rated
writer, and a vivacious leader of literary society; and much nearer this
day, _Mrs. Beecher Stowe_, whom I found too taciturn, and as if scared
at the notice she excited, quite to realise one's expectation of a
famous lioness. With her I have since broken a lance in the interest of
Byron, whom I considered maligned in the matter of his "sweet sister,"
and accordingly wrote on his behalf a vindicatory fly-leaf of poetic
indignation. Another lance, too, have I broken in favour of _Ouida_, as
against a newspaper critic who had tried to crush her "Moths;" I had met
her before that, and did my little best in her defence, receiving from
her from Italy a charming letter of acknowledgment. "Ouida" is not
generally known to have been the nursery name of "Louisa" de la Ramenay,
just as "Boz" was of Dickens. Both "Ouida" and _Miss Braddon_, whom also
I have seen as Mrs. Maxwell, remind me of that great and not seldom
unfairly judged genius, Georges Sand. There remains a worthy duplicated
friendship of later years, _Mr._ and _Mrs. Carter Hall_, of whose
geniality and kindness I have often had experience; also _Mr._ and _Mrs.
Grote_, my learned and agreeable neighbours at Albury; also _Lady
Wilde_, admirable both for prose and poetry on Scandinavian subjects,
and her eloquent son _Oscar_, famous for taste all the world over; and
as another duplicate the Gaelic historian and cheerful singer, _Charles
Mackay_, with his charming daughter, the poetess.

* * * * *

Of celebrated men whom I have not previously mentioned in this volume,
there is _Rogers_, the poet, with whom I once had an interview at his
artistic house in St. James's Place; _Carlyle_, of course, well known to
me by books, but personally only in a single visit, when I found him in
Cheyne Row cordially glad to greet me;--after a long talk, taking my
leave with a hearty "God bless you, sir," his emphatic reply, as he saw
me to the door, was, "And good be with you!"

It was a coincidence, proving (as many things do) the narrowness of the
world, that he was living very near to the house where in my young days
I had wooed my cousin.

Near at hand also (in Cheyne Walk) I have visited _Haweis_, the eloquent
preacher of St. James's, Marylebone; he lives in the picturesque
old-fashioned house that was Rossetti's, and when I called there last
Mr. Haweis showed me the strangest and most unwieldy testimonial that
any public man surely ever rece