BLACKWELL FAMILY (Memoirs) Kitty Barry Blackwell Biographical Data [?]KITTY BARRY (In 1921 she came to America to live with Alice Stone Blackwell and at that time took the name Katherine Barry Blackwell) 1870 – Stayed at Lawrence, L.I. while Dr. Elizabeth journed to London and got settled there.REMINISCENCES OF K. BARRY BLACKWELLREMINSCENCES OF K. BARRY BLACKWELL DICTATED TO ALICE STONE BLACKWELL 1929 TO 1936 COPY "HOLOGRAPH ASB, Presented to G.H.B. by A.S.B, Sept.6, 1936". (From the Register Angel St. Chapel 1724 Feby. 4, John, son of Thomas Blackwell) Born: 1759, Sept. 20 - Samuel, son of John May 29, 1783, baptized June 19, John, son of Samuel, died at Dudley, 1857, aged 74. Aug. 27, 1784, baptized Sept. 24, Ann, daughter of Samuel, died at Bristol, Sept. 30, 1856. Oct. 30, 1785, baptised Nov. 17, Elizabeth, daughter of Samuel, died at Northwick, buried at Clanwick, Jan. 19, 1787, baptised ----------- Samuel, son of Samuel, died at 14 days old - buried at Powick May 10, 1789, baptised June 23, Barbara, daughter of Samuel, died Oct. 19, 1838, New York Feb. 6, 1790, baptised Feb. 15, Samuel, son of Samuel, died Aug. 11,1838, Cincinnati. (father of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell) July 12, 1792, baptised Sept. 26, Mary, daughter of Samuel, died Sept. 7, 1838, Cincinnati. Sept. 21, 1794, baptised Oct.28, James, son of Samuel, died Sept. 5, 1866, at Jersey July 1, 1798, baptised July 31, Lucy, daughter of Samuel ---- John aged 74 Ann 72 Barbara 49 Samuel 47 Mary 47-48 James 72The notes of Alice Stone Blackwell contained in the following pages copied from a notebook started in 1929 while Miss Katherine Barry Blackwell lived with Miss Alice in Dorchester, Massachusetts and in the summer months at Chilmark on Martha's Vineyard. They are of interest to the Woman's Rights collection because they contain so many incidents relating to Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell and her sister, Dr. Emily. Miss Katherine Barry Blackwell was the adopted daughter of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell. copy Reminiscences of K. Barry Blackwell, taken down from her dictation by Alice Stone Blackwell. Dedication: I dedicate these reminiscences to George Howard Blackwell and his family. If ever they amount to anything, that family alone shall say who shall have anything out of them. Those outside the family, entitled to any bits of interest, are, first, Frances Alofsen, now Titterton, [who was] Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell's the first baby in private life brought into the world by Dr. Eliz.-1- Reminiscences of K. Barry Blackwell, taken down by Alice Stone Blackwell, from her dictation. The first thing I recall is a very pleasant voiced lady coming to the orphan asylum, and it is reported that she had been several times, and had had numerous pretty children offered for her consideration, and finally she came at the sunset hour, and found me with my hands clasped behind me, gazing at the setting sun. She asked me, would I be her little girl? I squeezed her hand, but had to see the end of the fast-fading lights. Then she took me to the house she then lived in, her own, 79 East 15th St., N.Y. Part of her house was rented to other people but most was still in her own occupation. I learned afterwards that Aunt Marian told her she must pay attention to what that child said about clothes, etc. for her eyes were very sharp and keen. And the very first thing, on that first night in her home, she told me of the misfortune to one of her eyes, and all about it. She never said, "Don't speak of it". But I never in all my life mentioned it to anyone, except when we first went to Hastings. Then we had a young lady at luncheon, and Aunt Elizabeth, who found those artificial eyes very tiring after a time, had not her "toilet" (as she called it) in, and being very shy of staring, she seemed to avoid that younglady. So I took that young lady aside and told her all about the loss of that eye. And that was the only time in all my life that I mentioned it. (Nov. 5, 1929.) The next thing Dr. Elizabeth did with me was to send me to the 12th St. Public School for Girls, then considered the crack school of the city. Such families as old New York families of Stoats, Phelps and Putnams sent their daughters there. A few years later I was told those families would not have sent their children to any public school. I was in the primary department, of course, and -2- Miss Gear, who for years was the head of the primary department, finally left money to the N.Y. Infirmary. When there were deep snows banked up against all the street pavements, Aunt Elizabeth used to tuck me under her arm and carry me over the very long crossing from the corner of 15th St. across the end of Union Square to the corner of 14th St. and Broadway. Then I could walk down two streets to the school. I came to know all Aunt Elizabeth's young patients, especially Mary D. Hussey, her first baby in private practice. They lived in Thompson St., the south side of Washington Square: and in Bleecker St. lived the Stacy B. Collinses, grandfather and aunts and uncle to Mamie Hussey. In Bleecker St., opposite the Collinses, there was built one of the first houses of flats in New York, a very ugly, gloomy place: and I think it drove the Collinses to another part of N.Y. Aunt Elizabeth had Dr. Zakrzewska to live in the house for a long time. That enabled "Dr. Zak" to carry on private practice till such time as the N.Y.Infirmary at 64 Bleecker Street was opened. Then she became the resident physician there. It was a very liberally planned house. I think it must have been an old N.Y. country house in good days: but the region degenerated; and afterwards there were seven bazars, when the three doctors declared they would not help get up another, and the trustees must do something else. Dr. Zak had a young sister named Rosalia, who was very strange in her ways, She once shut me up in the bedroom at the Infirmary, locking the door and telling me I should stay there till I said I hated Dr. Blackwell (my doctor). Presently Dr. Zak's louid,penetrating German voice was heard crying out up the stairs for Rosalia. No answer. Finally Dr. Zak let me out, finding I was locked in. That was the sort of thing Rosalia was constantly doing.-3- Most of Aunt Elizabeth's patients in the early days were Quakers and I came to know them almost all - that is, the nurseries. The "Friends" largely lived at first in the neighborhood of Amity St. Then there came a general move to what was called "up town". Robert Haydock, the treasurer of the Infirmary, and Percy Bunting, the builder, took houses on 12th St. Another division moved to 24th St. ; and nearly every house on the north side was occupied by Underhills and Trimbles. When Aunt Elizabeth had charge of me for some time, there came the moving of all the family from Cincinnati: Grandma, Uncle Sam and Aunt Nettie, Henry and Lucy, all came to live in 15th St. One evening in November, 1854, fifteen carts drew up in the street. The first held the poor lost piano; the rest held furniture from Walnut Hills. Presently, when all furniture was arranged, they all lived in Aunt Elizabeth's house for a time, and Aunt Marian kept house for them. I was greatly interested in the book arrivals, very badly packed. Uncle Sam did not understand packing, and had nobody to help him, and he left lots of them on the floor. Then came a square tin box in which was packed Grandma Blackwell's wedding china. I was greatly interested, for I knew all about it - how she had chosen the pattern herself, on a visit to Worcester, and had a set made for her. It was given to Aunt Elizabeth, because she was the only daughter who had a house of her own. From the time it came, I was in charge of it, and took the very greatest care. I packed it myself to return to England in 1869. This china was used very rarely in England, on very state occasions in London: and from the time when there was a prospect that there might be a son Blackwell, that china was intended to belong to the son! and that proved to be Howard Lane Blackwell, Only one thing