Chapter IX: Part 9

After church, came home,--habited; went and sat with Mrs. ---- till half-past one. The villanous servants did not think fit to announce the horses till they had been at the door full half an hour, so that when we started it was near two o'clock. D---- seemed quite at her ease upon her gangling charger, and I had gotten up upon Mr. ----'s big horse, to see what I could make of him. The day was beautifully bright and clear, with a warm blessed sunshine causing the wintry world to smile. We had proceeded more than halfway to Laurel Hill without event, when, driving my heavy-shouldered brute at a bank, instead of lifting up his feet, he thought fit to stumble, fall, and fling me very comfortably off upon the mound. I sprang up neither hurt nor frightened, shook my habit, tightened my girths, and mounted again; when we set off, much refreshed by this little incident, which occasioned a world of mirth and many saucy speeches from my companions to me. At Laurel Hill the master of the house came bowing forth with the utmost courteousness to meet me, expressing his profound sense of the honour I did him in deigning to inhale the air around his abode, and his unspeakable anguish at having been absent when I had so far condescended before. He was a foreigner,--French or Italian, or _such like_,--which accounts for his civility. Had the horses taken to the stable, and their girths slackened. D---- kept the heights, and ---- and I ran, slipped, slid, and scrambled down to the water's edge. The river was frozen over, not, however, strongly enough to bear much, and every jutting rock was hung with pure glittering icicles that shone like jewels in the bright sunshine. Far down the river all was still and lonely, and bright, yet wintry-looking. The flow of the water and its plashing music were still; there was no breath of wind stirring the leafless boughs; the sunlight came down, warm and dazzling upon the silent sparkling world, all clad in its shimmering ice robe: the air was transparent and clear, and the whole scene was perfectly lovely. Taming to re-ascend the rocks, I called aloud to D----, and the distinctest loudest echo answered me. So perfect was the reflection of the sound, that at first I thought some one was mocking me. I ran up a scale as loud, and high, and rapid as I could; and, from among the sunny fields, a voice repeated the threaded notes as clearly, as rapidly, only more softly, with a distinctness that was startling. I never heard an echo that repeated so much of what was sung or said. I stood in perfect enchantment, exercising my voice, and provoking the hidden voice of the air, who answered me with a far-off tone, that seemed as though the mocking spirit fled along the hill tops, repeating my notes with a sweet gleeful tone that filled me with delight. Oh, what must savages think an echo is? How many many lovely and wild imaginations are suggested by that which natural philosophers analyse into mere conformations of earth and undulations of air! At length we joined D----, and walked to the house, where presently appeared the master of the mansion, with cakes, wine, cordial, preserves, or, as Comus hath it, "a table covered with all manner of deliciousness." I was at first a little puzzled by the epithet _cordial_ applied to three goodly-looking _decanters_ full of rosy and golden liquor, and which ---- informed me is the invariable refreshment presented to visiters of both sexes who ride or drive up to Laurel Hill. To satisfy my curiosity, I put my lips to some of it, which proved to be no other than liqueur, an indifferent sort of noyau--that which soberest folks in England take but a thimble-full of after dinner, by way of _chasse-café_, and drunkenest folk would be ashamed to touch in the morning. It seems that it is otherwise here; and, indeed, generally speaking, Americans swallow much more of all sorts of spirituous nauseousness than we do in our country. The men take brandy, in a way that would astound people of any respectability in England, and in this, as well as many other ways, contribute to assist the enervating effects of their climate.[76] Our host waited himself most attentively upon us, and refused all species of remuneration save thanks, which, indeed, he said he owed me for so far honouring him as to stuff his cakes and drink his wine. We mounted again, being refreshed, and, taking leave of this pearl of innkeepers, continued our ride along the banks of the Schuylkill, until we came to Manayunk, a manufacturing place, where they create cottons, and which has the additional advantage of being most lovelily situated upon the banks of the river, backed by rocky heights, where the cedar bushes, with their rich dark tufts, and the fine bold masses of grey granite, together with a hundred little water-courses now hanging from every ridge they used to flow over in brilliant ice pendants, had a most beautiful effect. It was getting late, however, and we pushed on to the bridge; but, lo! when we reached it, it was under repair and impassable. What was to be done? the sun had withdrawn his warm rays from the heavens,--the lower earth was shadowy and dark,--a rich orange light hung over the brow of the ridge of hills on the opposite side of the river, whose current, rapid and strong, flowed darkly between beautiful slabs of granite which lay in its path, and round which the water hurried angrily. What was to be done? To turn back was disheartening,--to go on for the chance of a bridge was also to run the chance of being utterly benighted in paths we knew nothing of, and on horses which were any thing but safe. However, my evident inclination to the latter course prevailed with my companions. We crossed a narrow bridge, and pursued a sort of tow-path between the canal and the river. The glimmering daylight was fading fast from the sky, and the opposite shores of the river were losing their distinctness of outline, when, from between two beautiful bold masses of rock which overhung its entrance, the wooden bridge appeared. I should like to have lingered in this spot till nightfall, but this was by no means the bargain either with my fellow-travellers or my horse. So on we went over the bridge, and, turning to the left, pursued the river's side,--now close down to its gushing fretful waters, hurrying from between the rocky impediments of their path,--now high above its course, in the midst of woods growing to the very edge of the precipitous bank, with rocky ridges rising again above us, crowned with the black-looking tufts of the cedar, jagged with icicles, and from which descended, at every ten yards, a trickling rill, which, smoothed over by the glassy ice, rendered our horses' footing, particularly in the twilight, very insecure. We were _in for it_; and when that is the case, 'tis vain making lamentations or piteous retrospections: I therefore pushed on, with as much care as I could of Mr. ----'s tumble-down charger, whose headlong motion kept me in agonies, leaving ---- to take care of dear D----, whose bones I feared would ach for this adventure most bitterly. The road was perfectly beautiful. Broad masses of shadowy clouds hung in the sky, and were reflected in the waters, together with the pale delicate grey of evening, and the last amber tinge of sunset. We did not reach Philadelphia till it was perfectly dark. To add to my consternation, too, when we asked ---- to dine with us, he said that he had an engagement, for which I began to fear this ill-starred ride would have kept him too late.

