company a little, but I found him very shy. I remember that I said to him, when we had made some acquaintance, that I had often wished to meet Thackeray, and to give him two buffets, saying, This one is for your Becky Sharp and this one for Blanche Amory, —regarding both as slanders upon my sex. Mr. Clough suggested that in the great world of London such characters were not out of place.
The device of Blanche Amory's book, Mes Larmes, seemed to have afforded him much amusement.
It happeneBlanche Amory's book, Mes Larmes, seemed to have afforded him much amusement.
It happened that, while he was with us, I dined one day with a German friend, who served us with quite a wonderful repast.
The feast had been a merry one, and at the dessert two such sumptuous dishes were presented to us that I, having tasted of one of them, said to a friend across the table, Anna, this is poetry!
She was occupied with the opposite dish, and, mindful of the old pleasantry to which I alluded, replied, Julia, this is religion.
At breakfast, the next morning, I endeavored to entertain th