was ever stolen, and when we found it out in N.Y it was just after -4- Aunt Emily had recovered from brain fever, so Aunt Elizabeth and I resolved to say nothing about it. Aunt Emily gave Dr. Abbott a coffee cup and saucer, which were not kept by the little doctor, but given to a friend who had a craze for old china. (This was the "stolen" piece - Aunt Emily had no right to give it, Kitty says.) The family settled down in 15th St. for a time, Aunt Marian managing the housekeeping, training several good servants, who I remember. Before Florence was born, Uncle Harry and Aunt Lucy had moved out to Orange, but Aunt Nettie remained, and one Nov. 7 night Florence was born in that house. I met Dr. Zakrzewska coming downstairs as I was on my way to bed. She asked if I would like to see a baby. I eagerly said yes, and where did it come from? She said it was in a large room up there, and it came out of a cabbage. I rushed upstairs and said, "Nothing so nice as a baby ever came out of a cabbage." And there, on a large pillow before an open fire lay the new baby, very tiny indeed: and Uncle Sam cried out, "Don't you step on my baby!" Florence was born on a Friday. The next Sunday all the family sat around that fire, with Aunt Nettie in bed, and Uncle Sam read out a list of 500 girls' names which he had put down. I was in favor of her being called Mary: but at that time the name of Florence was used in a great many families because of Florence Nightingale's work, and Florence was chosen. The baby was very small and Grandma Blackwell instructed me carefully how to support its little back. Every day Grandma and I carried the baby to Union Square to walk about in the sunlight. I don't think we ever owned a perambulator there. Then Aunt Nettie, Uncle Sam and Florence moved out to Newark, where they had a house on Orange St. for a time; and the house was tall and slim, perched on top of a very high bank, as the hill had been out down to make a level roadway. It was dubbed "The Pepper Box" by Alice's father.-5- Aunt Marian, when the family had departed to the different individual homes, started to take some boarders in. The New York Medical College was just behind our house, in 14th Street, and soon Aunt Marian and half a dozen young Southern medical students. But, before the family went, I remember hearing how a Col. Higginson (Col. Thomas Wentworth Higginson) was to come and stay for a day or two, and as I looked at the door, I wondered how he would get in with- out striking his head. He did have to stoop it, for the basement was rather low. At one time the Rev. Mr. Vail, with his wife and a grandson, came and boarded with Aunt Marian. Mr. Vail had really run away with his grandson from a slave plantation in Kentucky where his [lies] mother was living. The boy came hatless, as Mr. Vail had run away with him. It was at the time of Fremont or Buchanan (candidates), and I had the keenest interest that Fremont should get in: but that imp Willie Green, brought up among slaveholders, was all for Buchanan. You may imagine we could not agree. I had a strong hate for anything like tyranny. On the eve of election day we children rushed upon Mr. Vail and asked who was elected, and the good man shook his head and said, "Alas! it was Buchanan", and the imp capered with delight. I fully understood from the talk of my elders that Buchanan represented slavery and Fremont freedom. Aunt Marian began in 15th St. her career of training excellent servants, cooks and housemaids' and she continued it till she finally broke up housekeeping after Grandma's death. Nov. 6th. Aunt Elizabeth, Dr. Zak and Dr. Emily, when she finally came from Europe, began to be very active in starting some medical work in N. Y. When finally they had the charter and established the -6- Infirmary in Bleecker St., Dr Zak went there as resident physician and Dr. Emily began to try to keep office hours in 15th St. When the various branches broke off into separate households, Aunt Marian tried boarders for a time, till she took a cottage near Mr. Augustus Moore's in North Orange. I remember the summer she was there was so hot that she slept with her head out of windows for coolness. Then she took a house on the Main Street of Roseville, N.J., owned by a vast English woman named Petty. It was notfat: it was an extraordinarily big mould. She had quite a large piece of ground, and the part of the house rented to Aunt Marian was entirely separate from that dwelt in by Mr. and Mrs. Petty. Aunt Marian was laboriously trying to paper a room which was to be a sort of combination kitchen and dining room. The paper always fell off till Mrs. Petty came and showed her how to put some kind of sticky substance into the paste. Then Aunt Marian papered away finely. We had George Eaton, Frances Alofsen's cousin, out there constantly, as we also had had in N.Y. I think he was asked for the sake of his mother, for he was by no means always nicely behaved. Dr. Alofsen sent George Eaton to that (considered) perfect school for boys at Eagleswood, N. J. It was from Mrs. Petty's that Aunt Marian moved to a house at the top of Roseville Ave., in a year much invaded by grasshoppers. They popped about the room, and over all your clothes. Finally the house next the Presbyterian church was taken by Aunt Marian, with a good garden behind and at the side. It was Dr. Alofsen who enabled her to buy that house. Finally, when Mr. Alofsen had passed away, and Frances had met with many financial losses through the proceedings of Mr. Gherkin (her first husband), Aunt Marian thought it right to leave to Frances the sum her father had paid for that house and garden. It was the only thing in Aunt Marian's will that I-7- never heard objected to. and Aunt Elizabeth wrote to it clear to Aunt Ellen, who thought it ought to have been left to her, just why Aunt Marian had thought it right to do it. In that Roseville house, Grandma could open a side window in warm weather, and, if she chose, hear the whole service in the Presbyterian church next door. Grandma had a way of sitting during the service (Mrs. Saml. Blackwell - Hannah Lane Blackwell) rotating her thumbs, which I found very fascinating. She never changed the method, as I sometimes hoped she would: but she gazed with fervent eyes at good Mr. Pingree, the minister. From there I went to the first and last church [?] picnic I ever attended. I disliked the games set afoot, and finally ran back to Roseville Ave. And I remember explaining I hated kissing games: why would they play such games? So I ran away. When Mrs. Alofsen died of consumption and Frances lived mostly with Aunt Marian in Roseville, it was quite a change. Aunt Marian set up a little class to teach with Frances; and your father, passing (Henry Blackwell) daily on his way to the train, either heard or professed to hear a great deal of the way it was managed. He said it was "Ring a little bell and have a little recess; ring another little bell, and have a little play"; that was the school management. As he passed each morning, he had always something pleasant to say to Grandma. I was there one day when he passed and said, "Here I am, fat, fair and forty!" When Mr. Spofford came now and again to see your parents, he caused quite a commotion. Frances would look out of the window, espy Mr. Spofford coming from the station, and say she must change her dress. She only changed one clean print dress for another clean print dress. It was exceeding funny. (Mr. Ainsworth R. Spofford, Librarian of Congress 40 yrs. He told Aunt Lucy and Uncle Harry about the Vineyard and they started to go there in 1864). -8- Nov. 9th. About this time, all having set up separate homes in Roseville, North Orange and Newark, and Dr. Zak being in charge of the Infirmary, Aunt Elizabeth decided to rent off most of her 15th St. house. She reserged the back parlor, and the extension, as it was called, as offices, and the whole attic floor. She rented it to a Mrs. Dane and her daughter, birthright Quakers, and considered excellent housekeepers. When Aunt Emily returned from Europe, she had one bedroom in the attic, Aunt Elizabeth another, and small