Atlantic States -- Description and travel; Kemble, Fanny, 1809-1893; United States -- Social life and customs -- 1783-1865
Leaving the water's edge, we proceeded about a quarter of a mile, and
found ourselves at the door of the inn at Canandaigua, the principal
among some houses surrounding an open turfed space, like an English
village green, across which ran the high road. My father, Mr. ----, and
I went up to a sort of observatory at the top of the house, from whence
the view was perfectly enchanting. The green below, screened on three
sides with remarkably fine poplar trees, and surrounded by neat white
houses, reminded me of some retired spot in my own dear country.
Opposite us, the land rose with a gentle wooded swell; and to the left,
the lake spread itself to meet the horizon. A fresh breeze blew over the
earth, most grateful after the intense heat of the morning, and the sky
was all strewed with faint rosy clouds, melting away one by one into
violet wreaths, among which the early evening star glittered cold and
clear.
We came down to supper, which was served to us, as usual, in a large
desolate-looking public room. After this, we came to the sitting-room
they had provided for us, a small comfortable apartment, with a very
finely-toned piano in it. To this I forthwith sat down, and played and
sang for a length of time: late in the evening, I left the instrument,
and my father, Mr. ----, and I took a delightful stroll under the
colonnade, discussing Milton; many passages of which my father recited
most beautifully, to my infinite delight and ecstasy. By and by they
went in, and ---- came out to walk with me.
Certainly this climate is the most treacherous imaginable: the heat this
morning had been intolerable, and to-night a piercing cold wind had
arisen, that would have rendered winter clothing by no means
superfluous. We walked rapidly up and down, till the bleak blast became
so keen, that we were glad to take refuge in the house. Our unfortunate
carpet bags and their contents are literally drenched: many of my goods
and chattels will never recover this ablution; among others, I am sorry
to say, ----'s beautiful satchel.
_Monday, 15th._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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