village near Reading, I began to feel a little tremulous about meeting my "unknown friend." Captain Hall had made us all merry with anticipating the usual denouement of a mere epistolary acquaintance.
Our coachman (who, after our telling him we were Americans, had complimented us on our speaking English, and "very good English too"[1]) professed an acquaintance of some twenty years' standing with Miss M., and assured us that she was one of the "cleverest woman in England," and "the doctor" (her father) an '"earty old boy." And when he reined his horses up to her door, and she appeared to receive us, he said, " Now you would not take that little body there for the great author, would you?" and certainly we should have taken her for nothing but a kindly gentlewoman, who had never gone beyond the narrow sphere of the most refined social life. My foolish misgivings (H. must answer for them) were forgotten in her cordial welcome. K. and I descended from our airy seat; and when Miss M. became aware who M. was, she said, "What! the sister of —— pass my door? that must never be;" so M., nothing loath, joined us. Miss M. is truly "a little body," and dressed a little quaintly, and as unlike as possible to the faces we have seen of her in the magazines, which all have
- ↑ We had a compliment of the same stamp the next day from a Londoner who was in the car with us. He assured us, with praiseworthy condescension, that we spoke English "uncommon correct."
