

     _Dis_-Respectable _Pater Familias_ At Nineteen. In The Midst Of All

     The Worry And Anxiety Which These Considerations Occasion, We Are

     Living Here A Most Unsettled, Flurried Life Of Divided Work And

     Pleasure. We Have Gone Out To Heaton Every Morning After Rehearsal,

     And Come In With The W----S In The Evening, To Act. I Think

     To-Night We Shall Sleep There After The Play, And Come In With The

     W----S After Dinner To-Morrow. They Had Expected Us To Spend Some

     Days With Them, And Perhaps, After Our Birmingham Engagement, We

     May Be Able To Do So. Heaton Is A Charming Specimen Of A Fine

     Country-House, And Lady W---- A Charming Specimen Of A Fine Lady;

     She Is Handsome, Stately, And Gentle. I Like Lord W----; He Is

     Clever, Or Rather Accomplished, And Refined. They Are Both Of Them

     Very Kind To Me, And Most Pressing In Their Entreaties That We

     Should Return And Stay As Long As We Can With Them. To-Morrow Is My

     Last Night Here; On Monday We Act At Birmingham, And My Father

     Thinks We Shall Be Able To Avail Ourselves Of The Invitation Of Our

     Liverpool Friends, And Witness The Opening Of The Railroad. This

     Would Be A Memorable Pleasure, The Opportunity Of Which Should

     Certainly Not Be Neglected. I Have Been Gratified And Interested

     This Morning And Yesterday By Going Over One Of The Largest

     Manufactories Of This Place, Where I Have Seen A Number Of

     Astonishing Processes, From The Fusing Of Iron In Its Roughest

     State To The Construction Of The Most Complicated Machinery And The

     Work That It Performs. I Have Been Examining And Watching And

     Admiring Power-Looms, And Spinning-Jennies, And Every Species Of

     Work Accomplished By Machinery. But What Pleased Me Most Of All Was

     The Process Of Casting Iron. Did You Know That The Solid Masses Of

     Iron-Work Which We See In Powerful Engines Were Many Of Them Cast

     In Moulds Of Sand?--Inconstant, Shifting, Restless Sand! The

     Strongest Iron Of All, Though, Gets Its Strength Beaten Into It.

                                        BIRMINGHAM, September 7, 1830.

     You See, My Dearest H----, How My Conversations Are Liable To Be

     Cut Short In The Midst; Just At The Point Where I Broke Off, Lord

     And Lady W---- Came To Fetch Us To Heaton, And Until This Moment,

     When I Am Quietly Seated In Birmingham, I Have Not Been Able To

     Resume The Thread Of My Discourse. I Once Was Told Of A Man Who Had

     Been Weather-Bound At Some Port, Whence He Was Starting For The

     West Indies; He Was Standing On The Wharf, Telling A Long Story To

     A Friend, When A Fair Wind Sprang Up And He Had To Hurry On Board.

     Two Years After, Returning Thence, The First Person He Met On

     Landing Was His Friend, Whom He Accosted With, "Oh, Well, And So,

     As I Was Telling You," Etc. But I Cannot Do That, For My Mind Has

     Dwelt On New Objects Of Interest Since I Began This Letter, And My

     Visit To Heaton Has Swept Sand And Iron And Engines All Back Into

     The Great Warehouse At Manchester For A Time, Whence I May Draw

     Them At Some Future Day For Your Edification.

     Lady W---- Possesses, To A Great Degree, Beauty, That "Tangible

     Good" Which You Admire So Much; She Has A Bright, Serene

     Countenance, And Very Sweet And Noble Eyes And Forehead. Her Manner

     Is Peculiarly Winning And Simple, And To Me It Was Cordially Kind,

     And Even Affectionate.

     During The Two Days Which Were All We Could Spare For Heaton, I

     Walked And Rode And Sang And Talked, And Was So Well Amused And

     Pleased That I Hope, After Our Week's Work Is Over Here, We May

     Return There For A Short-Time. I Must Tell You Of A Curious Little

     Bit Of _Ancientry_ Which I Saw At Heaton, Which Greatly Delighted

     Me--A "Rush-Bearing." At A Certain Period Of The Year, Generally

     The Beginning Of Autumn, It Was Formerly The Wont In Some Parts Of

     Lancashire To Go Round With Sundry Rustic Mummeries To All The

     Churches And Strew Them With Rushes. The Religious Intention Of The

     Custom Has Passed Away, But A Pretty Rural Procession, Which I

     Witnessed, Still Keeps Up The Memory Of It Hereabouts. I Was

     Sitting At My Window, Looking Out Over The Lawn, Which Slopes

     Charmingly On Every Side Down To The House, When The Still Summer

     Air Was Suddenly Filled With The Sound Of Distant Shouts And Music,

     And Presently The Quaint Pageant Drew In Sight. First Came An

     Immense Wagon Piled With Rushes In A Stack-Like Form, On The Top Of

     Which Sat Two Men Holding Two Huge Nosegays. This Was Drawn By A

     Team Of Lord W----'S Finest Farm-Horses, All Covered With Scarlet

     Cloths, And Decked With Ribbons And Bells And Flowers. After This

     Came Twelve Country Lads