Lady RITCHIE was above all else the perfect
appreciator. _Horas non numerat nisi serenas_; the gaze that she turns
smilingly upon old happy far-off days looks through spectacles rose-tinted
both by the magic of retrospect and her own genius for admiration. London,
Freshwater, Paris, Rome--these are the settings of her memories; and we see
them all by a light that (perhaps) never was on land or sea, in whose
radiance beauty and wit and genius move wonderfully to a perpetual music.
In truth, however, these eminent Victorians of Lady RITCHIE'S circle must
have been a rare company; I have no space for even a catalogue of
them--Mrs. CAMERON, with her vague magnificence, pouring letters and an
embarrassment of gifts upon her dear TENNYSONS; the KEMBLE sisters,
LOCKHART, THACKERAY himself, a score of great and (to the kindly
chronicler) gracious personalities live again in her pages. I should add
that the volume is rounded off by a short story, a late addition to the
_Miss Williamson_ series, which might be called a pot-boiler, were it not
somehow incongruous to associate so gentle a flame with any such
activities.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67