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I came up to my own room, changed my clothes, and went in to see Mrs. ----.

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She was completely overpowered with laudanum. Her head was declined upon a chair.

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She looked very lovely, with her beautiful head bowed, and her dark eyelashes lying on her wan cheeks. Her features were contracted with suffering. I sat watching her with much heartfelt sadness and interest. I was summoned away, however, to see some gentlemen who were in the drawing-room, whither I adjourned, and where I found Mr. ---- and Dr. ----. I was stupid and sleepy, and the gentlemen had the charity not to keep me up, or make me sing.

_Monday, 24th, Christmas-eve._

After breakfast, put out clothes for to-night. When I came down, found ---- in the drawing-room with my father: paid him his bill, and pottered an immensity. Went to rehearsal,--afterwards paid all manner of cards with poor dear D----, who puffed and panted through the streets in order not to freeze me, which, however, she did not escape.

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After dinner, went and sat with my poor invalid, whom, in spite of her republicanism, I am greatly inclined to like and admire. Remained with her till coffee-time. Went to the theatre: the play was the Merchant of Venice,--my favourite part, Portia. The house was very full: I played so-soish.

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_Tuesday, 25th, Christmas-day._

I wish you a merry Christmas, poor child! away from home and friends. Truly, the curse of the old Scriptures has come upon me; my lovers and my acquaintance are far off from me. After breakfast, practised for and hour; went and saw Mrs. ----; drove out shopping; saw ---- walking with my father. Came home and wrote journal: went out with D----; bought a rocking-horse for Mrs. ----'s chicks, whose merry voices I shall miss most horribly by and by. Dragged it in to them in the midst of their dinner. Dined at three. After dinner, went and sat with her till coffee-time. When I came into the drawing-room, found a beautiful work-box sent me by that very youthful admirer of mine, Mr. ----. I was a little annoyed at this, but still more so at my father's desiring me to return it to him, which I know will be a terrible mortification to him. Went to the theatre: the house was crammed with men, and very noisy,--a Christmas audience. Play, Macbeth: I only played so-so. Oh, me! these marks in the stream of time, over which it breaks as over a dam, drawing our attention, which without them would even less often note its rapid, rapid current! They do but become halting-posts for our souls, round which gather the memories of days and hours escaped and gone from us for ever.[77]

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_Wednesday, 26th._

After breakfast, put out things for theatre. When I came down to the drawing-room, I found a middle-aged gentleman of very respectable appearance sitting with my father. He rose on my coming in, and, after bowing to me, continued his discourse to my father thus:--"Yes, sir, yes; you will find as I tell you, sir, the winter is our profitable theatrical season, sir; so that if any thing should take you to England, you can return again at the beginning of next fall." I modestly withdrew to another end of the room, supposing they were engaged upon business. But my curiosity was presently attracted by the continuation of his discourse. "And recollect, sir, and this lady, your daughter, too, if you please, that what I have said must not on any account be repeated out of this room. I am myself going immediately to England, and from thence direct to _Jerusalem_!" I stared. "There, sir, is my real name, ----: the card I sent up to you is not my real name. You see, sir, I am an Irishman, that is to say, in fact, I am really a Jew. _I am one of those of the tribe of Ephraim who refused to cross the Red Sea: we were not to be humbugged by that damned fellow, Moses,--no, sir, we were not!_" Here my heart jumped into my throat, and my eyes nearly out of my head with fright and amazement. "Well," continued the poor madman, "I suppose I may deliver this to the young lady herself;" giving me a small parcel, which I took from him as if I thought it would explode and blow me up. "And now, sir, farewell. Remember remember, my words,--in three years, perhaps, but _certainly_ in ten, _He_ that will come _will come_, and it's all up with the world, and the children of men!" This most awful announcement was accompanied with a snap of his fingers, and a demi-pirouette. He was then rushing out of the room, leaving his cloak behind him. My father called him back to give it him. He bundled himself into it, exclaimed, "God bless you both! God bless you both!--remember, what I have said requires the profoundest secrecy, as you perceive," and darted out of the room, leaving my father and myself with eyes and mouth wide open, gaping in speechless astonishment. At last I bethought me of opening the little packet the madman had left me. It was a small box, on the cover of which was written, To Miss Kemble, with the compliments of St. George. I then recollected, that some time past I had received some verses, in which love and religion were very crazily blended, signed St. George. But, as I am abundantly furnished with epistles of this sort, I had flung them aside, merely concluding the writer to be gone a short way from his wits. The box contained a most beautiful and curious ornament, something like a Sévigné, highly wrought in gold and enamel, and evidently very costly. I was more confounded than ever, and did not recover from my amazement and fright for a long time. I went in to Mrs. ---- to tell her the event. Thence we began talking about young ----'s box; and, upon her advice, I again spoke to my father and obtained his leave not to send it back; so I indited him a thankful epistle. Practised for a short time, and then went to the riding-school. It was quite empty: I put on my cap and skirt, and was sitting, thinking of many things, in the little dressing-room, when I heard the school-door open, and Mr. ---- walked straight up to me.

