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SOME one said to Mr. Fox how delightful it was to lie under a tree with a book. Mr. Fox said, "Why with a book?" Well, there are some books to which objection might be taken. Darwin on Earthworms," Earthworms,'' or Lubbock on Ants, Bees, and Wasps," might give us some sort of misgiving, but to lie under a tree with a book like Mrs. Kemble's is to our mind the summit of enjoyment. Is it not delightful to read how Gibson the sculptor groaned over the cursed prejudices of society which prevented him seeing Lady A. T.'s beautiful back; how poor credulous Mrs. Beecher Stowe took to spirit-rapping and was informed—not by a lying spirit-that she was a d-d fool; how Mrs. Grote, dressed in a bright brimstone-colored silk gown, made so short as to show her feet and ankles, having on her head a white satin hat with a forest of white feathers, stood with her feet wide apart and her arms akimbo challenging Fanny Kemble to come on (if the challenge had been accepted Mrs. Grote, in sporting phrase, would have been intellectually doubled up in five minutes); how Lord Normanby, when he acted Macbeth, implored, in a frenzied whisper, Mr. Craven, who acted Macduff, "to fight round," in order that his lordship's expressive countenance might electrify the audience; how Sydney Smith, when reproached for leaving the music-room, explained to Mrs. Kemble that he must go among the Talkettanti, but announced that he was cultivating a judicious second in order to join in a celestial chorus when he became an angel; how, when ill, the unfortunate Canon had a horrid dream that he was chained to a rock and was being talked to death by Harriet Martineau and Macaulay how Mrs. Kemble acted in "Macbeth with the irrepressible Mr. Macready, and how sorely she was tossed, touzled, and bethumped; how she was made to perform a pirouette when told to bring forth men children only;" how Mr. John Forster, in "Hernani," tried to personate a Spanish nobleman and did not altogether succeed in his audacious enterprise; how Mrs. Crow, the author

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ess of romantic tales of horror, fancied she had a divine mission to save mankind which she was to accomplish by walking without any clothes on in the streets of Edinburgh, having been assured that if she took a card case in her right hand and her pocket handkerchief in her left her nudity would be unobserved; how she proceeded on her mission, and, to her great surprise, was immediately bagged by the police; how Mrs. Kemble herself, after having witnessed the performances of the fascinating Fanny Ellsler, was discovered by her bewildered cook dancing among her jam-pots and pickles. All these anecdotes and many others equally interesting are to be found in these volumes, and we are assured our readers will agree with us that this is the book to read under a tree in the pleasant summer-time, if by any imaginable chance we ever have any in this sun-forgotten country.

Mrs. Kemble writes:

There is a mysterious assembly called the "Browning Society," which seems established in order to elucidate the unintelligible. It has lately published an account of its lucubrations in a book for which ten shillings is demanded, but, as only the wealthiest of enthusiasts would squander his money on such a purchase, the result of its deliberations is likely to remain a profound secret. There is no need of a society to explain Mrs. Kemble's meaning, for her style is as bright and clear as the streams she describes in her lovely Lenox country. Mrs. Kemble writes:

"I am persuaded that whatever qualities of mind or character I inherit from my father's family, I am more strongly stamped with those which I derive from my mother, a woman who, possessing no specific gift in such perfection as the dramatic talent of the Kembles, had in a higher degree than any of them the peculiar organization of genius. To the fine senses of a savage rather than a civilized na

ture, she joined an acute instinct of correct criticism in all matters of art; and ageneral quickness and accuracy of perception, and brilliant vividness of expression, that made her conversation delightful. Had she possessed half the advantages of education which she and my father labored to bestow upon us, she would, I think, have been one of the most remarkable persons of her time."

Mrs. Charles Kemble was the daughter of Captain De Camp, a French officer, who married the daughter of a Swiss farmer. Captain De Camp was an excellent musician, and having made the acquaintance of Lord Malden, after ward Earl of Essex, who married Miss Stephens, was persuaded by him to settle in London, where he brought up a numerous family. We have always heard that John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons inherited their great qualities from their mother. Mrs. Roger Kemble was really the manager of her husband's company. What shall we play tomorrow?" Mr. Kemble used to say.

The Tempest,' sir," said Mrs. Kemble. "But who is to play Prospero?" Mr. Kemble demanded. "I shall play Prospero, was the undaunted reply of Mrs. Kemble (then about to present another little Kemble to the world)" I shall play Prospero, sir." We have heard Mrs. Charles Kemble relate this anecdote. "Sir," said his "Sir," said his mother to John Kemble one day, "you are as proud as Lucifer, which no doubt he was, and no doubt they both were. Certainly Mrs. Kemble owes her bright genius, in a great degree, to her mother.

Mrs. Charles Kemble, when a child, became one of the little actors of the Le Texier troup.

Mrs. Kemble writes:

"The little French fairy was eagerly seized upon by admiring fine ladies and gentlemen, and snatched up into their society, where she was fondled and petted and played with; passing whole days in Mrs. Fitzherbert's drawingroom, and many a half hour on the knees of her royal and disloyal husband, the Prince Regent, one of whose favorite jokes was to place my mother under a hugh glass bell, made to cover some large group of precious Dresden china, where her tiny figure and flashing face ace produced even a more beautiful effect than the costly work of art whose crystal covering was made her temporary cage. I have often heard my mother refer to this season of her childhood's favoritism with the fine folk of that day, one of her most vivid impressions of which was the extraordinary beauty of person

and royal charm of manner and deportment of the Prince of Wales, and-his enormous appetite; enormous perhaps, after all, only by comparison with her own, which he used to pity, saying, frequently, when she declined the delicacies that he pressed upon her, Why, you poor child! Heaven has not blessed you with an appetite.'

