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after a successful Continental career as a It is a matter of notoriety that her mar. singer, came out in “ Norma at Covent ried life was not a happy one, and was Garden, and for a season redeemed the brought to an untimely close by a legal waning features of the theatre. She left separation of her seeking. The title of it on her marriage, and on Sept. 30, 1842,* ber book describing her visit to Italy, Mrs. Kemble writes to Lady Dacre : 1845-1846, is sufficiently indicative of her

I went in the evening to hear my sister sing domestic relations and her state of mind “Norma” for the last time, and cried most as affected by them.* Straitened circumbitterly, and, moreover, thought exceedingly stances were added to her other causes of often of your Jadyship; and why? I'll tell distress, and compelled, as she plainly you ; it was the last time she was to do it, and states, to work for her livelihood, she re. when I saw that grace and beauty and rare sumed the prosession she disliked under union of gifts, which were adapted to no other purpose half so well as to this of dramatic every imaginable disadvantage. representation; when I heard the voice of My father was giving readings from Shakepopular applause, that utterance of human speare, and it was impossible for me to thrust sympathy, break at once simultaneously from my sickle into a field he was reaping so sucall those human beings whose emotions she cessfully. I therefore returned to the stage: was swaying at her absolute will, - my heart under what disadvantageously altered circumsank to think that this beautiful piece of art stances it is needless to say. (for such it now is, and very near perfection), A stout, middle-aged, not particularly good. would be seen no inore; that this rare power looking woman, such as I then was, is not (a talent, as it verily then seemed to me, in the a very attractive representative of Juliet or solemn sense of the word, and a precious one Julia; nor had I, in the retirement of nine of its own kind) was about to be folded in a years of private life, improved by study or exnapkin, to bear interest no more, of profit or perience my talent for acting, such as it was. pleasure, to herself or others.

I had hardly entered a theatre during all those Adelaide Kemble was a charming wom. years, and my thoughts had as seldom reverted an, overflowing with mind and sensibility. Spation. While losing, therefore, the few per

to anything connected with my former occuApart from her theatrical performances, sonal qualifications (of which the principal one she sang ballads and songs of feeling in was youth) I ever possessed for the younger which full expression was to be given to heroines of the drama, I had gained none but the words, with more effect than any one age as a representative of its weightier female of her contemporaries, except her cousin personages — Lady Macbeth, Queen Kathe. Mrs. Arkwright. But it is for connois. rine, etc. seurs to say whether Mrs. Kemble is not It is indeed difficult to imagine a more carried away by sisterly affection in plac- melancholy contrast than is presented by ing her, except in brilliancy of execution, her hopes and prospects when she embefore Sontag, Malibran, or Grisi, as a barked upon her professional career, lyrical dramatic artist, and in pronounc- “ Youth at the prow and pleasure at the ing that Pasta was the only great singer helm," with her position and chances on who could be compared with her “in the her return to it. She was unable to come quality of that noble and commanding to a satisfactory arrangement with any order which distinguished them both."

London manager, and it was at the Man. Rossini certainly said of Adelaide Kem chester Theatre, on the 16th of February, ble: “ To sing as she does three things 1846, that she made her reappearance in are needed: this ” — touching his fore; her favorite part of Julia in the “ Hunckhead, “this " - touching his throat, “and back.” On the 17th she writes to Lady this” – laying his hand upon his heart

Dacre: “she had them all.” Mrs. Kemble was passionately fond of

I am so far satisfied with my last night's exriding, which it would appear was not periment, that I think it has proved that my deemed a ladylike occupation or accom- labor for a couple of years; and I hope during

strength will serve to go through this sort of plishment at Philadelphia. It was disap- that time, by moving from one place to another, proved by her husband's family, and, much that my attraction may hold out sufficiently to against her will, her favorite horse was enable me to secure the small: capital upon sold to a livery-stable keeper. I

repur- which I can contrive to live independently. chased him by the publication of a small

She says that the inevitable rouge had volume of poems, which thus proved themselves to me excellent verses.” 1 ble). London. Reprinted from the American edition.

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1844. The book wiib the same titie on which her de. * There is some mistake about the dates; the first servedly high poetical reputation mainly rests was not appearance being dated Nov. 2, 1842. It was in 1841, published ul 1866.

