Atlantic States -- Description and travel; Kemble, Fanny, 1809-1893; United States -- Social life and customs -- 1783-1865
try another, which may be just as bad, and, moreover, a _stranger_. My
riding-cap seemed to excite universal marvel wherever we passed. We came
in at five o'clock; dressed, and dined. Just as I had finished dinner, a
most beautiful, fragrant, and delicious nosegay was brought to me, with
a very laconic note from a Philadelphia "_friend_," dashed under, as
though from a Quaker. Whoever 'tis from, Jew or Gentile, Puritan or
Pagan, he, she, or it hath my most unbounded gratitude. Spent an
ecstatic half hour in arranging my flowers in glasses; gave orders about
my Mrs. Beverley's gown, and began marking journal; while doing so, a
card was brought up.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
Presently Mr. ---- came in, another of our Pacific fellow-sailors. It
pleases me to see them: they seem to bring me nearer to England. He gave
a dreadful account of his arrival in Baltimore, and of the state to
which the cholera had reduced that city. Mr. ---- amused me, by telling
me that he had heard my behaviour canvassed with much censure by some
man or other, who met me at Mr. ----'s, and who was horrified at my
taking up a book, and then a newspaper, and, in short, being neither
tragical nor comical, at a dinner-party. Of course, I must seem a very
strange animal to them all; but they seem just as strange to me.
* * * * *
* * * * *
_Wednesday, 17th._
Rose at eight. After breakfast, put out things for the theatre. At
eleven, went to rehearsal. It seems there has been fighting, and
rushing, and tearing of coats at the box-office; and one man has made
forty dollars by purchasing and reselling tickets at an increased price.
After rehearsal, came home. Mr. ---- called, and sat some time: he sails
for England on the twenty-fourth. England, oh England!--yet, after all,
what is there in that name? It is not my home; it is not those beloved
ones' whose fellowship is half the time what we call _home_. Is it
really and truly the yearning of the roots for the soil in which they
grew? Perhaps it is only the restless roving spirit, that still would be
where it is not. I know not. His description of American life and
manners (and he knows both, for he has lived constantly in this country,
and his particularities are, I believe, fairly divided between it and
his own,) is any thing but agreeable.
* * * * *
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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