y smart little
cap at the back of her head set off an immense quantity of sable
hair, which naturally, or artificially, adorned her forehead.
A becoming quantity of rouge gave the finishing touch to her
figure, which had a degree of pretension about it that
immediately attracted our notice. She talked fluently, and
without any American restraint, and I began to be greatly puzzled
as to who or what she could be; a lady, in the English sense of
the word, I was sure she was not, and she was a little like an
American female of what they call good standing. A beautiful
girl of seventeen entered soon after, and called her "Ma," and
both mother and daughter chattered away, about themselves and
their concerns, in a manner that greatly increased my puzzle.

After breakfast, being much in want of amusement, I seated myself
by her, and entered into conversation. I found her nothing loth,
and in about a minute and a half she put a card into my hand,
setting forth, that she taught the art of painting upon velvet in
all its branches.

She stated to me, with great volubility, that no one but herself
and her daughter knew any thing of this invaluable branch of art;
but that for twenty-five dollars they were willing to communicate
all they knew.

In five minutes more she informed me that she was the author of
some of the most cutting satires in the language; and then she
presented me a paper, containing a prospectus, as she called it,
of a novel, upon an entirely new construction. I was strangely
tempted to ask her if it went by steam, but she left me no time
to ask any thing, for, continuing the autobiography she had so
obligingly begun, she said, "I used to write against all the
Adams faction. I will go up stairs in a moment and fetch you
down my sat-heres against that side. But oh! my dear madam! it
is really frightful to think how talent is neglected in this
country. Ah! I know what you are going to say, my dear madam,
you will tell me that it is not so in yours. I know it! but
alas! the Atlantic! However, I really must tell you how I have
been treated: not only did I publish the most biting sat-heres
against the Adams faction, but I wrote songs and odes in honour
of Jackson; and my daughter, Cordelia, sang a splendid song of
my writing, before eight hundred people, entirely and altogether
written in his praise; and would you believe it, my dear madam,
he has never taken the slightest notice of me, or made me the
lea