Kitty Barry another. Then one very snowy night your Uncle George arrived with a pair of saddlebags and a big blanket shawl. I believe Anna (Belden) s till has that shawl. There were a great many simple but neat dining places dlose by, so Aunt Elizabeth and I took our dinners at one or other of them. Uncle George boarded with the Danes, and occupied what is called in New York our hall bedroom. And he read law with a firm in William St., a member of which had the same name as one of the Infirmary's consulting surgeons, Kissam. I do not think Miss Dame liked children. I was quick as a flash and I think she largely disapproved of me on that account. In the course of time Miss Dane, I understand, did her best to capture Uncle George, largely, I think, by way of games of chess, at which she and he were adapts. I used to laugh at the way he and Aunt Elizabeth tried chess sometimes. I thought Aunt Elizabeth's game would be left to the next generation, as it was said many Spaniards left their games to their heirs to be played out some time. Uncle George was very skillful. Of course Aunt Elizabeth was ever busy with patients, trying to build up a better and ever better private practice. I knew most of the children of the practice. I especially liked the Bleecker St. Collinses, - the two youngest, Stacy and Gertrude, were my especial -9- cronies, and had one taste in common - poetry. Mr. Stacy B. Collins, the father, was Trustee of the Friends' Library on Irving Place: and I once met Gertrude coming out of that library, and she told me she was in dire disgrace. She had asked for a volume of Swinburne's verses, and the librarian was severe, and told her her father was one of the Trustees, and it had been decided to admit no volume of Swinburne's verse. In University Place was the house where Aunt Elizabeth had her first office: and the difficulties there caused her to be anxious to have a place of her own: and it was there that that ever-kind friend-and especially loyal to women, Mr. Alofsen - came forward and enabled her to buy the 15th St. house. Our chief expeditions for fresh air were up the East side of N.Y. to where you could reach the river, with the rocks - a spot called Jones's wood. I thought it a glorious spot. Aunt Elizabeth sat somewhere on a rock and read, while I experimented with paddling among the rocks. Once that detestable head-gear, a Shaker bonnet, blew off into the river. I was for wading, but was hindered, judiciously, so had to go home with nothing on my head. Those were most objectionable things for the head, shutting out all the sunlight and air from your face. I was promoted by and by to a hat, a great improvement, though I always had a tussle as to the hat being line or trimmed with green - most unbecoming to a creature without a vestige of color, and with perfectly ink-black hair. (I had more sense than my elders. Oh, there was such a gown sent to me from Cincinnati, before the family moved. It was delaine - the ground was green with sprays of flowers on it, and it was a particularly atrocious green. Aunt Marian sent it.) I once wished to choose my own dress, and Aunt Elizabeth said I might, so we went to Lord and Taylor's and I chose yellow, and it had to be explained to me that I couldn't have it. It would have suited me, -10- with my black hair. Years after, yellow was the fashionable color in England, and I reproached Aunt Elizabeth, not very seriously. Nov. 11. When Aunt Emily at last returned from Europe, after her studies with Sir James Y. Simpson in Edinburgh, she took possession of one of the front attic bedrooms and kept her office hours in the same quarter as Aunt Elizabeth's in the back parlor at 15th St. Many people selected one or other doctor sister. The Stacy E. Collins family, for instance, - Mrs. Hussey was devoted to Aunt Elizabeth. Her sister Sarah Collins took strongly to Aunt Emily, and a sister Mary was Aunt Elizabeth's patient, and she also superintended the health of Mrs. Collins and the two children, Stacy and Gertrude. Aunt Elizabeth inafter years tried a patient or two in the 15th St. house, but she disliked it so much she never tried it again. I was very early put to pay bills for the house, notably the bread bill, at Simpson's, corner of 4th St. and the Bowery. Aunt Elizabeth had told Simpson that I liked bread better than cake, and was made up of his bread, so once he looked over his counter till he could just see the top of my head, and asked me if I were the little girl made up of Simpson's bread. Then on the northeast corner of 15th St. and 3rd Ave. was a very capital baker, especially of pies, and what Aunt Elizabeth called "Fairy Cake", with always nice pieces of citron on top. I always had the citron, since it was found that I liked it. There it was that one of the men, swinging his bread basket to his shoulder, knocked my large Swiss doll to the floor and the poor thing's head was smashed. It was the only doll I ever cared for. She had two perfect Swiss costumes, one of the working-day dress and the other for gala days. All the other dolls given to me by Aunt Elizabeth's patients were gorgeous, but I didn't care for them; so, when a leg or arm broke, I buried them with-11- great pleasure in the back garden, frequently helped by George Eaton, Frances Alofsen's cousin. We both thoroughly enjoyed those burials. Aunt Elizabeth always bestowed grand names on the dolls given me by the patients. There was Lady Carolina Amelia Skiggs. Another magnificent dollwas Lady Mary Worteley Montague. When the various branches of the family were settled in New Jersey, I very soon was allowed to go out to Roseville and Newark alone. Once there was some kind of accident outside the Hackensack Tunnel, and we had to get down and walk quite a little distance to another train for Newark. I was so small the conductor amiably came to lift me down, with the remark, "Here, my little ducky!" at which I was very indignant, and when safely on the ground said, "I am not your ducky!" In those early days, the Christmas doings were at the different households in turn. We generally prepared all the dry materials for Aunt Marian, at she disliked the pudding business; and that is how I learned how a plum pudding must be made, though I never made one myself till we lived in England, long, long after. Nov. 12. Aunt Elizabeth's friend, Miss Theodosia Brevost, was a cousin of Aaron Burr's and had a large estate at Hackensack on the Passaic. There Aunt Elizabeth and I frequently went down to spend what would now be called a week-end. Miss Prevost's hands on the farm and servants in the house were all colored people. She had a brother who had long before gone out to labor in Peru, and married a Peruvian lady with property. He had some half dozen sons, who all in turn came to the United States to be educated. The only one I liked was the youngest, Louis. All the others were far from nice to the colored folk on the estate, and now and then I gave one or other of those young gentlemen my strong opinion of their lack of ways. Louis had been brought up so -12- much by his aunt and among free black folk that he had learned to be nice tothem. They had a little pony cart, and Louis and a small darkey of our own age drove all about the estate and the neighborhood, always very amicably. The house had a very deep verandah round two sides. In warm weather breakfast was frequently taken on the verandah. But indoors every place at table had a jug with cream, a jug with milk, a bowl of porridge and a plate of fruit. From the Passaic, which ran through the property and was then a clean river, they used catch shad and then bake it in cream. Miss Prevost was a very generous, hospitable person. Her companion and housekeeper and general helper on the estate was an Irish lady, Miss Helen Hughes. She was an illustration of Miss Prevost's most generous deeds. In the south of Ireland there was a military officer named Hughes, with an extremely handsome wife, they say, who was very sociable. She had twin children, a son and daughter. She found them great impediments to her social doings, and the children grew up with the feeling that