uttered
by the lecturer, inquired of him if his opinion was that we were gods.
"No," answered Mr. Alcott, "we are not gods, but only godlings," an
explanation which much amused Mrs. Botta, who was always quick in
perceiving the funny side of a remark. (I timidly suggest that _s_ be
substituted for _d_.)

Mrs. Botta having promised to see Mr. Greeley, and urge him to give a
favourable notice in the _Tribune_ of the concert where a young singer
was to make her debut, went down to his office to plead for a lenient
criticism. But not one word appeared. So down she went to inquire the
reason. She was ushered into the Editor's Sanctum, where he was busily
writing and hardly looked up. She asked why he was so silent; it was
such a disappointment. No reply. She spoke once more. Then came the
verdict in shrill tones: "She can't sing. She can't sing. She can't
sing."

New Year's calls were then the custom, and more than three hundred
men paid their respects to Mr. and Mrs. Botta on the New Year's Day I
spent with them. And everyone looked, as Theodore Hook said, as if he
were somebody in particular. At one of these "Saturday Evenings," a
stranger walked through her rooms, with hands crossed under his coat
and humming execrably as he wandered along. The gentle hostess went to
him with her winning smile and inquired, "Do you play also?" That
proves her capacity for sarcasm and criticism which she seldom
employed. She conversed remarkably well, but after all it was what she
did not say that proved her greatness and self-control.

Mrs. Botta had talent in various directions. She made portrait busts
in plaster that really were like the subjects, with occasionally an
inspired success, and that without any teaching. She showed genius in
this work. When a bust of her modelling was sent to Rome to be put
into marble, the foremost of Italian sculptors, not knowing the maker,
declared that nothing would be beyond the reach of the artist if _he_
would come to Rome and study technique for a year. Mrs. Botta asked me
to let her try to get my face. That was delightful. To be with her in
her own studio and watch her interest! Later some discouragement, and
then enthusiasm as at last the likeness came. She said she took the
humorous side of my face. The other side she found sad. My friends not
only recognized my face, but they saw my mother's face inwrought.

Mrs. Botta had talent in various directions. She published a large
book, _The Hand