* A Year of Consolation, by Mrs. Butler (late Fanny † Poems, by Frances Anne Butler (late Fanny Kem- Kemble). London, 1847. Two volumes

and the last in 1843.

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always been one of the minor disagree | chants could not afford to treat them. ables of the theatre to her ; but she now selves to both." found to her dismay that her "fair the. In February, 1848, she entered into an atrical contemporaries - fair though engagement with the manager of the Prin. they might be --" literally whitewashed cess's Theatre: the three first parts as. their necks, shoulders, arms, and hands;" signed to her being Lady Macbeth, Queen a practice which she found it impossible Katharine, and Desdemona, which she to adopt. Vain was Henry Greville's in- acted in black and gold (the costume of dignant and by no means flattering ex- the noble ladies of Venice) instead of the postulation, that what so beautiful a wom- traditional white satin. an as Grisi condescended to do might be

That smothering scene, my dear Harriet, is done by one who had no pretensions to

most extremely horrible, and like nothing in compare with her in natural charms. "I the world but the catastrophe of poor Madame steadily refused to make a whited sepul. de Praslin. I think I shall make a desperate chre of that description of myself, and fight of it, for I feel horridly at the idea of continued to confront the public with my being murdered in my bed. The Desdenionas own skin, looking, probably, like a gipsy, that I have seen, on the English stage, have or, when in proximity with any feminine always appeared to me to acquiesce with won. coadjutor, like a bronze figure arm-in-arm derful equanimity in their assassination. On with a plaster-of-Paris cast.”.

the Italian stage they run for their lives round On the 23d, in a letter to Lady Dacre, vini in the tragedy, I believe), clutching them

their bedroom, Pasta in the opera (and Salshe reports that the theatre is quite full finally by the hair of the head, and then murwhen she plays, and that her employer dering them. The bedgown in which I had can afford to pay her nightly salary with-arrayed Desdemona for the night would hardly out grudging. She is next at Biriningham have admitted of this flight round the stage; and Liverpool, where “the houses were besides that Shakespeare's text gives no hint crammed." Then at Dublin, from which of any such attempted escape on poor Desde. her reports are less favorable. On the mona's part; but I did think I should like not 8th of April she took part in an amateur to be murdered, and therefore, at the last, got performance of Lord Ellesmere's transla- up on my knees on my bed, and threw my arms tion of “Hernani."

tight round Othello's neck (having previously

warned Mr. Macready, and begged his pardon Mr. Craven was again the hero, as I the for the liberty), that being my notion of the heroine, of the piece, but the part of Don poor creature's last appeal for inercy. Carlos was filled by Henry Greville, and that of the old Spanish noble by Mr. John Forster. Macready was not so pliant on other It was upon this performance that Mr. Mac-occasions, and she complains bitterly of ready passed such annihilating condemnation, his waywardness, want of temper, and not even excepting from his damnatory sen. total forgetfulness of others in his eager. tence of total incapacity bis friend and ad. ness for self-display. mirer, John Forster, whose mode of delivering the part of Don Ruez bore ludicrous witness I had a three hours' rehearsal this morning, to Macready's own influence and example, if and Macready was there. As far as I could not direct teaching.

judge, he was less unfair in his mode of acting Macready does not even mention poor Fors- than I had been led to expect. To be sure, at ter; the entry in his diary runs thus: “ Went night, he may stand two yards behind me while to the amateur play at the St. James's The- I am speaking to hiin, as I am told he often atre; the play Hernani,' translated by Lord does. He is not courteous or pleasant, or Ellesmere, was in truth an amateur perform- even well-bred; remains seated while one is

Greville and Craven were very good standing talking to him; and a discussion amateurs, but — tragedy by amateurs !” having arisen as to the situation of a table, She did little more than pay her ex- removed, he exhibited considerable irritability

which he wished on the stage, and I wished penses in the West

at Bath, Bristol, and ill-humor. Plymouth, and Exeter; but the little re.