The little French fairy flashing in her glass case must have resembled Fenella as depicted by Sir Walter Scott. The Prince of Wales was fond of practical jokes, and his appetite was truly, enormous, and he not only gorged himself, but made others gorge. When king he nearly killed poor Mr. Charles Greville by making him eat a dish of crawfish soup after a quantity of turtle. "I thought I should have burst, groans the unfortunate gourmet. If his Majesty had been aware that his Clerk of the Council kept a diary, we think he would have insisted on his swallowing an additional pailful.

We have heard old playgoers speak with rapture of Mrs. Charles Kemble's acting. Mrs. Kemble mentions how Sir George Smart went off in ecstatic reminiscences of a certain performance of her mother's in "Blue Beard," when in the part of Sister Anne she waved wall "I see them galloping, I and signalled and sang from the castle them galloping!" drawing shouts of sympathetic applause from her hearers.

Mrs. Kemble writes:

see

"My mother always had a detestation of London, which I have cordially inherited. The dense heavy atmosphere, compounded of smoke and fog, painfully affected her breathing and oppressed her spirits; and the deafening clangor of its ceaseless uproar irritated her nerves and distressed her in a manner which I invariably experience whenever I am compelled to pass any time in that hugh Hubbub."

Poor London! everybody abuses it and comes back to it, even Mrs. Kemble. For that delightful sect the Talkettanti " there is no other abiding place. Sydney Smith had occasionally ideas about rural felicity, but gave them up in his old age. The country, he said, was merely a healthy grave, and he preferred the verdure of Rogers' face to all the green of the fields, and Luttrell's voice to the songs of nightingales. And then the dulness of the country! "I had a distant view of a crow yesterday," he writes, "and of a rabbit to

day." His brother-parsons, whom he regarded as minnows with an occasional turbot in the shape of an arch-deacon, failed to amuse him, but the climax of his woes seems to have arrived when a neighbor, fired with literary ardor, called and recommended him to read the "Arabian Nights." Sydney Smith informed his benefactor that he had heard of the work in question. How delighted he must have been to seek refuge in London. But then it is said the country is so peaceful. It may be so ; but when people do quarrel there, how they attack each other's pedigrees and diminish incomes. "He is poor, he is d-d poor; he has not a thousand a year to spend," said an angry squire of a delinquent neighbor who had shot a pheasant on the wrong side of the hedge. Mrs. Kemble's friend Mr. Harness had once determined to abandon London society for green fields and pastures new. His friend, the Rev. Alexander Dyce, earnestly dissuaded him from such a suicidal enterprise.

Mr. Dyce was a great admirer of the Kemble family in general, and of Mrs. Charles Kemble in particular.

In this same letter, which was written after hearing of her death, he exclaims: 'Farewell to Morgiana, Miss Stirling, Aladdin, and Irene !"

There is frequent mention of Mrs. Siddons in the reminiscences, but Mrs. Kemble had only seen her aunt in her sad old age. Mrs. Siddons loved her profession, and Mrs. Kemble disliked it. Mrs. Siddons was unhappy after she left the stage, as she missed the excitement of it, and the applause of the public who worshipped her. It would not be necessary to say anything about Mrs. Siddons's merit as an actress, but there are certain enthusiasts who cannot praise the present without depreciating

"I had seen this celebrated actress for the first time in the Gamester,' and I cannot express the pleasure with which I applauded her. I do not believe it possible for any one to possess greater talent for the stage than Mrs. Siddons had; all the English were unanimous in praising her perfect and natural style. The tone of her voice was enchanting; that of Mademoiselle Mars alone at all resembling it; and what above all to my mind constituted the great tragedian was the eloquence of her silence."

Madame Vigée Le Brun was a most accomplished critic, and had been accustomed to witness the grand acting of Mdlle. Contat. Madame Dumesnil, Mdlle. Clairon, and

In the "Life of Charles Dickens there is an account of a dinner at Mr. Harness's, where Mr. Charles Kemble gave a description of his sister's acting in the part of Mrs. Beverley in the Gamester.'

Mr. Forster writes :

"It was something to hear Kemble on his sister's Mrs. Beverley; or to see Harness and Dyce exultant in recollecting her Volumnia. The enchantment of her Mrs. Beverley, her brother would delightfully illustrate by imitations of her manner of restraining Beverley's intemperance to their only friend: 'You are too busy, sir!' when she quietly came down the stage from a table at which she had seemed to be occupying herself, laid her hand softly on her husband's arm, and in a gentle half-whisper, No, not too busy; mistaken perhaps ; but--' not only stayed his temper, but reminded him of obligations forgotten in the heat of it. Up to where the tragic terror began, our friend told us, there was nothing but this composed domestic sweetness, expressed even in the simplicity and neat arrangement of 'her dress, her cap with the straight band, and her hair gathered up underneath; but all changing when the passion did begin; one single lock escaping at the first outbreak, and in the final madness, all of it streaming dishevelled down her beautiful face

Mrs. Siddons had one great advantage, the small size of the theatre she performed in.

We give an extract from Mr. Harness's note-book.