ontifical presence. Pope Leo required
that all persons presented to him should kneel and kiss his hand. This,
as a Protestant, I could never consent to do, and so was obliged to
forego the honor of presentation. It was said in Rome that a brother of
the Pope, a plain man from the country, called upon him just before or
after his coronation. He was very stout in person, and objected to the
inconvenience of kneeling for the ceremonial kiss. The Pope, however,
insisted, and his relative departed, threatening never to return.

CHAPTER XX

FRIENDS AND WORTHIES: SOCIAL SUCCESSES

Time would fail me if I should undertake to mention the valued
friendships which have gladdened my many years in Boston, or to indicate
the social pleasures which have alternated with my more serious
pursuits. One or two of these friends I must mention, lest my
reminiscences should be found lacking in the good savor of gratitude.

I have already spoken of seeing the elder Richard H. Dana from time to
time during the years of my young ladyhood in New York. He himself was
surely a transcendental, of an apart and individual school.
Nevertheless, the transcendentals of Boston did not come within either
his literary or his social sympathies. I never heard him express any
admiration for Mr. Emerson. He may, indeed, have done so at a later
period; for Mr. Emerson in the end won for himself the heart of New
England, which had long revolted at his novelties of thought and
expression. Mr. Dana's ideal evidently was Washington Allston, for whom
his attachment amounted almost to worship. The pair were sometimes
spoken of in that day as "two old-world men who sat by the fire
together, and upheld each other in aversion to the then prevailing state
of things."

I twice had the pleasure of seeing Washington Allston. My first sight of
him was in my early youth when, being in Boston with my father for a
brief visit, my dear tutor, Joseph G. Cogswell, undertook to give us
this pleasure. Mr. Allston's studio was in Cambridgeport. He admitted no
one within it during his working hours, save occasionally his friend
Franklin Dexter, who was obliged to announce his presence by a
particular way of knocking at the door. Mr. Cogswell managed to get
possession of this secret, and when we drove to the door of the studio
he made use of the well-known signal. "Dexter, is that you?" cried a
voice from within. A moment later saw us within the sanctuary.

My father was