it to be a woman.
While she was there, Mrs. S.C. Hall, of the Irish Sketches, was
announced. She is a tall, well-proportioned woman, with a fine color,
dark-brown hair, and a cheerful, cordial manner. She brought with her
her only daughter, a young girl about fifteen. I told her of Miss
Greenfield, and, she took great interest in her, and requested her to
sing something for her. C. played the accompaniment, and she sung Old
Folks at Home, first in a soprano voice, and then in a tenor or
baritone. Mrs. Hall was amazed and delighted, and entered at once into
her cause. She said that she would call with me and present her to Sir
George Smart, who is at the head of the queen's musical establishment,
and, of course, the acknowledged leader of London musical judgment.

Mrs. Hall very kindly told me that she had called to invite me to seek a
retreat with her in her charming little country house near London. I do
not mean that _she_ called it a charming little retreat, but that every
one who speaks of it gives it that character. She told me that I should
there have positive and perfect quiet; and what could attract me more
than that? She said, moreover, that there they had a great many
nightingales. Ah, this "bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream," could I
only go there! but I am tied to London by a hundred engagements. I
cannot do it. Nevertheless, I have promised that I will go and spend
some time yet, when Mr. S. leaves London.

In the course of the day I had a note from Mrs. Hall, saying that, as
Sir George Smart was about leaving town, she had not waited for me, but
had taken Miss Greenfield to him herself. She writes that he was really
astonished and charmed at the wonderful weight, compass, and power of
her voice. He was also as well pleased with the mind in her singing, and
her quickness in doing and catching all that he told her. Should she
have a public opportunity to perform, he offered to hear her rehearse
beforehand. Mrs. Hall says this is a great deal for him, whose hours are
all marked with gold.

In the evening the house was opened in a general way for callers, who
were coming and going all the evening. I think there must have been over
two hundred people--among them Martin Farquhar Tupper, a little man,
with fresh, rosy complexion, and cheery, joyous manners; and Mary
Howitt, just such a cheerful, sensible, fireside companion as we find
her in her books,--winning love and trust the very first few moments of
t