they really were not wanted. When about 16, the two had saved up enough money to take ship at Cork for N.Y. The boy, of course, meant to get work on landing. They want to a very quiet hotel on the lower part of Broadway. To this same hotel Miss Prevost was in the habit of coming when in New York City. The boy tried all kinds of promising openings, as he thought, and here it was that Miss Prevost took notice of Miss Helen Hughes: for once the brother went out to keep an appointment that, as he thought, promised work which would keep himself and his sister. This was when Miss Prevost saw how uneasy the girl seemed to be. So she talked with her and found out what the twins were intending to do: but hours went by and there was no sign of the brother. N.Y., innocent as it was comparatively in those days, yet contained bad people who had made away-13- young Hughes. Miss Helen Hughes was evidently well educated for the time, for she was proficient in French and Italian. Miss Prevost, finding they had absolutely no friends in the U.S., suggested that Miss Hughes should come with her and help her on the estate; and there lived Miss Hughes for over 30 years, practically managing things. It is surmised that Mr. Hughes had been beguiled under pretence of finding work, because of the great gold chain and watch that he wore. Nothing was ever seen again of watch, chain or boy. All the colored people on the Prevost estate liked Miss Hughes, though she was very close driving them to their duties. Miss Prevost had wonderful kitchen gardens, with the small fruits and vegetables of all kinds. I don't know what became of the property but Miss Hughes had sufficient to live on. She took a great liking to me as I grew up. She thought I had a very good voice and good musical talent, and was very urgent that Aunt Elizabeth should send me to take lesssons at the Convent of the Sacred Heart in N.Y. The teaching was very good, and very cheap for those days. I said they would try to convert me. Miss Hughes said, "oh, no". I said, "Then they ought to," or I wouldn't go. For a long time after Miss Prevost's death, Miss Hughes evidently managed the property for the Prevost nephews in Lima. She was only 16 when she and her brother ran away from Ireland, but it was wonderful how much she taught herself in the way of languages especially; and she was a great reader. I rather think her father was an English officer posted in Ireland. What a misfortune to be so fashionable that you could not care for your own children! That place was a great resort for Aunt Elizabeth, - it gave her so much good food, good air, and good companionship when she went down to Hackensack. And she was in general rather isolated, except for this little person, who regarded -14- her as the first creature on earth. Nov. 15, 1929. Some of the people who came to see Aunt Elizabeth were a very interesting, like Miss Catherine Sedgewick who had a school in N.Y. on some very fine plan. She it was who, not very long after I came to Aunt Elizabeth, heard me reading, seated on the floor in one of the long windows of the front parlor, and she remarked on how very well I read: and when I came to Aunt Elizabeth I did not know a letter: but it certainly was not necessary for artificial means to be used for me, to make reading easy. I tried all the books except the medical ones, and those I never was forbidden to touch, but I somehow felt they did not belong to me. There was a long row called "The Modern Traveler", nice little handy books. There were plenty of maps, and some pictures, which I found interesting; but the reading matter was as dull as ditch-water, and baffled my curiosity completely. I had the 16 volumes of Mrs. Sherwood to regale myself upon, and I imbibed the stories in "The Lady of the Manor", for instance. The Lady was instructing a group of young women in the doctrines of the Church. And always, at some point in the instruction, the Lady of the Manor produced a manuscript story to illustrate the point which they had reached: and from these tales I gained a great hatred of gambling and duelling, which figured in the stories. And also I gained beautiful pictures of English countrysides from the different tales of how the family spent its different holidays, how they stopped at some cottage to have the kettle boiled and tea made, and then, with their baskets of provisions, had tea in the open air. Also Mrs. Sherwood has very clear pictures of life in India. She was a soldier's wife, and lived many years in India. I never gave "The Nun" to any of our Roman Catholic servants, but to our Protestant servants I did, and they would say, after reading it, "Oh, I could never turn Roman Catholic!"-15- After a time, in 1858, Aunt Elizabeth bethought herself of visiting England. She much debated at taking me, but I think the real fact was that I had not secured my place in every branch of the Blackwell family, and she was afraid I might not be very happy while she was gone. There seemed no place for me to retire to. So one day in August we started for England aboard the Cunarder "Persia". That was the ship Aunt Emily had just returned from Europe on. We went second class, then, but never afterwards. We had a very stormy passage in parts, and I was ignominiously seasick for a time. The Persia had a splendid deck for promenading, and Aunt Elizabeth and I took a great deal of exercise up and down. Captain Judkins used to come and promenade up and down the deck and talk with Aunt Elizabeth. As the ship was a combination of sails and steam it was a great deal more interesting to watch the proceedings than it is now, when they steam and steam and steam. And at night I loved to hear the watch from different parts of the ship call out "All's well ahead!" and it passed from the prow to the middle watch and the stern. The Persia in her time was considered by many people a dangerous ship because she was so long, and , according to the standard, narrow. Ah! but she was a good ship! Nov. 17, 1929. There was a gentleman on board who nearly died of seasickness, and had to be carried off the ship at Liverpool. At Liverpool Uncle Howard met us. He was just off his voyage from India; and Aunt Elizabeth had sat in the sun on the Persia until she had fairly skinned her nose, so she and Uncle Howard decided to make off for Wales. Uncle Howard was a small man, just the counterpart of Uncle George. We first took train to Chester, saw the Cathedral and the wonderful old rows of low-browed shops of the time. [There] Then we went on to [Caernarvoon] Caernarvon, where I was immensely interested to see the room, so small, in which the first Prince of Wales was born. Then we -16- went on to Conway. There was the cattle to be seen, wherever you walked in the town; and the two great bridges over the Menai Straits. One was a complete iron bridge, roof and sides, called the tubular bridge; and any train passing through made the most frightful thundering noises. They took lodgings in a nice quiet brown house with a garden on three sides, and a back gate leading into the churchyd. around the parish church. That was very interesting, for all the gravestones, upright or flat, were of slate, that being a great slate-mining district. That house had a white cat, perfectly white, a very remarkable thing to me; and I declared it had blue eyes. And there at that place I tasted salmon for the first time. We did a great deal of walking over the two great bare hills called Great and Little Ornes's Head. And when the two, Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Howard, felt, as they said, respectable in appearance, we started for a little expedition through the Vale of Flanberis, six miles. The walk was six miles in length, it was said, but Uncle Howard declared that I made it at least three times that length; for I hopped, skipped and jumped up the mountains on one side to investigate a stream and then on the other side to investigate something else. At a cottage where no one spoke English, Uncle Howard bought me a tin cup with the head of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert stamped on it. It was something