I am affectionately yours,
FANNY KEMBLE.

BOSTON, Sunday, April 21, 1833.
DEAR MRS. JAMESON,

There lies in my desk, and has lain, I am ashamed to say, for a
long time now, an unanswered letter of yours, which smites my
conscience every time I open that useful receptacle (desk, not
conscience), where it has, I am sorry to say, many companions in
its own predicament. My time is like running water, and the
quickest, but the rapids of Niagara, that ever ran, I think; and
every hour, as it flies away, is filled with so much that must be
done, letting alone so much that I would wish to do, that I am
fairly out of breath, and feel as if I were flying myself in a
whirling high wind, and if ever I stop for a moment, shan't be
surprised to find that I have gone crazy. I think I should like to
spend a few days entirely alone in a dark room, secluded from every
sight and sound, for my senses are almost worn out, and my sense
exhausted, with looking, hearing, feeling, going, doing, being, and
suffering. Our work is incessant; we never remain a month in any
one place, and we are scarce off our knees from putting things into
drawers than we are down on them again to take them out and put
them all back into trunks. My health has not suffered hitherto from
this constant exertion, but I am occasionally oppressed with the
dreadful unquietness of our life, and long for a few moments' rest
of body and of mind.

This is our first visit to this place, and I am enchanted with it.
As a town, it bears more resemblance to an English city than any we
have yet seen; the houses are built more in our own fashion, and
there is a beautiful walk called the Common, the features of which
strongly resemble the view over the Green Park just by Constitution
Hill. The people here take more kindly to us than they have done
even elsewhere, and it is delightful to act to audiences who appear
so pleasantly pleased with us....

Only think! a book was sent to me from Philadelphia the other day
which proved to be the "Diary of an Ennuyee." I have no idea who it
came from, or who made so good a guess at that old predilection of
mine. I fell to forthwith--for that book has always had a most
powe