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Dr. ---- called to-day. I was quite glad to see him: he gave me all the New York news, and brought with him a gentleman, a friend of his, who nearly made me sick by very deliberately spitting upon the carpet. Mercy on me! I thought I should have jumped off my chair, I was so disgusted. Mr. ----, too, does this constantly.

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After dinner, went and sat with Mrs. ----; was called away to see Mr. ----, whom I thanked for his present.

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Went to the theatre at half-past five. The house was very fair, considering the weather, which was very foul. Play, School for Scandal. They none of them knew their parts, or remembered their business--delightful people, indeed! I played only so-so. ---- supped with us. He is a very gentlemanly nice person, and I am told he is extremely amiable.

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He told me sundry steam-boat stories that made my blood curdle; such as, a public brush, a public comb, and a public _tooth-brush_. Also, of a gentleman who was using his own tooth-brush,--a man who was standing near him said, "I'll trouble you for that article when you've done with it." When he had done with it, the gentleman presented it to him, and on receiving it again, immediately threw it into the river, to the infinite amazement of the borrower, who only exclaimed, "Well, however, you're a queer fellow."[78]

_Thursday, 27th._

After breakfast, went to rehearsal. Katharine and Petruchio. After rehearsal, went to the riding-school. It was quite empty, except of Mr. ----, and Mr. ----.

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Came home: found a letter to me from that strange madman. On opening it, it proved a mere envelope, containing a visiting-card with the name St. George upon it. After dinner, wrote journal; went and sat with Mrs. ---- till coffee-time. I have had a most dreadful side-ach all day.

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At half-past five, went to the theatre. Play, Much Ado about Nothing; farce, Katharine and Petruchio.

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At the end I was so tired, and so overcome with the side-ach, that I lay down on the floor perfectly done up.

_Friday, 28th._

After breakfast, ---- called. Settled to ride, if possible, to-morrow. I would give the world for a good shaking. I'm dying of the blue devils: I have no power to rouse myself.

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When ---- was gone, sat down to practise. Tried Mrs. Hemans's Messenger Bird, but the words were too solemn and too sad: I sobbed instead of singing, and was a little relieved. Went in to see Mrs. ----. She seemed better; she was _en toilette_, in a delicate white wrapper, with her fine hair twisted up round her classical head. She is a beautiful person; she is better--an amiable, a sensible, and a pious one; I am very deeply interested by her; I like her extremely. At half-past one, went to the riding-school. I met there a daughter of old Lady ----'s, who introduced herself to me, and asked leave to stay and see me ride, which leave I gave her. The bay pony is, however, fairly ruined. A little wretch not twelve years old had just been riding it: it had fallen from all its paces, and went so lame that I gave up riding, and sat disconsolately enough in the little dressing-closet, looking through a window six inches square, at the blessed mild blue heavens, and longing for wings, till my soul was like to faint.

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After dinner, wrote journal. Went in and sat with Mrs. ----. By the by, that worthy youth, Mr. ----, dined with us. I got rid of some of my vapours by sundry hearty laughs at him. I am sorry to leave Philadelphia on Mrs. ----'s account. I am growing to her. Oh, Lord! how soon, how soon we do this!--how we do cling to every thing in spite of the pitiless wrenches of time and chance! Her dear babies are delightful to me; their laughing voices have power to excite and make me happy,--and when they come dancing to meet me, my heart warms very fondly towards them.