made at the time of their wedding and the people bought them as a remembrance. I had that cup till a year or two ago when it was evidently stolen for the sake of the two heads. From that little trip we went off to London and then I was to be sent to a boarding school in Surrey, greatly patronized by Madame Bodichon - boys and girls in the school. It was quite in the country, and so, after Aunt Ellen, whom I then saw for the first time, had been-17- studying art for a year or two in Britain and in France. She had rather a nice lodging at the time and Uncle Howard took up his abode with her; and I was left with Aunt Ellen to provide the clothing needed for the school, while Aunt Elizabeth went off to Paris. When I went to Ockham, where the school was, I was very much troubled, because everybody and everything was completely new. Somebody came to the school the first night I was there, and I suddenly heard a strange voice saying to someone, "How very black her hair is!" I found afterwards it was one of the Miss Lushingtons from Ockham Park who had been charged by Madame Bodichon to look after me. It was in a very pretty part of Surrey, with many nice commons. I was to be allowed, by arrangement, to go up whenever I wanted to to the house at Ockham Park where Judge Lushington and his sisters lived. Before long one of the girls said to me, "How well you speak English!" I said, "What should I speak?" I had been in England about a month; and she expressed great surprise at my correct speaking of English. This was in 1858. There were extensive playgrounds and gardens to that school; but I do not remember one single girl, except a girl called Harriet Justice, who afterwards taught a small school of Madam Bodichon's in London. If you came late to breakfast, or to prayers, you might be sent to bed, without any meals being given you for a whole day; and they were very fond of a pudding called treacle - a thick bottom, side and top crusts, almost as thick as boards and all the inside full of treacle. The boys and girls delighted in it. I loathed it, but there were always applicants for my share. When the school was walking, we frequently met ladies or gentlemen to whom they considered it proper to make curtsies - a proceeding I could not see the reason of; and the commons were so numerous around Ockham that we constantly came on camps of gypsies, encamped there for a time. -18- Letters were sent from the school to a place called Ripley, some three miles off. Aunt Elizabeth had had me supplied with envelopes, stamped with the French stamps in case I wanted to write to her when letters were not expected. She said she would correct bad spelling, if any, but she wanted me to be free to write just what I thought. I liked going up to Ockham Park, the beautiful trees, the broad smooth stretches of lawn; and in the house there was a small boy about my age with whom I could play games. Once I said indignantly that he was cheating: and a nurse or some attendant said that was not the way to speak to his lordship. I knew nothing about lordship, but knew right well he was not playing straight. However, I went constantly up to the Park: and it was not till long years after that I knew that his lordship was the ward of Judge Lushington and was a grandson of Byron's. He was pointed out to me as far on as the early 70's, walking in Hyde Park, as Lord Wentworth. He was an exceedingly neat, trim, dapper young gentleman. Once I was put to bed one whole day without anything to eat, and I never could make out quite what it was for. But I discovered that a letter written to Aunt Elizabeth had never been sent to her; and then I made use of Aunt Elizabeth's stamped envelopes, wrote my own letter and the first time the school walked as far as Ripley, I dropped the latter into the Ripley post box. At that school I had chilblains on my feet very badly. They wrote to Aunt Ellen in London about the chilblains, and she sent me a large pair of fur-lined boots. Those were my first and last chilblains. But I remember how miserable I was walking with them. Presently there came word from Aunt Elizabeth in answer to my letter posted at Ripley that her small girl was to be sent to join Aunt Ellen in London. Aunt Ellen had really very nice lodgings then. Her sitting-room was the big drawing room of the house;-19- and Uncle Howard had his bedroom in the house, and took most of his meals with Aunt Ellen. Soon Aunt Elizabeth decided I should join her in Oaris, and I was to come over under the care of somebody who ultimately did not do anything expected of him; and the result was I must have a passport secured for me. Charles Francis Adams, who was then U.S. minister, and his chief of Legation, Mr. Morant, were interviewed. Both said it was impossible to give a small child a separate passport. We went many times to the U.S. Ministry, and once Uncle Howard, who was taking me there, said, "Now Kitty, if they say this time that they will give you the passport, you must take off your right-hand glove when they give you the book, to swear." We found that at last I was to have the passport; and I can hear Mr. Adams's deep voice saying, "Little girl, do you understand the nature of an oath?" To which I replied, "Yes, sir - to tell the truth and nothing but the truth." So Mr. Morant offered me the Testament, and they both uttered the oath I was to take, which was simply to say that I had a right to claim the protection of the U.S., and then they inquired my age, etc. I had just passed my 9th birthday,so I said, "I shall be 10 at my next birthday." In those days they did not have to send to Washington to secure the passport: the U.S. Minister granted it himself. We had that passport many years: but I think it must have grown so crumpled and yellow that Aunt Elizabeth threw it away. It would be a curiosity if we could have it now. For, 14 years later, after Aunt Elizabeth's illness, when we decided to go abroad, we went to the U.S.Legation, Aunt Marian looking as if she had committed a crime; and Mr. Morant was still there. He said the elders really did not need new passports, and spread open the old ones with an air. He was told I had no passport. He asked, "Is that young lady the little girl grown up to whom we gave a passport years ago?" -20- Being told I was, he said, "We never did such a thing before or since, and if anything had happened to the child, the U.S.Ministry would never have heard the last of it." Aunt Elizabeth told him that, unless prevented by superior force I should do just as I was told. But he was glad I was safe. He said I really did not need anotherpassport; and we never troubled a U.S.Consul in France, Germany or Switzerland. That is somewhat different from today when they catch U.S.citizens at every turn and demand $10. for a fresh vise of a new passport. I have Aunt Elizabeth's and Aunt Marian's passports in my drawer; and they are so superior to the flabby, insignificant thing they gave me to come over here! Feb. 9, 1930. At that time one had to start at unearthly early hours; and one very dark morning Uncle Howard called us up, and I was taken to Waterloo station. In one pocket of the cape to my pelisse was the passport. In the pocket on the other side were the addresses in Paris and Dieppe where I should have to stop. It was [a] raw and cold. At Waterloo Aunt Ellen spoke to a young French woman who was on her way to Paris and introduced me. It was quite needless and very unwise. The only person to whom I should have been introduced was the guard of the train to New Haven. I travelled Second Class. The Thirds on those days were almost impossible. When we arrived at New Haven I followed the stream aboard the boat. There I sat down on a bench and watched all the preparations for a start. The boats were small, but very sturdy. When we were fairly out of Newhaven harbor, a sailor asked if I would not go below to the cabin. I got up, went to the head of the stairway, and did not like the smell that came up; so I said, "No thank you, I will stay here." He then carefully wrapped me up on the seat, lying down thereon, with tarpaulins. But, despite this, the sea