He is unnecessarily violent in acting, which liance that can be placed on a provincial I had always heard, and congratulated myself audience is shown by what befel Rachel that, in Lady Macbeth, I could not possibly at Manchester, who (Aug. 24) “has been suffer from this; but was much astonished and acting to houses of sixty pounds (her dismayed when at the exclamation, “Bring nightly salary being one hundred and forth men-children only,” he seized me fero. twenty), and this because Jenny Lind is ciously by the wrist, and compelled me to make

a demivolte, or pirouette, such as I think that going there!” Well might á sufferer from similar disappointments exclaim: influence of her husband's admiration.

lady did surely never perform before under the “I must confess I bave no patience with this - as if the rich Manchester mer. She was not alone in her complaints,

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and whilst in one of their private inter- or even of Paris, but that the use of Dubviews he was assuring her, laughingly, lin was a mystery. "I suggested its bethat the devil was not so bad as he was ing the spring and source and fountainpainted, she was recalling the accounts head of Guinness's stout, but I don't think she had heard of actors whose eyes had be considered even that a sufficient raison been all but thrust out by his furious figlit. d'être for your troublesome capital, or ing in Macbeth ; of others nearly throt- porter an equivalent for the ten righteous tled in his paternal vengeance in Appius men who might save a city." Claudius; of actresses whose arms had She made the first trial of her powers been almost wrenched out of their sock as a public reader on the 18th of March, ets and who had been bruised black and 1848, and the experiment was in every blue, buffeted alike by his tenderness and way satisfactory. The “Records” termi

nate abruptly with these words : — One special story I thought of, and was dying to tell him, of one pretty and spirited ica, where my great good fortune in the suc.

In the summer of 1848, I returned to Amer. young woman, who had said, “I am told Mr. Macready, in such a part, gets hold of one's realize my long cherished hope of purchasing

cess of my public readings soon enabled me to head, and holds it in chancery under his arm, while he speaks a long speech, at the end of beautiful and beloved neighborhood of Lenox.

a small cottage and a few acres of land in the which he releases one, more dead than alive, from his embrace; but I shall put so many A highly.refined and cultivated French. pins in my hair, and stick them in in such a

woman, who has made the first of these fashion, that if he takes me by the head, he will have to let me instantly go again."

“Records” the basis of a volume,* has en.

deavored to deduce from it a inoral which At the same time she does full justice we cannot allow to pass unquestioned : to bis merits as an actor in such parts as “In the first place, this book brought Virginius, Werner, and Rob Roy, as well back to my mind's eye one of the most as to his fine taste in putting pieces upon remarkable women I have

met. the stage. She speaks of " Acis and Then, it is filled to profusion with literary Galatea,” produced under his direction, as beauties of all kinds. Thirdly, it must be one of the most exquisite dramatic spec- owned, it has seemed to demonstrate tacles ever seen, "in spite of the despair clearly enough that the thought of elevat. to which he reduced the chorus and ballet ing the theatrical profession to the ideal nymphis, by rigorously forbidding all height of which I have been speaking padding, bustle, crinoline, or other artifi- must be ranged in the category of chime. cial adjunct to their natural graces, in the ras; since this profession, practised with severely simple classical costume of the the greatest success and in conditions the Greek mythological opera.”

most favorable to the realization of this Towards the end of February, 1848, she dream, has always inspired in the author writes :

of these memoirs an estrangement for

I It is deplorable to hear the despondency of which she can eloquently account. all public and political men that I see withi re shall be told perhaps that this, in Fanny gard to the condition of the country: With Kemble, arose from the elevation of her the Tories, one has long been familiar with soul and the rare distinction of her intel. their cries that "the sky is falling : ” but now lect. It may be so." May it not have the Liberals, at least those who all their lives arisen from undue fastidiousness, or from have been professing Liberals, seem to think having been too much behind the scenes “the sky is falling” too; and their lamentable from childhood, from having had the misgivings are really sad to listen to. on Saturday at Lady Grey's, with the whole coarse, seamy side of the calling eternally Grey family. Lord Dacre, and all of them, before her eyes, from having been driven spoke of Cobden and bright as of another to associate it with the humiliating emDanton and Mirabeau, likened their corn-law barrassinents of the most distinguished league, and peace protests to the first measures members of her family? Mrs. Siddons, of the first leaders of the French Revolution; the impersonation of female dignity, who and predicted with woful headshaking a similar might have looked down upon it from the end to their proceedings.