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She amuses me much by her intense anxiety that I should be married. First, she wishes ---- would propose to me; then she thinks Mr. ----'s estates in Cuba would be highly acceptable; in short, my single blessedness seems greatly to annoy her, and I believe she attributes every thing evil in life to that same. She seemed surprised, and a little shocked, when I said I would accept death most thankfully in preference to the happiest lot in life,--and so I would--I would. Yet death----. 'Tis strange, that Messenger Bird threw more than a passing gloom over me. If the dead do indeed behold those whom they have loved, with loving eyes and fond remembrance, do not the sorrows, the weariness, the toiling, the despairing of those dear ones rise even into the abodes of peace, and wring the souls of those who thence look down upon the earth, and see the woe and anguish suffered here? Or, if they do not feel,--if, freed from this mortal coil, they forget all they have suffered, all that we yet endure, oh! then what fourfold trash is human love! what vain and miserable straws are all the deep, the dear, the grasping affections twined in our hearts' fibres,--mingled with our blood! How poor are all things,--how beggarly is life! Oh! to think that while we yet are bowed in agony, and mourning over the dead,--while our bereaved hearts are aching, and our straining eyes looking to that heaven, beyond which we think they yet may hear our cries, they yet may see our anguish, the dead, the loved, the mourned, nor see, nor hear; or if they do, look down with cold and careless gaze upon the love that lifts our very souls in desperate yearning towards them. Yet one of the two must surely be: either the other life is like this, a life of pain, though not like this, perhaps, a life of selfishness; or this earth, and time, and all they hold, are a more hollow mockery than even I sometimes dream they are. I will not think any more of it. We went to the theatre at half-past five. Play, Hunchback; after it, Katharine and Petruchio. I thought I should have died of the side-ach,--I was in perfect agony. The people here are more civil and considerate than can be imagined. I sent, yesterday evening, for some water-ice: the confectioner had none; when, lo! to-night he brings me some he has made on purpose for me, which he entreats my acceptance of. I admired a very pretty fan Mrs. ---- had in her hand; and at the end of the play she had it sent to my dressing-room;--and these sort of things are done by me, not once, but ten times every day. Nothing can exceed the kindness and attention which has encountered us every where since we have been in this country. I am sure I am bound to remember America and Americans thankfully; for, whatever I may think of their ways, manners, or peculiarities, to me they have shown unmingled good will, and cordial real kindness. Remained up, packing, till two o'clock.

TO ---- ----.

Many a league of salt sea rolls
Between us, yet I think our souls,
Dear friend, are still as closely tied
As when we wander'd side by side,
Some seven years gone, in that fair land
Where I was born. As hand in hand
We lived the showery spring away,
And, when the sunny earth was gay
With all its blossoms, still together
We pass'd the pleasant summer weather,
We little thought the time would come,
When, from a trans-Atlantic home,
My voice should greet you lovingly
Across the deep dividing sea.
Oh, friend! my heart is sad: 'tis strange,
As I sit musing on the change
That has come o'er my fate, and cast
A longing look upon the past,
That pleasant time comes back again
So freshly to my heart and brain,
That I half think the things I see
Are but a dream, and I shall be
Lying beside you, when I wake,
Upon the lawn beneath the brake,
With the hazel copse behind my head,
And the new-mown fields before me spread.

It is just twilight: that sweet time
Is short-lived in this radiant clime,--
Where the bright day, and night more bright,
Upon the horizon's verge unite,
Nor leave those hours of ray serene,
In which we think of what has been:
And it is well; for here no eye
Turns to the distant days gone by:

They have no legendary lore
Of deeds of glory done of yore,--
No knightly marvel-haunted years,
The nursery tales of adult ears:
The busy present, bright to come,
Of all their thoughts make up the sum:
Little their little past they heed;
Therefore of twilight have no need.

Yet wherefore write I thus? In the short span
Of narrow life doled out to every man,
Though he but reach the threshold of the track,
Where from youth's better path, strikes out the worse,
If he has breathed so long, nor once look'd back,
He has not borne life's load, nor known God's curse.

And yet, but for that glance that o'er and o'er
Goes tearfully, where we shall go no more;
Courting the sunny spots, where, for a day,
Our bark has found a harbour on its way;
O! but for this, this power of conjuring
Hours, days, and years into the magic ring,
Bidding them yield the show of happiness,
To make our real misery seem less,
Life would be dreary. But these memories start,
Sometimes, unbidden on the mourner's heart;
Unwish'd, unwelcome, round his thoughts they cling,--
In vain flung off, still dimly gathering,
Like melancholy ghosts, upon the path
Where he goes sadly, seeking only death.

Then live again the forms of those who lie
Gather'd into the grave's dark mystery.
Vainly at reason's voice the phantom flies,--
It comes, it still comes back to the fond eyes,--
Still, still the yearning arms are spread to clasp
The blessing that escapes their baffled grasp:
Still the bewildering memory mutters "Gone!"
Still, still the clinging aching heart loves on.
Oh, bitter! that the lips on which we pour
Love's fondest kisses, feel the touch no more;
Oh, lonely! that the voice on which we call
In agony, breaks not its silent thrall;
Oh, fearful! that the eyes in which we gaze
With desperate hope through their thick filmy haze,
Return no living look to bless our sight!
Oh, God! that it were granted that one might
But once behold the secret of the grave,--
That but one voice from the all-shrouding cave
Might speak,--that but one sleeper might emerge
From the deep death-sea's overwhelming surge!
Speak, speak from the grey coffins where ye lie
Fretting to dust your foul mortality!
Speak, from your homes of darkness and dismay,--
To what new being do ye pass away?--
O _do_ ye live, indeed?--speak, if on high
One atom springs whose doom is not to die!--
Where have I wandered?

