sian word
_harrascho_, "good," when a Russian stranger in the next box smiled
joyously, and rising, waved his glove to me. Once in a brilliant soiree
in Philadelphia there was a Hungarian Count, an exile, and talking with
him in English, I let fall for a joke "_Bassama terem-tete_!" He grasped
my hand, and, forgetting all around, entered into a long conversation. It
was like the American who, on finding an American cent in the streets in
Paris, burst into tears. So from time to time something recalled Europe
to me.

I went now and then to New York, which I liked better than Philadelphia.
I was often a guest of Mr. Kimball. He introduced me to Dr. Rufus
Griswold, a strange character and a noted man of letters. He was to his
death so uniformly a friend to me, and so untiring in his efforts to aid
me, that I cannot find words to express his kindness nor the gratitude
which I feel. He became the editor of a literary magazine which was
really far in advance of the time. It did not last long; while it
endured I supplied for it monthly reviews of foreign literature.

There were not many linguists on the American press in those days, and my
reviews of works in half-a-dozen languages induced some one to pay a high
compliment to the editor. It was Bayard Taylor, I believe, who, hearing
this, declared honestly, and as a friend, that I alone deserved the
credit. This was repeated by some one to Dr. Griswold in such a form
that he thought _I_ had been talking against him, though I had never
spoken to a soul about it. The result was that the Doctor promptly
dismissed me, and I felt hurt. Mr. Kimball met me and laughed, saying,
"The next time you meet the Doctor just go resolutely at him and _replace
yourself_. Don't allow him a word." So, meeting Dr. Griswold a few days
after in Philadelphia, I went boldly up and said, "You must come at once
with me and take a drink--immediately!" The Doctor went like a lamb--not
to the slaughter, but to its milk--and when he had drunk a comforting
grog, I attacked him boldly, and declared that I had never spoken a word
to a living soul as to the authorship of the reviews--which was perfectly
true, for I never broke the golden rule of "contributorial anonymity." So
the Doctor put me on the staff again. But to the end of his life I was
always with him a privileged character, and could take, if I chose, the
most extraordinary liberties, though he was one of the most irritable and
vind