Читать книгу Journal of a Residence in America - Fanny Kemble - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Another day, another day! the old fellow posts as well over water as over land! Rose at about half-past eight, went up to the round-house; breakfasted, and worked at my Bible-cover. As soon as our tent was spread, went out on deck: took a longish walk with Mr. ——. I like him very much; his face would enchant Lavater, and his skull ecstacise the Combes. Lay down under our rough pavilion, and heard the gentlemen descant very learnedly upon freemasonry. A book called "Adventures of an Irish Gentleman," suggested the conversation; in which are detailed some of the initiatory ceremonies, which appear to me so incredibly foolish, that I can scarce believe them, even making mankind a handsome allowance for absurdity. I soon perceived that the discussion was likely to prove a serious one, for in America, it seems, 'tis made a political question; and our Boston friend, and the Jacksonite, fell to rather sharply about it. The temperance of the former, however, by retreating from the field, spared us further argumentation. One thing I marvel at:—are the institutions of men stronger to bind men, than those of God; and does masonry effect good, which Christianity does not?—a silly query, by the way; for doubtless men act the good, but forbear to act the evil, before each other's eyes; which they think nothing of doing, or leaving undone, under those of God.

Gossiped till lunch-time; afterwards took up Childe Harold—commend me to that! I thought of dear H——. She admires Byron more than I do; and yet how wildly I did, how deeply I do still, worship his might, majesty, and loveliness. We dined up stairs, and after dinner, I and Mr. ——look a long walk on deck; talking flimsy morality, and philosophy, the text of which were generalities, but all the points individualities: I was amused in my heart at him and myself. He'd a good miss of me at——: Heaven knows, I was odious enough! and therein his informer was right. The day was bright, and bitter cold—the sea blue, and transparent as that loveliest line in Dante,

"Dolce color di oriental zaffiro,"

with a lining of pearly foam, and glittering spray, that enchanted me. Came and sat down again:—wrote doggerel for the captain's album, about the captain's ship, which, when once I am out of her, I'll swear I love infinitely. Read aloud to them some of Byron's short poems, and that glorious hymn to the sea, in Childe Harold:—mercy, how fine it is! Lay under our canvass shed till nine o'clock:—the stars were brilliant in the intense blue sky, the wind had dropped, the ship lay still—we sang a song or two, supped, and came in; where, after inditing two rhapsodies, we came to bed.