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_Saturday, 29th._

When I came down to breakfast, found a very pretty diamond ring and some Scotch rhymes, from Mr. ----, what we call a small return of favours. I wish my hand wasn't so abominably ugly,--I hate to put a ring upon it. ---- called to see if we would ride; but D---- had too much to do; and, after sitting pottering for some time, I sang him the Messenger Bird, and sent him away. Went for a few moments to Mrs. ----, who seemed much better. Went out to pay sundry bills and visits. Called at Mr. ----'s, and spent half an hour most delightfully in his study. His picture of my father is very like, and very agreeable. 'Tis too youthful by a good deal; but the expression of the face is extremely good, and upon the whole, except that stern-looking thing of Kearsley's, 'tis the likest thing I have seen of him. We had a long discussion about the stage,--the dramatic art; which, as Helen says, "is none," for, "no art but taketh time and pains to learn." Now I am a living and breathing witness that a person may be accounted a good actor, and to a certain degree deserve the title, without time or pains of any sort being expended upon the acquisition of the reputation. But, on other grounds, acting has always appeared to me to be the very lowest of the arts, admitting that it deserves to be classed among them at all, which I am not sure it does. In the first place, it originates nothing; it lacks, therefore, the grand faculty which all other arts possess--creation. An actor is at the best but the filler-up of the outline designed by another,--the expounder, as it were, of things which another has set down; and a fine piece of acting is at best, in my opinion, a fine translation. Moreover, it is not alone to charm the senses that the nobler powers of mind were given to man; 'tis not alone to enchant the eye, that the gorgeous pallet of the painter, and the fine chisel of the statuary, have become, through heavenly inspiration, magical wands, summoning to life images of loveliness, of majesty, and grace; 'tis not alone to soothe the ear that music has possessed, as it were, certain men with the spirit of sweet sounds; 'tis not alone to delight the fancy, that the poet's great and glorious power was given him, by which, as by a spell, he peoples all space, and all time, with undying witnesses of his own existence; 'tis not alone to minister to our senses that these most beautiful capabilities were sown in the soil of our souls. But 'tis that, through them, all that is most refined, most excellent and noble, in our mental and moral nature, may be led through their loveliness, as through a glorious archway, to the source of all beauty and all goodness. It is that by them our perceptions of truth may be made more vivid, our love of loveliness increased, our intellect refined and elevated, our nature softened, our memory stored with images of brightness, which, like glorious reflections, falling again upon our souls, may tend to keep alive in them the knowledge of, and the desire after, what is true, and fair, and noble. But, that art may have this effect, it must be to a certain degree enduring. It must not be a transient vision, which fades and leaves but a recollection of what it was, which will fade too. It must not be for an hour, a day, or a year, but abiding, inasmuch as any thing earthly may abide, to charm the sense and cheer the soul of generation after generation. And here it is that the miserable deficiency of acting is most apparent. Whilst the poems, the sculptures, of the old Grecian time yet remain to witness to these latter ages the enduring life of truth and beauty; whilst the poets of Rome, surviving the trophies of her thousand victories, are yet familiar in our mouths as household words; whilst Dante, Boccaccio, that giant, Michael Angelo, yet live, and breathe, and have their being amongst us, through the rich legacy their genius has bequeathed to time; whilst the wild music of Salvator Rosa, solemn and sublime as his painting, yet rings in our ears, and the souls of Shakspeare, Milton, Raphael, and Titian, are yet shedding into our souls divinest influences from the very fountains of inspiration;--where are the pageants that, night after night, during the best era of dramatic excellence, riveted the gaze of thousands, and drew forth their acclamations?--gone, like rosy sunset clouds;--fair painted vapours, lovely to the sight, but vanishing as dreams, leaving no trace in heaven, no token of their ever having been there. Where are the labours of Garrick, of Macklin, of Cooke, of Kemble, of Mrs. Siddons?--chronicled in the dim memories of some few of their surviving spectators; who speak of them with an enthusiasm which we, who never saw them, fancy the offspring of that feeling which makes the old look back to the time of their youth as the only days when the sun knew how to shine. What have these great actors left, either to delight the sense or elevate the soul, but barren names, unwedded to a single lasting evidence of greatness! If, then, acting be alike without the creating power and the enduring property, which are at once the highest faculty of art, and its most beneficial purpose, what becomes of it when ranked with efforts displaying both in the highest degree? To me it seems no art,[79] but merely a highly rational, interesting, and exciting amusement; and I think men may as well, much better, perhaps, spend three hours in a theatre than in a billiard or bar-room,--and this is the extent of my approbation and admiration of my art. Called on Mrs. ----, whom I like very much. Went to the riding-school to try a new horse, which was ten hands high, all covered with shaggy angry-looking hair, with a donkey's head, and cart-horse legs, with one of which he peached. ---- came to see me mount. Dr. ----'s grey horse was standing in the school with a man's saddle on. I persuaded ---- to put me on it, and I then sent him away.

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When he was gone, rode for about an hour without any pommel, and found I managed it famously. I slipped my foot out of the stirrup in order to see if I could sit without both; but this proved rather too much, for I presently slid very comfortably off. On my way home, met young ----, with his head so completely in the clouds, that I had bowed to him, and was driving on, when he just perceived me, and fell into a confusion of bows, which he continued long after the coach had passed him. Found the usual token of his having been at our house--a most beautiful nosegay; roses, hyacinths, and myrtle. While I was arranging them, I heard a tremendous shriek of laughter in the hall, which was followed by the appearance of Mr. ----. After sitting with him some time, I went and sat with Mrs. ----. The amiable Chargé d'Affaires dined with us. After dinner, went to see Mrs. ----; but she was too unwell to receive me.

