country, are alike variable; and when people ask me one of the standing questions here, “What similarity is there between the climate of your country and that of ours?” my answer is equally a standing one, “That between a staid married man and a changeable lover.”
Last evening I spent very agreeably with Miss Sedgewick and her adopted daughter, a pleasing young wife, Mrs. M. Fanny Kemble was there, and her cheerful strongly-marked character is always refreshing; as is also Miss Sedgewick's kindness and fine understanding.
Fanny Kemble asked me across the room a question about Lindblad.
“What do you know about our Lindblad?” replied I.
“Do I not know Lindblad?” replied she, with the air and pride of a queen. “Do I not know this beautiful singer?” And she mentioned several of Lindblad's ballads which she said she sang.
It delighted me to hear that Lindblad's songs are known and beloved in England and America.
I shall write no more this time. I shall now make my curtsey to Boston and Bunker's-hill, the monument on which it is said was completed by the work of women (that is to say its top), that of the men not being sufficient.
And now——to the South! to the South!
LETTER XI.
What a shabby trick, or rather how negligent of fate, my sweet Agatha, to let a little creature fall who has no superabundance of strength, and yet so much patience! It grieves me to the heart! That treacherous ice which let you slip so sadly when you were on so good an errand! And what were the good angels about to permit it? I can hardly forgive them!
