r; but her complexion must
always have been rough, and a pronounced little moustache crossed her
upper lip, like an accent to the speech that was too distinct and
uncompromising to be melodious. Her every limb and feature, however, was
instinct with capability, and, in her presence, one must always be moved
to marvel over that indescribable worship of disproportion that has grown
to be the religion of a shapely race.

* * * * *

How I first became acquainted with Miss Groom it is unnecessary to
explain. During the last three years of her life I was fortunate to be
her guest in the Wiltshire retreat for an aggregate of many months. She
took a fancy to me--to my solitariness and moroseness, perhaps--and she
not only liked to have me with her, but, after a time, she fell into
something of a habit of recalling for my benefit certain passages and
experiences of her past life. In doing this, there was no suggestion of
confidence; and I am breaking no faith in alluding to them. She was a
fine talker--rugged, unpicturesque, but with an instinctive capacity of
selection in words. If I quote her, as I wish to do, I cannot reproduce
her style; and that, no doubt, would appear bald on paper. But, at least,
the matter is all her own.

Now, I must premise that I arrogate to myself no exhibitory rights in
this lady. She was familiar with and to many from the foremost ranks of
those who "follow knowledge like a sinking star"; those great and
restless spirits to whom inaction reads stagnation. To such, in all
probability, I tell, in speaking of Dinah Groom, a twice-told tale; and,
therefore--inasmuch as I make it my business only to print what is
hitherto unrecorded--to them I give the assurance that I do not claim to
have "discovered" their friend.

* * * * *

On a wall of the little embowered sitting-room hung a queer picture, by
Ernest Griset, of the "Overwhelming of the Mammoths in the Ice." From the
first this odd conception had engaged my curiosity,--purely for its
fanciful side,--and one evening, in alluding to it, I made the not very
profound remark that Imagination had no anatomy.

"They are true beasts," said Dinah.

"They are the mastodons of Cuvier, no doubt; but, then, Cuvier never saw
a mastodon, you know."

"But I have; and I tell you Griset and Cuvier are very nearly right."

I expressed no surprise.

"In what were they astray?" I asked.

"The ma