came into my coverings, and when we arrived at Dieppe,-21- I must have looked like a drowned rat, wet from my hood (trimmed with swan's down) to the bottom of my pelisse. Everyone marched off the boat, between a file of soldiers and a rope and a crowd of curious people on the other side. As we neared the Custom House, whither we were all bound, a lady spoke to me and said, "I am Mrs .Hack", of a very good old Sussex Quaker family she was. Aunt Anna knew Mrs. Hack and had asked her to meet me. The Custom House only looked at hand luggage, and soon Mrs. Hack came and carried me off to her flat in Dieppe, where I had to wait some 5 or 6 hours before the train for Paris went on. Mrs. Hack wrote a History of England in 3 vols., very popular at the time, on which many youngsters, including myself, had been brought up. Mrs. Hack had a very nice flat with large rooms. The bonne exclaimed at the sight of the poor wet little girl. She carried off my clothes, I making sure of the passport and addresses; and I was soon dressed in a frock belonging to Mrs. Hack's grand daughter. There was a grandson and a grand-daughter there, and the children were greatly interested to know that I had come from the U.S. and from London all alone. Everyone was very kind to me, and the children and I played various games, including one called jack-straws. When the time for the train drew near, Mrs. Hack carried me to the station, and all my clothing looked as good as new, for the bonne had done it up beautifully. I had enough knowledge of French to thank her for her kindness. The station was very ill lighted in those days; but Madame Hack put me into a Second Class carriage and spoke to the guard to have an eye upon me. Presently the young French woman to whom Aunt Ellen had introduced me at Waterloo came and expressed great gratification at the sight of me, for she thought I was lost. When we were off, I began to look at people, and the only person I fixed my attention on was the young Lieutenant of Zouaves, who inspired me, innocently no doubt, with the greatest terror. I wanted to sleep, but every time my eyes closed, I -22- was compelled to open them to keep an eye on that officer of Zouaves. When we reached Paris, at 2 A. M., the young Frenchwoman disappeared her way. So did the soldier. Everyone cleared out of the station: and after my trunk had been examined by the Customs, there was a great gathering of porters and railway officials to contemplate poor me. I turned up one side of my cloak and showed the address to the station master, saying I wanted a fiacre to go there. Presently a cab came. My trunk was put on top, and poor frightened K.B. got in and we drove away, all the officials contemplating evidently with disapproval the whole proceeding of the black-eyed, black-haired youngster driving alone. I had no love for Paris, having read, small as I was, too much about the Revolution. I expected to be carried off to the Conciergerie; and when the cab suddenly stopped, I thought the hour had come. I looked out, and there was another cab, which had come in the opposite direction, and when I heard a voice say, "Is that you, child?" and it was Aunt Elizabeth, you may guess how relieved I was. Some one had told her of the wrong station, and she had to ride a mile or two to reach the one where I came in, and I was gone: but all the officials at the Chemin de Fer de l'Quest offered her information about that little girl. At that time Aunt Anna had a small flat at 160 rue St. Dominique, Faubourg St. German. When we reached the flat it seemed a heavenly corner. The bonne had made a bright fire in the sitting room, and there was such a beautiful white sheep's fur rug on the floor. I soon had something to eat and was tumbled into a very nice French bed. Aunt Elizabeth had recognized my small trunk on the top of the cab, and stopped the one she was in; and she told me in after years what a perfectly white face I had, made more remarkable, of course, by the fact that my hair was jet black and my eyes ditto.-23- March 9, 1930. The next morning we went out to what is called a Laiterie, just around the corner, where you could get excellent milk, coffee or chocolate, according to your taste, and delicious little French rolls. Aunt Anna was out in the country, but presently we saw her arrive, and she immediately fell foul of my clothing, as provided by Aunt Ellen in London. There was a brick-dust- colored red dress, with pin-point black spots, which she took a marked aversion to. I had not been consulted as to colors or anything. I presume Aunt Ellen thought I could not do any good by being questioned. But I heartily disliked that brick-dustdress, and when one day we came from absence somewhere and found Aunt Anna had burned up that gown, and a green bonnet, also disliked by me, and several of my other garments. She did not think it needful to give Aunt Elizabeth the means of getting me better things; and of course I was a perfectly helpless being. Aunt Elizabeth and I generally took our dinner in one of the innumerable restaurants of the Palais Royale. I much liked filleted soles and marron de la creme. I did not like Paris. My small head was filled with tales of the Revolution; but very soon I was sent to a class of young Americans who were being taught by Miss Faunce MacDaniel; and I went as a boarder. Miss MacDaniel had her mother with her, a very tall, erect old lady, of a very determined disposition. She was one of those people who believed that the millennium was not far off, and that Paris was the best point from which to ascent in her white robes. There were some half dozen American girls, and one or two boys; and the whole was supposed to be a kind of kindergarten. The young Americans were escorted by bonnes every day, to and fro. It was a singular fact that most of them did not really know how to read. I was literally the one who could read understandingly. Old Mrs. MacDaniel was -24- always criticising her daughter Fannie, sometimes it seemed to me with great rudeness; and I, being quick tempered, invariably flew out at her. Several of the American girls who came were, long years afterwards, lost in the wreck of the Schiller, off the coast of Cornwall. One was Bessie Green, whom I rather liked; and there was a Crane, a niece of Aunt Anna's special friend, married to the U.S. minister in Italy. The most interesting person lost in the Schiller wreck was Dr. Susan Dimock, a clever surgeon. When the Cornish sailors picked her up, they said to Dr. George Hoggan, who had gone down to the Scilley islands to see the embalming of all the bodies picked up, that they hoped, when they came to pass away, they might look like Susan Dimock. The last that was seen of Dr. Dimock was her kneeling on the deck of the Schiller, surrounded by the other American girls. We will now jump back to France, please. (Dr. George Hoggan said Dr. Dimock was really wonderfully beautiful when he went to work on the embalming. She looked perfectly serene.) In Paris I attended Miss MacDaniel's, and then Aunt Elizabeth was going to meet the Countess de Noailles, in Nice, hoping to interest her in the working of the Infirmary in New York and various other matters. Aunt Anna gave up her flat in the Rue St. Dominique and went to boarding with a Mrs. Woolley, in a street openingoff the Champs Elysee's, not far from the Arc de Triomphe. Miss Woolley took young English ladies who wished to study French. I remained with Miss MacDaniel, till, near Christmas, Aunt Elizabeth returned from Nice. Then I was allowed to walk down all by myself to see Aunt Elizabeth. I did not like the appearance of French soldiers, who swarmed as sentries, etc. so my course from Miss MacDaniel's to Mrs. Woolley's was a very zigzag one.