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Saw Dr. ----, who expressed manifold deplorings at my departure: gave him the words of the Sisters. At half-past five, went to the theatre: play, the Wonder. I acted only so-so: my father was a _leetle dans les vignes du Seigneur_. When the play was over, the folk called for us, and we went on: he made them a neat speech, and I nothing but a cross face and three courtesies. How I do hate this! 'Tis quite enough to exhibit myself to a gaping crowd, when my profession requires that I should do so in a feigned semblance; but to come bobbing and genuflexioning on, as me myself, to be clapped and shouted at, and say, "Thank ye kindly," is odious. After the play, dressed, and off to Mrs. ----, with my father and Mr. ----. On our way thither, the spring of our coach broke, and we had to go halting along for half an hour, with a graceful inclination towards the pavement on one side, which was very pleasant. There was quite a brilliant party at Mrs. ----'s. Told Mr. ---- that I had thrown his horse down. Saw and spoke to all Philadelphia. ---- was there, and actually sitting still. Fell in love with Mr. ----'s youngest son, who is a youth of some ten years old, and hovers round me with a plenitude of silent admiration and astonishment that is most delightful. Miss ----, who is a very pretty creature (in fact, all American women are pretty creatures, I never saw any prettier), sang Dalla Gioga e del Piacer. She sings very well, but pronounces Italian very Americanly, which is a pity. I don't know any thing so necessary to good singing as a good Italian pronunciation, _except_ perhaps a good voice, and a good school. They made me sing, and I sang them the galley song, after which Miss ---- warbled again. They were surrounding me again, with a shower of "pray do's," when perceiving D---- making towards me, with my boa on her arm, I sat down and sang them, "Yes, aunt, I am ready to go," to their infinite edification. I wonder if Mrs. ---- would object to this; I should think not, as ---- is not here to catch it again.

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Came home, and supped. I had eaten nothing since four o'clock, and was famished; for I do not like stewed oysters and terrapins, which are the refreshments invariably handed round at an American evening party. Did not get to bed till two o'clock. How beautifully bright the heavens are here! The sky has an earnest colour that is lovely and solemn to look at; and the moon, instead of being "the maiden with white fire laden," has a rich, mellow, golden light, than which nothing can be more beautiful. The stars, too, are more vivid than in our skies, and there is a variety of hues in their light which I never observed before,--some reddish, some violet, and again others of the palest silver.

_Sunday, 30th._

After breakfast, Mr. ---- called, also ----, to know at what time we would ride. I fixed at twelve, thereby calculating that we should escape the people coming out from church. Went and sat a few minutes with Mrs. ----.

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Spent my Sunday morning on my knees, indeed, but packing, not praying. The horses did not come till half-past twelve; so that, instead of avoiding, we encountered the pious multitude. I'm sure when we mounted there were not less than a hundred and fifty beholders round the Mansion House. Rode out to Laurel Hill. The cross road was muddy, so we took the turnpike, which was clean and short, and would have been pleasant enough but for my brute of a horse. Upon my word, these American horses are most unsafe to ride. I never mount one but I recommend myself to the care of Heaven, for I expect to have every bone in my body broken before I dismount again. At Laurel Hill we lunched. While D---- put up her hair, ---- and I ran down to the water side. The ice had melted from the river, in whose still waters the shores, and trees, and bridge lay mirrored with beautiful and fairy-like distinctness. The long icicles under the rocky brow beneath which we stood had not melted away, though the warm sun was shining brilliantly on them, and making the granite slab on which we stood sparkle like a pavement of diamonds. I called to the echo, and sang to it scales up, and scales down, and every manner of musical discourse I could think of, during which interesting amusement I as nearly as possible slipped from my footing into the river, which caused both ---- and myself to gulp. We left our pleasant sunny stand at last, to rejoin D---- and the lunch, and, having eaten and drunken, we remounted and proceeded on to Manayunk, under the bright, warm, blessed sunshine, which came down like a still shining shower upon the earth. The beautiful little water-courses had all broken from their diamond chains, and came dancing and singing down the hills, between the cedar bushes, and the masses of grey granite, like merry children laughing as they run. After crossing the bridge at Flat Rock, I took the van, riding by myself much faster than my companions, whom I left to entertain each other. Several times, as I looked down at the delicious fresh water, all rosy with the rosy light of the clouds, and gushing round the masses of rock that intercepted their channel, I longed to jump off my horse, and go down among their shallow brilliant eddies. The whole land was mellow with warm sunset, the sky soft, and bright, and golden, like a dream. I stopped for a long time opposite the Wissihiccon creek. The stone bridge, with its grey arch, mingled with the rough blocks of rock on which it rested, the sheet of foaming water falling like a curtain of gold over the dam among the dark stones below, on whose brown sides the ruddy sunlight and glittering water fell like splinters of light. The thick, bright, rich tufted cedars basking in the warm amber glow, the picturesque mill, the smooth open field along whose side the river waters, after receiving this child of the mountains into their bosom, wound deep, and bright, and still, the whole radiant with the softest light I ever beheld, formed a most enchanting and serene subject of contemplation. Further on, I stopped again, to look at a most beautiful mass of icicles, formed by some water falling from a large wooden conduit which belonged to a mill. The long thick masses of silvery white clung in downward pyramids together, and on the ground, great round balls of purest transparent ice, like enormous crystal grapes, lay clustered upon each other. I waited on a little sunny knoll above this glittering fairy work, till my companions joined me, when, leaving D---- to pursue the main road, ---- and I turned off, and explored a pretty ravine, down which another mountain stream, half free wild water, half shimmering diamond ice, sparkled in the sunset. We reached Philadelphia at half-past four, and had again to canter down Chestnut Street just as the folks were all coming from church, which caused no little staring, and turning of heads. My father asked ---- to dine with us, but he refused. Mr. ---- dined with us. After dinner, went in to pay my last visit to my poor sick friend. I sat with her until summoned to see some gentlemen in the drawing-room. It pained me to part from her; for though she exerted herself bravely, she was very much overcome. I fear she will miss me, poor thing; I had become very much attached to her. I went in to bid Mrs. ---- good-by. ---- was not gone to bed; I took her in my arms and kissed her, saying I should not see her for a long time again. The tears came into her baby eyes, and she said very sadly, "God bless you, Fanny." How curious a train of associations that word produced in me! It brought ----, and Lord ----, and that beautiful creature his child, before my very eyes. But her father had told little Lady ---- to say that,--I am sure he did; now this little creature blessed me out of her own heart. A child's blessing is a holy thing. Came into the drawing-room. Found Dr. ----, young Mr. ----, and Mr. ---- there. Presently, Mr. ---- came in, with Baron ----, a man with a thick head, thick white hair, that stood out round it like a silver halo, and gold ear-rings. I sang to them till past ten o'clock, and then came to my own room, where I remained up packing and pottering until past two.

