now. Boys always do. I know of one young lady who
makes a goodly sum out of home-made marmalade; another who makes
dresses for her family and special friends; another who sells three
hundred dozen "brown" eggs to one of the best groceries in Boston, and
supports herself. By the way, what can you do?

Mrs. Lippincott had such a splendid, magnetic presence, such a
handsome face with dark poetic eyes, and accomplished so many unusual
things, that, knowing her as I did, I think I should be untrue to her
if I did not try to show her as she was in her brilliant prime, and
not merely as a punster or a _raconteur_, or as she appeared in her
dramatic recitals, for these were but a small part of the many-sided
genius.

When my friend, Mrs. Botta, said one evening to her husband: "Grace
writes me that she will be here tomorrow, to spend the Sabbath," and
then said to me, "Grace Greenwood, I mean; have you ever met her?" my
heart beat very quickly in pleasant anticipation of her coming. Grace
Greenwood! Why, I had known her and loved her, at least her writings,
ever since I was ten years old.

Those dear books, bound in red, with such pretty pictures--_History of
My Pets_ and _Recollections of My Childhood_, were the most precious
volumes in my little library. Anyone who has had pets and lost them
(and the one follows the other, for pets always come to some tragic
end) will delight in these stories.

And then the _Little Pilgrim_, which I used to like next best to the
_Youth's Companion_; and in later years her spirited, graceful poetry;
her racy magazine stories; her _Haps and Mishaps of a Tour in Europe_;
her sparkling letters to the _Tribune_, full of reliable news from
Washington, graphic descriptions of prominent men and women, capital
anecdotes and atrocious puns;--O how glad I should be to look in her
face and to shake hands with the author who had given me so much
pleasure!

Well, she came, I heard the bell ring, just when she was expected,
with a vigorous pull, and, as the door opened, heard her say, in a
jolly, soothing way: "Don't get into a passion," to the man who was
swearing at her big trunk. And then I ran away, not wishing to
intrude, and waited impatiently for dinner and an introduction to my
well-beloved heroine.

Grace--Mrs. Lippincott--I found to be a tall, fine-looking lady, with
a commanding figure and a face that did not disappoint me, as faces so
often do which you have dreamed about. She had dark