moment, I thought I was in my own drawing-room, bidding guests good
night)--I said (I really hate to write it): "I hope the next time I come
to Rochester I shall meet you all here again."

This was the first speech I ever made in public--I confess that it was not
a success.


PARIS, _1865._

The Princess Mathilde receives every Sunday evening. Her salons are always
crowded, and are what one might call cosmopolitan. In fact, it is the only
salon in Paris where one can meet all nationalities. There are diplomats,
royalists, imperialists, strangers of importance passing through Paris,
and especially all the celebrated artists.

She has great taste, and has arranged her palace most charmingly. She has
converted a small portion of the park behind it into a winter garden,
which is filled with beautiful palms and flowering plants. In this
attractive place she holds her receptions, and I sang there the other
evening.

Rossini was, as a great exception, present. I fancy that he and his wife
had dined with the Princess; therefore, when the Princess asked him to
accompany me, saying that she desired so much to hear me sing, he could
not well refuse to be amiable, and sat down to the piano with a good
enough grace. I sang "Bel Raggio," from "Semiramide," as I knew it by
heart (I had sung it often enough with Garcia). Rossini was kind enough
not to condemn the cadenzas with which Garcia had interlarded it. I was
afraid he would not like them, remembering what he had said to Patti about