father's wife been kind, never to send me the least thing in the world, and yet she thinks she is entitled to the name of 'mother,' but I think she does not act 'mother-like!'
I have seen the fine park and the Queen's palace and the Queen's carriage, but they are not, all of them, worth a fig to see. The park, crowded with people like a fair, the palace, guarded everywhere with soldiers with their bayonets fixed; I would rather walk in a rural lane than in such places, where you can go so far and no farther, without being stopped by a soldier with a bayonet in his hand. There are fine seats under the trees for people to sit upon; but there are also great cannons stuck all about, and policemen here, there, and everywhere.
I like not the grandeur and misery of this great place, and picture to myself more beauty and happiness even on the wide, wide ocean, on which I shall soon be. The next time I write I will tell you all the wonders I see there. Till then, a long, long farewell. Give my love to mother, father, brothers, sisters and nephew.
Yours,
CLARINDA PARKES.
Note.—The relatives mentioned in this letter by my mother are all her husband's relations.
A. T. P.
