Whene’er I recollect the happy time
        When you and I held converse sweet together,
        There come a thousand thoughts of sunny weather,
        Of early blossoms, and the young year’s prime. 
        Your memory lives for ever in my mind,
        With all the fragrant freshness of the spring,
        With odorous lime and silver hawthorn twined,
        And mossy rest and woodland wandering. 
        There’s not a thought of you but brings along
        Some sunny glimpse of river, field, and sky;
        Your voice sets words to the sweet blackbird’s song,
        And many a snatch of wild old melody;
        And as I date it still our love arose
        ’Twixt the last violet and the earliest rose.

I never go anywhere without a book wherein I may scratch my valuable ideas, and therefore when we meet I will show you my present receptacle.  I take great delight in writing, and write less incorrectly than I used to do.  I have not time now to go on with this letter, and as I am anxious you should know when to expect us, I shall not defer it in the hope of making it more amusing, though I fear it is rather dull.  But you will not mind that, and will believe me ever your affectionate

FANNY KEMBLE.

The arrangement of Massinger for the family library by my friend the Reverend Alexander Dyce, the learned Shakespearean editor and commentator, was my first introduction to that mine of dramatic wealth which enriched the literature of England in the reigns of Elizabeth and James the First, and culminated in the genius of Shakespeare.  It is by comparison with them, his contemporaries, that we arrive at a just estimate of his supremacy.  I was so enchanted with these plays of Massinger’s, but more especially with the one called “The Maid of Honor,” that I never rested till I had obtained from the management its revival on the stage.  The part of Camiola is the only one that I ever selected for myself.  “The Maid of Honor” succeeded on its first representation, but failed to attract audiences.  Though less defective than most of the contemporaneous dramatic compositions, the play was still too deficient in interest to retain the favor of the public.  The character of Camiola is extremely noble and striking, but that of her lover so unworthy of her that the interest she excites personally fails to inspire one with sympathy for her passion for him.  The piece in this respect has a sort of moral incoherency, which appears to me, indeed, not an infrequent defect in the compositions of these great dramatic pre-Shakespearites.  There is a want of psychical verisimilitude, a disjointed abruptness, in their conceptions, which, in spite of their grand treatment of separate characters and the striking force of particular passages, renders almost every one of their plays inharmonious as a whole, however fine and powerful in detached parts.  Their selection of abnormal and detestable subjects is a distinct indication of intellectual weakness instead of vigor; supreme genius alone perceives the beauty and dignity of human nature and human life in their common conditions, and can bring to the surface of vulgar, every-day existence the hidden glory that lies beneath it.