About the same time she reports to her Madame Augustus Craven. La Jeunesse de Irish friend the heads of a conversation de la Ferronays) is the author of the well-known" Re

. Madame Craven (née with Mr. Disraeli (Lord Beaconsfield), cits d'une Sæur," a charining book, and of .. Eljane," who said that he couldn't see why Dublin a recent French povel which in tone and spirit, and as

a genuine picture of French life and manners, presents should not be burned to the ground: that

a striking contrast to its popular contemporaries in the he could understand the use of London, same class of literature.

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same moral elevation, took pride in it, left | old lover: if she had but wings like a it with regret, and declared to her dying dove ! - but oh, whither to go to be at day that there was nothing worth living rest! One must be alone, and free of all for like the sea of upturned faces in the loves and relationships, to hope for that pit. The argument drawn from Mrs. anywhere by flight. And what was before Kemble's dislike of the stage, is neutral- her was appalling to her : to meet the ized by the fact that neither she nor her man whom she bad thought of as her son, illustrious aunt was sullied by it.

to keep a calm countenance, and talk to But whilst differing with Madame him as if no different kind of intercourse Craven as to the moral, we fully agree had ever been between them – to avoid with her as to the distinctive merits of all confidence, all épanchements, and to the book, and what she says of the “Rec-keep him at the safe distance of acquaintord of a Girlhood” is true of the “Recanceship: how was she to do it? She ords of Later Life,” which equally abound said to herself that she did not know how in literary beauty and in thoughtful, emi- to look him in the face, he who had been nently suggestive passages, although so deeply wronged. And then she began these may not be uniformly of a kind to to hope that he, full of delicacy and fine be discerned at a glance or grasped with feeling as he used to be, would see how out an intellectual effort. "Intelligibilia, impossible it was that they should meet, non intellectum, fero." The reader must and would refuse to come. This hope be endowed with knowledge and sensibil. kept her up till the last moment. When ity. He should be something of a critic, the evening came, it was with a quivering something of an amateur, something of emotion which she could hardly restrain, a moralist, something of a thinker, to ap- that she waited to receive her guests, hoppreciate them. Let him only come duly ing, more strenuously every moment, and qualified to the perusal, and he can hardly trying to persuade lierself, that Beaufort fail to rise from it amused, interested, in. would not come. He had accepted the structed, and improved.

invitation; but what was that? He would accept, no doubt, in order to show thein that he had got over it — that he bore no malice - and then he would send his ex

Her eyes were feverish with From Blackwood's Magazine.

eagerness and suspense when the door opened. She could not hear the names announced for the beating of her heart in

her ears; but it was only when she saw (continued.)

against the light the shadow of a figure THESE several encounters, and the not to be forgotten, and heard the doors heavy thought of what might be to come open and shut, that she realized the fact soon, took away all the gloss of pleasure that he had really presented himself. that had been upon Lady Lindores's first Then it seemed to Lady Lindores that all entrance into society. She thought, in- her pulses stood still, and that an appalldeed, there had never been any pleasure ing stillness instead of their loud flutter at all in it; but this was an unintentional of beating was in her ears and in the self-deception. She thought that Carry's world. He had really come ! She be. pale image had come between her and came conscious of her husband's voice every lighter emotion. She did not herself speaking to her, and the sound of his know how natural she was — her mood name, and the touch of his hand, and then changing, her heart rising in spite of her she regained her composure desperately, sell, a bright day, a pleasant company, the by such an effort as it seemed to her she consciousness of being approved and even had never made before. For to faint, or admired, giving her some moments of to call attention to herself in any way, was gratification in spite of all; but after these what must not be done. And by-and-by discussions, she was so twisted and turned the moment was over, and the party were the wrong way, so irritated and disen. all seated at table, eating and drinking, chanted by her husband and son, that she and talking commonplaces.

When Lady felt herself sick and disgusted with Lon Lindores looked round the table and saw don and all the world. If she could but Beaufort's face among the other faces, get home! but yet at home there was she seemed to herself to be in a dream. poor Carry, who would ask after every. The only other face of which she was thing, and from whom it would be so diffi- conscious was that of Edith, perfectly cult to conceal the reappearance of her colorless, and full of inquiry and emotion;

cuses.

