CHAPTER XL.
LITERARY FRIENDS.
Among the many literary men and women of my acquaintance there are some (for it is not possible to enumerate all) of whom I should like to make some mention; and, _place aux dames_, let me speak of the ladies first.
In my boyhood I can recollect that astronomical wonder of womankind, _Mrs.Mary Somerville_, a great friend of my father's; she seemed to me very quiet and thoughtful, and so little self-conscious as to be humbly unregardful of her genius and her fame.

Strangely enough I first met her in the same drawing-room in Grafton Street (she lived and died at Chelsea) where I acted a silent part years after in some private theatricals with _Miss Granville_ (met during my American visit in her then phase of a German Baroness), herself an authoress and a cantatrice, daughter of Dr.Granville, the well-known historian of Spas.

I recollect, too, in those early times, _Mrs.Jameson_, then a celebrated writer, and a vivacious leader of literary society; and much nearer this day, _Mrs.Beecher Stowe_, whom I found too taciturn, and as if scared at the notice she excited, quite to realise one's expectation of a famous lioness.

With her I have since broken a lance in the interest of Byron, whom I considered maligned in the matter of his "sweet sister," and accordingly wrote on his behalf a vindicatory fly-leaf of poetic indignation.

Another lance, too, have I broken in favour of _Ouida_, as against a newspaper critic who had tried to crush her "Moths;" I had met her before that, and did my little best in her defence, receiving from her from Italy a charming letter of acknowledgment.