perfectly white eye-lashes), eyes dark, brilliant, flashing, and penetrating, sparkling from object to object with all the fire and energy of youth, and sending welcome on all around.
When I first entered the room Lady S—— and her family were there; they soon prepared to depart, but the youngest boy, a fine little fellow of six, looked anxiously in Mrs. More's face when she had kissed him, and his mamma said: "You will not forget Mrs. Hannah, my dear." He shook his head. "Do not forget, my dear child," said the kind old lady, assuming a playful manner; "but they say your sex is naturally capricious. There, I will give you another kiss; keep it for my sake, and when yon are a man remember Hannah More." "I will," he said, "remember that you loved children."
It was a beautiful compliment. After a good deal of conversation on indifferent topics, she commenced showing us her curiosities, which are numerous and peculiar. Gods given up by the South Sea Islanders to our missionaries, fragments of oriental manuscripts, a choice but not numerous collection of books, chiefly in Italian, English, and French, for she speaks all these languages with equal fluency, and, above all, a large collection of autographs. . . . .
"I will now," she said, "show you some monuments of the days of my wickedness," and she produced a play-bill where "Miss More's new tragedy of Percy" was announced exactly fifty-two years ago. She looked to me at that moment as a resurrection from the dead, more particularly when she added: "Johnson, Burke, Garrick, Reynolds, Porteous, all, all the associates of my youth have gone. Nor is there one of them whom I delight in praising more than David Garrick. In his house I made my entrance into life, and a better conducted house I never saw." I never could agree in the latter part of the sentiment.
"On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting. It was only that when he was off he was acting, and I only regret that his species of acting is not more practised by the world at large. I have never been to a play since his death; I could not bear it." She told me it was nine years since she had been downstairs; "but I am like Alexander Selkirk," she added, laughing; "I am monarch of all I survey. Every tree on this little domain was planted by my own hands, or under my special direction."