-25- I kept a very sharp look-out and would on no account have passed a Zouave in a sentry box. I have no doubt the men were innocent enough but I had a perfect terror of them. We had some frightful fogs that autumn in Paris. I have been out with Aunt Elizabeth when we could not see across the street, and we would grope along and feel perfectly delighted when we ran into a gendarme, because he would tell us where we were and help us to go a little way on the right road. That year we had our Christmas dinner at Mrs. Woolley's. The French maid was exceedingly interested in the compounding of the plum pudding, and all the lady boarders lent a hand. In the course of time it was said the pudding was done. We had beef and turkey first. We all went into the kitchen to see the pudding uplifted. But the French cook, supposing that the pudding was done, had cut the string, and the poor pudding escaped into the water; so we had plum soup instead of plum pudding. That French cook was unspeakably astonished to learn that we had really expected to eat that solid mass in the cloth. I had secured a proper blue dress for the time. Aunt Elizabeth allowed me to have a very distinct word as to what color I would have. It was a dark blue, not navy, bright, and called in those days Waterloo blue. Presently Easter came; and Aunt Anna went up to a place called Clamart (?). It was something like that place described in "A Hilltop on the Marne". It was more eastward. There was a mill and various interesting things; and Aunt Anna wrote up her paper correspondence at a great rate; and when she wanted a message given to Madame of the mill, I would trot out in to the kitchen and deliver Mademoiselle's request. I had picked up French very rapidly, so I delivered Aunt Anna's English directions in French to Madame. Aunt Elizabeth, at a railway bookstore, had seen a Tauchnitz book called -26- "Tom Brown's School Days, by an Old Boy". Although not knowing what it was about, she bought it and gave it to me. That was my first acquaintance with Tom Brown. I read it with avidity, and would keep my finger in the place when I went to give a message to Madame, and then carefully read on the way back. I have been told that the Germans, in their advance to besiege Paris in 1870, had destroyed Clamart (?) completely: but I have never been able to find out if this were true. July 20, 1931. We remained in Paris till spring, and then went to London. Aunt Ellen was in London, attending art classes. One was a life class, so-called, and taught and criticized by John Ruskin. Aunt Ellen was in good lodgings, and I went to her there for a time. She had a dog, black and dark tan; he was called an Eskimo dog. Aunt Ellen painted a portrait of Foxey, sitting on the cold stones outside a house door. I remonstrated that it was not a right place to keep a dog sitting on cold stones. One day Foxey was stolen. He did not belong to Aunt Ellen, but to James, a footman at Cousin John Kenyon Blackwell's. He had been borrowed to sit for the portrait. Uncle Howard came to visit Aunt Ellen and was very amusing, and also very teasing to me. After the loss of Foxey, Aunt Ellen moved away to a house at 5 Osnaburgh St. It was kept by a Mr. and Mrs. Martin. He was French, and they had met at the first great Exhibition in 1851, I think it was. There were many sets of rooms, and nearly everybody had a dog. The Martins had two, Nippy a terrier, khiki colored, and a very goodnatured but very heavy spaniel, brown and white, named Rob. Aunt Ellen had two rooms, bed and sitting room. Presently Uncle Howard also came, and had a bed and sitting room on the lower floor. There Uncle Howard read aloud in the evening "The Tale of Two Cities" which was coming out in numbers I think. He lay-27- on his back on a sofa, and read aloud extremely well, to Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Ellen and me. Nippy was very fond of Uncle Howard, who loved to tie his head up in a handkerchief so that you would have thought Nippy could not get out of it; but he wriggled around the room till he got the handkerchief off, and then brought it to Uncle Howard to be tied on again. He loved the fun of it. One day the landlady of Aunt Ellen's old lodgings came and said that she had opened her door and there was Foxey. He would not go with the landlady. He would never go out for a walk with a gentleman, nor with a servant, however kind she might be. He was entirely a lady's dog. The picture of Foxey sitting forlorn on the stones outside the door had been lent to the police to identify him, and the police said the portrait brought him back, for the thieves were afraid to sell him. Foxey was delighted to see Aunt Ellen and settled down quite contented in Osnaburgh St. None of the dogs in the Martin house squabbled; and there were, besides Foxey and the 2 Martin dogs, a dirty white very small terrier named Rattle, who belonged to the drawing-room people. On Saturday Adelaide, the very good-natured maid servant, collected all the dogs, and they went to a back kitchen where an extra fire was made and they sat around and there was plenty of warm water and she washed them all. Nippy didn't like me when he first beheld me, a very seasick little girl, and he barked at me all the way upstairs, but in two days he was my intimate friend and protector. I got no fun out of any of the dogs except Nippy. Once Aunt Ellen was painting Rob, the spaniel. Foxey was in the room and Nippy too. As I was doing sums on my slate, I ran a splinter from the frame under my thumb nail. I walked over to Aunt Ellen and asked her to pull it out. She did; and the next thing I knew I was lying over Nippy's back. I had fainted; and -28- Nippy was shedding tears over me! July 21, 1931. Uncle Howard was with us in that lodging. he had come back after the Indian Mutiny, and met Aunt Elizabeth and myself at Liverpool, arrived from New York; and then we all three went to Chester, and made our way to Conway, in North Wales, where Aunt Elizabeth got rid of much furnt face on shipboard. And then we took a little trip through the Vale of Flanberis. It was supposed to be a six-mile walk, but Uncle Howard declared I must have made it 18 from the runs I took now to one side of the road, now to another, to investigate something; and I wanted to drink so often that he went into a Welsh cottage where they could speak no English, and bought me a tin cup, holding up the cup and giving a shilling for it. That cup was one of the little memorials sent out all over England, at the time of Queen Victoria's marriage. It had her head and Prince Albert's on it. I kept it till near the time when we left Hastings, when somebody evidently stole it. Uncle Howard did not want to go back to India. He hunted Britain over to get some interest in a mine or something, and was always disappointed. When Aunt Elizabeth happened to be in England, she generally stayed with Cousin Kenyon's family, and I remained with Aunt Ellen and attended the school kept by a Miss Bridges near Firzroy Square. I walked to it every morning accompanied by Nippy. Outside the school door was a place to put a torch, the "link" in case of fog. That was very interesting to me. Miss Bridges had some very good school books. One was Magnall's Questions; I wish I could get a copy. It was like an encyclopedia epitomized. They had very good history lessons; and one day the question was asked the school, "Who was the bard of Avon?" There was absolute silence till I ventured to pipe up: "Why, it was-29- William Shakespeare.'" There was an indignant Miss Bridges, who said it was a shame that the question could only be answered by a small American! Nippy was always waiting near school to escort me back to Osnaburgh St. On Sunday Aunt Ellen went to the Temple Church and Sunday afternoons I went to see Aunt Elizabeth in Gloucester Terrace. And one Sunday, walking along and carefully avoiding stepping on any crack in the pavement, I rant into the centre of a large red object. It was a young officer in full uniform. I had seen him at Cousin Kenyoun's and his first question was, "Where is Dr. Emily?" I said, "Oh, she is in New York". He asked when she was coming over. I told him not at all, for she was looking after her practice and new Infirmary. I never knew the young officer's name, but evidently he was an admirer of Aunt Emily's. I had seen him about Cousin Kenyon's drawing-room on Sundays, but I was too small to have any part in the people who were there. Presently - I don't remember just how long