Penelope's English Experiences Being Extracts from the Commonplace Book of Penelope Hamilton — A Closer Reading

(0 User reviews) 22

In Category - Historical Psychological Social Fiction

Authors: Wiggin, Kate Douglas Smith, 1856-1923 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 1998 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Americans -- England -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 34,569

Reading time 151 min

Text sections 5

This digital edition of Penelope's English Experiences Being Extracts from the Commonplace Book of Penelope Hamilton — A Closer Reading is described by source-level measurements including 34,569 words, 2 hr 31 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 22.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #1278

Penelope Hamilton, an American artist in London, records her observations of English society through a witty, self-deprecating lens. The excerpts reveal contrasts between American and English manners, the economics of travel, and the social theater of a ducal ball, all filtered through Penelope's sharp but affectionate commentary.

Editorial Edition Score 4.6/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg1278

Read the Text

Chapter I. The weekly bill.

10 Dovermarle Street.

Here we are in London again,--Francesca, Salemina, and I. Salemina is a philanthropist of the Boston philanthropists limited. I am an artist. Francesca is-- It is very difficult to label Francesca. She is, at her present stage of development, just a nice girl; that is about all: the sense of humanity hasn't dawned upon her yet; she is even unaware that personal responsibility for the universe has come into vogue, and so she is happy.

Francesca is short of twenty years old, Salemina short of forty, I short of thirty. Francesca is in love, Salemina never has been in love, I never shall be in love. Francesca is rich, Salemina is well-to-do, I am poor. There we are in a nutshell.

We are not only in London again, but we are again in Smith's private hotel; one of those deliciously comfortable and ensnaring hostelries in Mayfair which one enters as a solvent human being, and which one leaves as a bankrupt, no matter what may be the number of ciphers on one's letter of credit; since the greater one's apparent supply of wealth, the greater the demand made upon it. I never stop long in London without determining to give up my art for a private hotel. There must be millions in it, but I fear I lack some of the essential qualifications for success. I never could have the heart, for example, to charge a struggling young genius eight shillings a week for two candles, and then eight shillings the next week for the same two candles, which the struggling young genius, by dint of vigorous economy, had managed to preserve to a decent height. No, I could never do it, not even if I were certain that she would squander the sixteen shillings in Bond Street fripperies instead of laying them up against the rainy day.

It is Salemina who always unsnarls the weekly bill. Francesca spends an evening or two with it, first of all, because, since she is so young, we think it good mental-training for her, and not that she ever accomplishes any results worth mentioning. She begins by making three columns headed respectively F., S., and P. These initials stand for Francesca, Salemina, and Penelope, but they resemble the signs for pounds, shillings, and pence so perilously that they introduce an added distraction.

She then places in each column the items in which we are all equal, such as rooms, attendance, fires, and lights. Then come the extras, which are different for each person: more ale for one, more hot baths for another; more carriages for one, more lemon squashes for another. Francesca's column is principally filled with carriages and lemon squashes. You would fancy her whole time was spent in driving and drinking, if you judged her merely by this weekly statement at the hotel.

When she has reached the point of dividing the whole bill into three parts, so that each person may know what is her share, she adds the three together, expecting, not unnaturally, to get the total amount of the bill. Not at all. She never comes within thirty shillings of the desired amount, and she is often three or four guineas to the good or to the bad. One of her difficulties lies in her inability to remember that in English money it makes a difference where you place a figure, whether, in the pound, shilling, or pence column. Having been educated on the theory that a six is a six the world over, she charged me with sixty shillings' worth of Apollinaris in one week. I pounced on the error, and found that she had jotted down each pint in the shilling instead of in the pence column.

Continue Reading →

The book opens with Penelope Hamilton, an American artist, and her companions Francesca and Salemina settling into Smith's Hotel in Mayfair. Penelope immediately establishes a tone of wry self-awareness, labeling Salemina a philanthropist, herself an artist, and Francesca simply a nice girl. She notes their ages, financial standings, and romantic prospects with a briskness that suggests the narrative will be as much about character as about place. The hotel itself becomes a character: a comfortable trap that turns solvent guests into bankrupts, a detail that hints at the book's interest in the economics of travel and the performance of wealth.

Three Americans, Three Temperaments

The opening chapter introduces the trio through a series of contrasts. Salemina, the Boston philanthropist, is described as having a sense of personal responsibility for the universe, a trait Penelope treats with affectionate irony. Francesca, at twenty, is still unburdened by such concerns and is simply happy. Penelope, at thirty, declares herself immune to love. These self-assessments are delivered with a lightness that invites the reader to question their accuracy. The narrator's voice is the book's primary instrument: it is precise, amused, and fond of cataloging differences. When Penelope says she could never run a private hotel because she could not charge a struggling genius for candles, she reveals both her own values and the economic absurdities of London life. The trio's dynamic—the philanthropist, the artist, and the nice girl—sets up a framework for observing English society from multiple angles.

The Social Theater of the Ball

The ball at Lady Brighthelmston's vacant house is a set piece that showcases Wiggin's ear for dialogue and eye for social performance. Characters are introduced through their speech: Bertie Godolphin's slangy candor, the Honourable Arthur's bluntness, and Mr. Beresford's literary allusions. The conversation about Rose's engagement and the merits of punctuality versus personality reveals a society that values both solid virtues and the indefinable qualities that ensnare the heart. Penelope's descriptions of the dancers are painterly: Patricia dances like a flower blown by the wind, her diamond arrow gleaming. The narrative lingers on the bend of her waist, the pose of her head, the dimple in her elbow—details that suggest the narrator's artist's eye. Yet the scene is also comic, with the musicians banished from the balcony and flirtations conducted under the guise of small talk about influenza and the weather.

Money, Manners, and the American Abroad

Throughout the excerpts, money is a quiet but persistent presence. Penelope notes the hotel's ability to bankrupt guests regardless of their wealth. The ball's setting in a vacant house is praised as clever, a practical solution to social display. When Mr. Beresford hopes Patricia will accept Terence regardless of estates, Salemina's sentimental response is contrasted with the worldly awareness of others. The American perspective allows for a defamiliarizing view of English customs: the weekly bill, the powdered footman, the tuppenny travels. Penelope's voice is that of a participant-observer, never fully inside the society she describes. Her self-deprecating humor—calling herself poor, declaring she will never fall in love—creates a persona that is both vulnerable and shrewd. The reader is invited to enjoy the spectacle while sharing Penelope's amused detachment.

Penelope's English Experiences rewards readers who enjoy social comedy delivered through a distinctive narrative voice. The book's episodic structure, suggested by the chapter titles, allows for a series of vignettes rather than a tightly plotted novel. Readers should attend to the way Penelope's observations accumulate, building a portrait of English life that is affectionate but never uncritical. The excerpts offer a taste of Wiggin's wit and her ability to render character through dialogue and detail.

Penelope’s clipped, laughing entries made me think, for some reason, of those other diaries—hers are English rain, the other a warm parlor fire. The way she watches a ball unfold, all those small social debts, recalled the lighter, slyer exchanges in Dolly Dialogues — Key Ideas to Explore. Both feel like eavesdropping on someone who’s decided to be honest, just for a moment.