she was more interested in them than any of the other animals, they exhibit traits so distinctly human.  She declared, while her husband and friends laughingly teased her for the assertion, that she had seen a sick monkey, parched with fever, absolutely refuse the water he longed for, until the keeper had handed it to a friend who was suffering more than he.  As an illustration of their quickness, she told me, in a very dramatic manner, of a nurse who shook two of her little charges for some childish misdemeanor while in the monkey house.  No one noticed the monkeys looking at her, but pretty soon every old monkey in the house began shaking her children, and kept up the process until the little monkeys had to be removed for fear their heads would be shaken off.  I felt no incongruity between her conversation and her books.  She talked as she wrote; in descriptive passages, with the same sort of humor, and the same manner of linking events by analogy and inference.  The walls were covered with pictures.  I remember Guido’s Aurora, Michael Angelo’s prophets, Raphael’s sibyls, while all about were sketches, landscapes and crayon drawings, gifts from the most famous living painters, many of whom are friends of the house.  A grand piano, opened and covered with music, indicated recent and continual use.”

One of her intimate friends says that “in every line of her face there was powder, and about her jaw and mouth a prodigious massiveness, which might well have inspired awe had it not been tempered by the most gracious smile which ever lighted up human features, and was ever ready to convert what otherwise might have been terror into fascination!” We are told that “an extraordinary delicacy pervaded her whole being.  She seemed to live upon air, and the rest of her body was as light and fragile as her countenance and intellect were massive.”  One of the results of this large brain and fragile body was, that she was never vigorous in health.  Only her quiet, simple life, and avoidance of all excitement in regular work, enabled her to accomplish so much as she did.  Her conversation was rich and attractive.  She talked much as she wrote, was a good listener, never obtruded her opinions, and always had a noble moral purpose in her words.

An American lady has given an interesting account of her home and of her conversation.  “No one,” says Mrs. Field, “who had ever seen her could mistake the large head (her brain must be heavier than most men’s) covered with a mass of rich auburn hair.  At first I thought her tall; for one could not think that such a head could rest on an ordinary woman’s shoulders.  But, as she rose up, her figure appeared of but medium height.  She received us very kindly.  In seeing, for the first time, one to whom we owed so many happy hours, it was impossible to feel towards her as a stranger.  All distance was removed by her courtesy.  Her manners are very sweet, because very simple and free from affectation.  To me her welcome was the more