ved by those who heard it; it was technical
to a degree that was amazing. I remember, at a dinner-party at her
own table, her speaking of Audubon's work on ornithology, and saying
that some of the incidents of his personal adventures, in the
pursuit of his favorite science, had pleased her particularly;
instancing, among other anecdotes, an occasion on which, as she
said, "he was almost starving in the woods, you know, and found some
kind of wild creature, which he immediately disembowelled and
devoured." This, at dinner, at her own table, before a large party,
was rather forcible. But little usual as her modes of expression
were, she never seemed to be in the slightest degree aware of the
startling effect they produced; she uttered them with the most
straightforward unconsciousness and unconcern. Her taste in dress
was, as might have been expected, slightly eccentric, but, for a
person with so great a perception of harmony of sound, her passion
for discordant colors was singular. The first time I ever saw her
she was dressed in a bright brimstone-colored silk gown, made so
short as to show her feet and ankles, having on her head a white
satin hat, with a forest of white feathers; and I remember her
standing, with her feet wide apart and her arms akimbo, in this
costume before me, and challenging me upon some political question,
by which, and her appearance, I was much astonished and a little
frightened. One evening she came to my sister's house dressed
entirely in black, but with scarlet shoes on, with which I suppose
she was particularly pleased, for she lay on a sofa with her feet
higher than her head, American fashion, the better to display or
contemplate them. I remember, at a party, being seated by Sydney
Smith, when Mrs. Grote entered with a rose-colored turban on her
head, at which he suddenly exclaimed, "Now I know the meaning of the
word grotesque!" The mischievous wit professed his cordial liking
for both her and her husband, saying, "I like them, I like them; I
like him, he is so ladylike; and I like her, she's such a perfect
gentleman;" in which, however, he had been forestalled by a person
who certainly _n'y entendait pas malice_, Mrs. Chorley, the meekest
and gentlest of human beings, who one evening, at a party at her
son's house, said to him, pointing out Mrs. Grote,