enough to eat.

Early in her time some of her friends--such as Ripley, Curtis, and
Cranch--had joined a small agricultural and educational association,
called the "Brook Farm," near Roxbury, Massachusetts. She visited them
once or twice, and saw Mr. Curtis engaged in washing dishes which had
been used by "The Community." She remarked to him that perhaps he
could be better employed for the progress of his fellow-men than in
wasting his energy on something more easily done by others.

At one time she invited Bronson Alcott, one of the leaders of a
similar movement, to preside over some _conversazioni_ in her
parlours, where he could elucidate his favourite subject. On one
occasion, a lady in the audience, impressed by some sentiments uttered
by the lecturer, inquired of him if his opinion was that we were gods.
"No," answered Mr. Alcott, "we are not gods, but only godlings," an
explanation which much amused Mrs. Botta, who was always quick in
perceiving the funny side of a remark. (I timidly suggest that _s_ be
substituted for _d_.)

Mrs. Botta having promised to see Mr. Greeley, and urge him to give a
favourable notice in the _Tribune_ of the concert where a young singer
was to make her début, went down to his office to plead for a lenient
criticism. But not one word appeared. So down she went to inquire the
reason. She was ushered into the Editor's Sanctum, where he was busily
writing and hardly looked up. She asked why he was so silent; it was
such a disappointment. No reply. She spoke once more. Then came the
verdict in shrill tones: "She can't sing. She can't sing. She can't
sing."