an emphatic gesture) of the Hegelian
philosophy."

Alcott struck me as a happy dreamer. He said to me joyously: "I'm
going West in Lou's chariot," and of course with funds provided by his
daughter.

An article written by her, entitled "Transcendental Wild Oats," made a
great impression on my mind.

It appeared in a long-ago _Independent_ and I tried in vain to find it
last winter. Houghton and Mifflin have recently published Bronson
Alcott's "_Fruitlands_," compiled by Clara Endicott Sears, with
"Transcendental Wild Oats" by Louisa M. Alcott, so it is brought to
the notice of those who will appreciate it.

I called once on Miss Hosmer, who then was living with relatives in
Watertown, Massachusetts, her old home; the house where she was born
and where she did her first modelling. Recently reading in Miss
Whiting's record of Kate Field's life, of Miss Hosmer as a universal
favourite in Rome, a dearly loved friend of the Brownings, and
associated with the literary and artistic coterie there, a living part
of that memorable group, most of whom are gone, I longed to look in
her eyes, to shake her hand, to listen to her conversation. Everyone
knows of her achievements as a sculptor.

After waiting a few minutes, into the room tripped a merry-faced,
bright-eyed little lady, all animation and cordiality as she said: "It
is your fault that I am a little slow in coming down, for I was
engrossed in one of your own books, too much interested to remember to
dress."

The question asked soon brought a flow of delightful recollection of
Charlotte Cushman, Frances Power Cobbe, Grace Greenwood, Kate Field,
and the Brownings. "Yes," she said, "I dined with them all one winter;
they were lovely friends." She asked if we would like to see
some autograph letters of theirs. One which seemed specially
characteristic of Robert Browning was written on the thinnest of paper
in the finest hand, difficult to decipher. And on the flap of the
envelope was a long message from his wife. Each letter was addressed
to "My dearest Hattie," and ended, "Yours most affectionately." There
was one most comical impromptu sent to her by Browning, from some
country house where there was a house party. They were greatly grieved
at her failure to appear, and each name was twisted into a rhyme at
the end of a line. Sir Roderick Murchison, for instance, was run in
thus:

As welcome as to cow is fodder-rick
Would be your presence to Sir