_Monday, 31st._

The river being yet open, thank Heaven, we arose at half-past four o'clock. Dressed sans dawdling for once, and came down.

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D---- and I were bundled into a coach, and rumbled and tumbled over the stones, through the blackness of darkness down to the steam-boat. ---- was waiting for us, and convoyed us safely to the cabin, where I laid myself down, and slept till breakfast-time. My father, Captain ----, Mr. ----, and Baron ----, sat themselves down most comfortably to breakfast, leaving us entirely to the charge and care of ----, who fulfilled his trust with infinite zeal. 'Tis curious; there was a man on board whom I have now seen every time I have been going to or from New York to Philadelphia, whose appearance was in itself very remarkable, and the subsequent account I received of him perhaps increased the sort of impression it made upon me. He was a man of about from thirty to thirty-five, _I guess_, standing about five feet ten, with a great appearance of strength and activity. His face was that of a foreigner, the features were remarkably well cut, and the piercing black eyes, dark hair, and brown complexion, gave a Spanish character to his countenance. There was a sort of familiar would-be gentlemanly manner in his deportment and address, and a species of slang gentility in his carriage and conversation, that gave me a curiosity to ascertain what on earth he could be. After breakfast, walked up and down deck with ----. ---- was on board. I am happy to hear he is thriving: I love all my fellow-passengers; and when I see one of them, my heart warms towards them, as to a bit of the dear old land left behind. After about an hour's steaming, we disembarked to cross the narrow neck of land which divides the Delaware from the Chesapeake. Here we got into a coach holding some twelve of us, to be conveyed over the rail-road by one of Stevenson's engines. Neither the road nor the conveyances are comparable to those of the Liverpool and Manchester rail-way; and instead of those luxurious roomy coaches, which form the merit of the Liverpool train, we were squeezy and uncomfortable to a degree. The country along this slip of land is flat and very uninteresting, clothed with threadbare young woods, whose thin spare skeletons, without their leafy mantles, looked excessively miserable. The distance from the Delaware to Frenchtown, on the Elk, where we were again to take water, is about sixteen miles, which we did in an hour. The first part of the road lies in Delaware, the latter in Maryland. The Elk, which in this world of huge waters is considered but a paltry ditch, but which in our country would be thought a very decent-sized river, was, a few days ago, frozen up, thereby putting a stop to the steam-boat travelling. But, fortunately for us, it was open to-day, and presently we beheld the steamer coming puffing up to take us from the pier. This boat--the Charles Carroll--is one of the finest they have. 'Tis neither so swift nor so large, I think, as some of the North river boats, but it is a beautiful vessel, roomy and comfortable in its arrangements. I went below for a few minutes, but found, as usual, the atmosphere of the cabin perfectly intolerable. The ladies' cabin, in winter, on board one of these large steamers, is a right curious sight. 'Tis generally crammed to suffocation with women, _strewn_ in every direction. The greater number cuddle round a stove, the heat of which alone would make the atmosphere unbreathable. Others sit lazily in a species of rocking-chair,--which is found wherever Americans sit down,--cradling themselves backwards and forwards, with a lazy, lounging, sleepy air, that makes me long to make them get up and walk. Others again manage, even upon fresh water, to be very sick. There are generally a dozen young human beings, some naughty, sick, and squalling, others happy, romping, and riotous; and what with the vibratory motion of the rocking-chairs and their contents, the women's shrill jabber, the children's shriller wailing and shouting, the heat and closeness of the air, a ladies' cabin on board an American steam-boat is one of the most overpowering things to sense and soul that can well be imagined. There was a poor sick woman with three children, among our company, two of which were noisy unruly boys, of from eight to ten years old. One of them set up a howl as soon as he came on board, which he prolonged, to our utter dismay, for upwards of half an hour sans intermission, except to draw breath. I bore it as long as I could; but threats, entreaties, and bribes having been resorted to in vain, by all the women in the cabin, to silence him, I at length very composedly took him up in my arms, and deposited him on his back in one of the upper berths; whereupon his brother flew at his mother, kicking, thumping, screaming, and yelling. The cabin was in an uproar; the little wretch I held in my arms struggled like a young giant, and though I succeeded in lodging him upon the upper shelf, presently slid down from it like an eel. However, this effort had a salutary effect, for it obtained silence,--the crying gave way to terror, which produced silence, of which I availed myself to sleep till dinner-time. At dinner, ---- and Mr. ---- took charge of D---- and me, who, seeing that we were to get no dinner till six o'clock, thought fit to eat some lunch. The strange dark man was sitting opposite us, and discoursing away to his neighbours in a strain and tone in which shrewdness and swagger, and vulgarity and a sort of braggart gallantry, were curiously jumbled. From his conversation, it was evident that he was a seafaring man. He spoke of having been a midshipman on board an American frigate. The question they were debating was that of superstitious prejudice, involving belief in lucky and unlucky days, witches, ghosts, etc. The stranger professed perfect faith in all, and added sundry experiences of his own, at the same time observing, that with regard to sailors, the strong prejudice they have against sailing on certain days often creates the very ill luck they apprehend; for if any danger should occur, 'tis all attributed to evil influences against which they have no power, and they are at once deprived of half their energy in labour, and half their courage in peril. When dinner was over, I pointed out this strange man to my father, asking him if he had any idea who he was. "I am told," was his reply, "that he is but just returned from New York, where he has been tried for piracy." This accounted for every thing,--dare-devil look and language, seafaring adventures, and superstitious creed. It is a pleasant mode of travelling that throws one into contact with such company.

