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A year or two's unrepining application to her profession brightened up the feet, and the prospects, of her little sisters, set the whole family upon their legs again, and released her from the difficulty of discussing moral dogmas upon a landing-place.
I have heard her say, that it was a surprise, not much short of mortification to her, to see the cool. ness with which the old man pocketed the difference, which had caused her such mortal throes.
This anecdote of herself I had in the year 1800, from the mouth of the late Mrs. Crawford, then sixty-seven years of age (she died soon after); and to her struggles upon this childish occasion I have sometimes ventured to think her indebted for that power of rending the heart in the representation of conflicting emotions, for which in after years she was considered as little inferior (if at all so in the part of Lady Randolph) even to Mrs. Siddons,
1 The maiden name of this lady was Street, which she changed by successive marriages, for those of Dancer, Barry, and Crawford. She was Mrs. Crawford, a third time a widow, when I knew her. [This note is Lamb's mystification; the story is true of Miss Kelly, though details are altered.)
THE TOMBS IN THE ABBEY.
IN A LETTER TO R-S
HOUGH in some points of doctrine,
and perhaps of discipline, I am diffident of lending a perfect assent to that church
which you have so worthily historified, yet may the ill time never come to me, when with a chilled heart, or a portion of irreverent sentiment, I shall enter her beautiful and time-hallowed Edifices. Judge then of my mortification when, after attending the choral anthems of last Wednesday at Westminster, and being desirous of renewing my acquaintance, after lapsed years, with the tombs and antiquities there, I found myself excluded ; turned out like a dog, or some profane person, into the common street, with feelings not very congenial to the place, or to the solemn service which I had been listening to. It was a jar after that music.
You had your education at Westminster; and doubtless among those dim aisles and cloisters, you
[1 Robert Southey.]