le became separated from it. My
husband appeared so much disconcerted at this that I could not help
laughing a little at the expression of his countenance. Mr. Rogers
afterwards said to an American friend, "Mrs. Howe was quite cruel to
laugh at the doctor's embarrassment." On one occasion he showed us some
autograph letters of Lord Byron, with whom he had been well acquainted.
He read a passage from one of these, in which Lord Byron, after speaking
of the ancient custom of the Doge wedding the Adriatic, wrote: "I wish
the Adriatic would take my wife."

In after years I was sometimes questioned as to what had most impressed
me during my first visit in London. I replied unhesitatingly, "The
clever people collected there." The moment, indeed, was fortunate. We
had come well provided with letters of introduction. Besides this, my
husband was at the time a first-class lion, and this merit avails more
in England than any other, and more there than elsewhere.

Mr. Sumner had given us a letter to the Marquis of Lansdowne, which the
latter honored by a call, and further by sending us cards for a musical
evening at Lansdowne House. Lord Lansdowne was a gracious host. His lady
was more formal in manner. Their music-room was oblong in shape, and the
guests were seated along the wall on either side. Before the performance
began I noticed a movement among those present, the cause of which
became evident when the Duchess of Gloucester appeared, leaning on the
arm of the master of the house. She was attired, or, as newspapers put
it, "gowned," in black, wearing white plumes in her headdress, and with
bare neck and arms, according to the imperative fashion of the time. She
was well advanced in years, and had probably never been remarked for
good looks, but was said to be beloved by the Queen and by many friends.

The programme of the entertainment was one which to-day would seem
rather commonplace, though the performers were not so. A handsome young
man, of slender figure, opened the concert by singing the serenade from
the opera of "Don Pasquale." I felt at once that this must be Mario, but
that name cannot suggest to one who never heard him either the beauty of
his voice or the refinement of his intonation. I still feel a sort of
intoxication when I recall his rendering of "Com' e gentil." Grisi sang
several times. She was then in what some one has termed, "the insolence
of her youth and beauty." Mlle. Persiani, also of the grand ope