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Touching pirates, Baltimore, I was told (I know not how truly) is famous for them. They have small schooners there of a particularly light build, and raking masts, which are the prettiest craft in the world to look at, and the swiftest that sail sea. The Baltimore clippers are proverbial for their elegance and fleetness: they are like greyhounds on the water. These, I was told, were frequently owned by gentlemen of rather an ambiguous character, something between pirate, smuggler, and wrecker, perhaps a judicious compound of all three. Their trade is chiefly, I believe, with and about the West India islands. I looked at my Spanish-faced friend with redoubled curiosity: he was the very man for a pirate. We reached Baltimore at about half-past four. The Chesapeake bay, like the Delaware river, appeared to me admirable only as an immense sheet of water. At some parts that we passed, it was six, at others, ten, at others, thirteen miles across. The shores were flat and uninteresting on one side, but on the other occasionally very picturesque and beautiful, rising in red-looking cliffs from the water's edge, and crowned with beautiful green tufts of wood--cedar, I suppose, for nothing else is green at this time. The curvings of the shore, too, are very pretty; but, owing to the enormous width of the water, my imperfect vision could hardly discern the peculiar features of the land. The day was more lovely than a fine day in early September, in England,--bright, soft and sunny, with the blue in the sky of the delicate colour one sees in the Sèvres porcelain. As we entered the Patapsco, and neared Baltimore, North Point and Fort M'Henry were pointed out to me. My spirits always sink when I come to a strange place; and as we came along the wharf sides, under the red dingy-looking warehouses, between which the water ran in narrow dark-looking canals, I felt terribly gloomy. We drove up to Barnham's, the best house in the town; and, having found out where to lay my head, I had my fill of crying.[80] After dinner, went and lay down; slept profoundly till nine o'clock. On my return to the drawing-room, found ---- there, and Mr. ----, the man who owns the Front Street theatre, but who it seems is only just out of gaol, and has neither actors nor scenes to get up a play withal. While he was here, came missives from the proprietors of the Holliday Street theatre, to inform my father that it was lighted up, and requesting him to come and look at it. This was awkward rather. When Mr. ---- was gone, I came to my room, where I remained without a fire, cold without and disconsolate within, till past one o'clock. I did not know it was New-Year's eve; and so the waters carried me over this other dam without my looking back at what was past, or forward at what is to come: and why should I?--surely "the thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done, is that which shall be done; and there is no new thing under the sun:" sorrow and joy, hoping and fearing, pain and pleasure, laughing and weeping, striving and yielding,--they will all come again and again, and all things will be the same, till all things cease.

_Tuesday, January, 1st_, }
_New-Year's Day_, } 1833.