which at last rewarded him by yielding itself wholly.

We have likewise been to Mr. B------'s [now dead] studio, where we saw
several pretty statues and busts, and among them an Eve, with her wreath
of fig-leaves lying across her poor nudity; comely in some points, but
with a frightful volume of thighs and calves. I do not altogether see
the necessity of ever sculpturing another nakedness. Man is no longer a
naked animal; his clothes are as natural to him as his skin, and
sculptors have no more right to undress him than to flay him.

Also, we have seen again William Story's Cleopatra,--a work of genuine
thought and energy, representing a terribly dangerous woman; quiet enough
for the moment, but very likely to spring upon you like a tigress. It is
delightful to escape to his creations from this universal prettiness,
which seems to be the highest conception of the crowd of modern
sculptors, and which they almost invariably attain.

Miss Bremer called on us the other day. We find her very little changed
from what she was when she came to take tea and spend an evening at our
little red cottage, among the Berkshire hills, and went away so
dissatisfied with my conversational performances, and so laudatory of my
brow and eyes, while so severely criticising my poor mouth and chin. She
is the funniest little old fairy in person whom one can imagine, with a
huge nose, to which all the rest of her is but an insufficient appendage;
but you feel at once that she is most gentle, kind, womanly, sympathetic,
and true. She talks English fluently, in a low quiet voice, but with
such an accent that it is impossible to understand her without the
closest attention. This was the real cause of the failure of our
Berkshire interview; for I could not guess, half the time, what she was
saying, and, of course, had to take an uncertain aim with my responses.