THE LADIES LINDORES.

CHAPTER XIV.

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I go,

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and at the other end of the table her hus- stray,”

," said Millefleurs; "you cannot band, throwing a threatening, terrified think what an abandoned little person I look across the flowers and the lights, was, till Beaufort took me in hand. You and all the prettinesses of the table. knew Beaufort, abroad somewhere? So These three she seemed to see, and no he tells me. How lucky for him to be

able to renew such an acquaintance! I But Lord Millefleurs by her side was need not tell you what a fine fellow he is full of pleasant chatter and cheerful, boy- – he has made me quite a reformed charish confidence, and demanded her atten. acter. Do not laugh, Lady Edith ; you tion. He was aware how important he hurt my feelings. You would not laugh was; and it never occurred to him that if I were a coal heaver addressing a meetBeaufort, who was an excellent fellow, ing and telling how wicked I had been." but nobody in particular, could distract "And have you really been so wicked ? the attention of those who surrounded You do not look so,” said Edith, who, him from himself. Millefleurs sat be. amused in spite of herself, began to get tween Lady Lindores and Edith. It was used to the grave countenance of Beaua position that was his due.

fort, seated on the other side of the table. "I am so sorry you are not well,” he Both the ladies were grateful to Millesaid. “The fact is, it is London, Lady fleurs, who chattered on, and gave them Lindores. I know your complaint, for it time to recover themselves. is mine too. Was there ever anything • No,” he said, “that is what makes it so irrational as to carry on this treadmill so funny, they all tell me. I am a wolf in as we all do — you out of a wholesome sheep's clothing; at least I was — I was, country life no doubt, and I out of a wan. until Beaufort took me in band. At pres. dering existence, always in the open air, ent I am good, as good as gold. I get up always in motion ? What do we do it early, and go to bed — when I can. for? Lady Edith, tell me, what do we do out to three parties every night, and stand it for? — I am asking everybody. Hall about at everybody's receptions. I even of it would be very well, you know, but pay calls in the morning. I shall go to a the whole of it is purgatory. I am sure levee soon — I know I shall,” he said, in that is your opinion. Is it merely fashion, an accent of deep conviction. or is it something in our nature which you think of anything more virtuous than requires extravagance in all we do. that?"

Hi There is not much extravagance in “ And what has your Bohemianism conwhat we do habitually,” said Lady Lin. sisted in, Lord Millefleurs ? " dores, " which perhaps makes this out. Good heavens !” said the self-accused, break of activity less alarining to us. It " do you venture to ask me, Lady Edith ? is a change; and as for Edith, this is vir. - everything that is dreadful. For monibs tually her first season

I never wrote a letter, for months I never “ I thought it was your first season,'

,” | had a penny. It was the best fun in the cried the little marquis. “I knew it must world. The sting of being poor is when be so.” This he said with decision, as if you can't help it. I believe, for my part, in triumph over some adversary. There ihat the most luxurious condition in this is a look which one is never deceived in. world is when you know you can be well I have seen all my sisters come out, so I off at any moment, and yet are half starv. am quite an authority. They get to look ing. No, I never was half starving. I at things quite in another way; they get worked with these bands ;” and he held so knowing, as bad as I am myself,” out a pair of plump, delicate, pink-tinged the youth added in perfect good faith, hands, not without a little vanity: “To with a serious look upon his infantile feel that it's quite a chance whether you countenance, and a lisping utterance which have ever any dinner again, to be alto gave point to the speech. Lord Mille- gether uncertain how you're to get shelter Heurs, though he did not need to study for the night -- and yet to be quite sure appearances, was yet aware of the piq. that nothing dreadful can happen to you, uancy of the contrast been his round child. that at the worst you can always .draw a like countenance and the experience of bugle from your side, and be surrounded his talk.

by five-and-thirty belted knights,'. I “ I should not have thought you were assure you it is the most delightful exso bad,” said Edith, beguiled into smil. citement in the world.” ing. “I think you look as if you were in It was impossible to resist this baby. your first season too —

faced and lisping adventurer. The mother " Oh, bad — Bohemian, a waif and al and daughter both yielded to his fascina.

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