it was - Aunt Ellen decided to return to N.Y. As she went to the U.S. I went to Cousin Kenyoun's to be with Aunt Elizabeth; and the part I liked of the household was the kitchen. They had a French cook, a Madame Vernon, and she was willing I should come and watch her doings in preparing meals; and it was a great lesson, her ways were so exact and dainty. She was asked if I was a trouble to her and she said, "No, the little Mademoiselle never touched anything, never asked questions, but she watched everything." She would prepare a lunch, everything as it should be, and convey it to the dining room. The next place I liked was the great front room of the house, really the dining room, but two sides lined with books, and a table at which Cousin Kenyon carried on his writing. I used to move a stepladder along the bookcase and get the -30- book I wanted and sit to read on the ladder. Once I looked up and saw somebody with Cousin Kenyon; so afterwards I asked him if I should go away when I found somebody there, and he said emphatically "No!" I was "not the least trouble." One day the footman, James, put his head in at the door and said, "My Lady Byron, sir, to see the Doctor"; and up jumps Cousin Kenyon and runs out bareheaded to open the door of the brougham, and then give his arm to an old lady in black with very white, smooth hair, whom he escorted upstairs to the drawing room, where was Aunt Elizabeth to meet her. July 22, 1931. They did not use the regular dining room, for that was Cousin Kenyon's library and business place, except when there was a big party. We had our meals in what in an English town-house is usually called the breakfast room. I always sat at table next to Cousin Kenyon. His wife took the foot of the table. One day he saw me carefully examining the spoons and forks, and then he explained that (the crest) was a swan's neck "ducally gorged", -i.e. with a Duke's coronet half way down its neck. There must have been authority for that coat of arms, for every year you have to pay a tax in January on such decorations; and I am sure Cousin Kenyon did not have that without good reason; but I was entirely ignorant of heraldry and its advantages in the social scale; so I never asked him how he had a Duke in the decoration. From things Aunt Anna said in the course of years, I got the strong impression that that decoration came through the Duke of Buckingham. I did not consider that an honor. But I do not now believe that the Duke of Buckingham was the hero through whom we had the coat of arms. (Grandpa Blackwell's father always maintained that we were of very distinguished descent; but Kitty does not recall that he ever mentioned the person from whom we were supposed to get it.) A.S.B-31- I liked Cousin Kenyon's ways. He was verykind to me, giving me free access to his books. I believe that he liked the small child, intensely interested in his books. His lady wife was very fashionable in dress, etc. I felt no admiration for her. She was a great trial to me, for she always wanted to muddle with my long black pigtails. She said they were like hers, and that she would like to have that hair. Her hair was very dark, but not, like mine, really black. Madame Bodichon once said few people had really black hair, but I had, decidedly. That was the artist's judgement. I loathed having my hair touched. In fact, I could frequently have screamed, because it was so trying to me. When we first went to stay with Cousin Kenyon's house- hold, the footman, James, always would fill a glass of wine for me, which of course I never touched, so it was a perquisite for him; but I read somewhere that if you laid your hand lightly over the top of the glass it would not be filled; so James was defeated. They used to have wonderful fish and Welsh mutton sent up to the house - salmon, my dear! - You see, the Welsh mutton is very small, and is considered a great delicacy; and Cousin Kenyon being Chief Inspector of Wine for Great Britain, came in the way of getting all sorts of good provender for his town house. (Cousin Sam was an Ironmaster in Staffordshire.) Madame Blackwell (Kenyon's wife) was very sociable, and had a great many parties. I never saw anything of the parties except on Sunday. Then I stole into the drawing-room and watched the various people; and it must have been on Sunday that that red soldier was there, into whose stomach I had rushed. I always admired the bright scarlet uniform. One evening Madame B. had invited a small girl to come to give an entertainment to her guests: and I was asked to come and encourage the little girl. I sat in Aunt Elizabeth's bed-room, -32- waiting for a summons tothe drawing-room: and though the room was sumptuously furnished there was no light except that of a candle. Gas was a novelty, and there were no good lights even in rich houses. I read and read till some unearthly hour when Aunt Elizabeth appeared, and was aghast to find me up and reading. That is how I strained my eyes, and brought on the very first trouble in them. Some queer tales have been told to me of how my eyes were injured. One was that, during a drive on top of a coach, one Easter, in the Isle of Wight, there came a thunder storm and I was struck by lightning. That was all romance. It was reading at such an hour, by the shockingly bad light of a candle, that did the mischief. When, after endless efforts to find some business opening in England, Uncle Howard, against the grain, decided he must return to India, we parted from him, and he sailed from Southampton. His engineering work and coal- mining (he was a Civil Engineer, and road making and bridges were all in his line) were all in the Western part of India on Mahbuddah (?) river. After that, we spent the Easter of 1859 in the Isle of Wight, where Aunt Anna had taken lodgings at the Niton Bath and Lodging House. Before the house was a little plot of land, ending in steps to the beach. July 23, 1931. Aunt Anna carried on her correspondence with different journals, and Aunt Elizabeth had secured Sampson, Marah, Lowe and Co. to reprint her little book, "The Laws of Life", the series of lectures she delivered in N.Y.; and every morning Aunt Anna worked away at her newspaper correspondence, and thencried out, "The voice of duty, Elizabeth!" That meant that Aunt Anna would correct or improve the different lectures as Aunt Elizabeth read them to her: and I wandered on the beach. And one day I met a beautiful black retriever. We immediately made friends, and he walked with me up and down, or sat by me on the beach, which was stony. There is a cleft in the cliffs-33- called Black Gang Chine, and at the top of that was the real village of Niton. We found that the retriever belonged to a Mrs. Brazier and her daughter, who were staying at Niton village. After the "voice of duty" had been duly attended to,Aunt Anna and Aunt Elizabeth came to visit the beach: and the first time Aunt Anna beheld me sitting on the beach, which my arm around the neck of a big black monster, she screamed. She expected that every dog would bite her, or somebody. Mrs. Brazier was the widow of some big Indian official. I thought her daughter a very pretty young lady. In after years, I remarked to Miss Betham Edwards as to my remembrance of Ellen Brazier as a very pretty young lady. She assented to the prettiness, but said the moral standard was utterly wanting in that young lady. Ellen Brazier became very intimate with Cousin Kenyon's wife and frequently visited them in Paris; and once, on a visit there,Ellen Brazier caught diptheria and died. Then came great excitement on the part of Madame (Kenyon) Blackwell. The Braziers had been given a home for years with Amelia B. Edwards, at her house on Tetbury on Trim(?), and when Ellen B. died in Paris, there came great demands from Madame Blackwell that letters of hers, which Ellen had in charge at Tetbury, should not be opened but someday would be claimed by Madame. These letters were a correspondence carried on with Monsieur Drousart, whom, after Cousin Kenyon's death, she married; and it is clear that Ellen Brazier could not have had a high standard of honor. She was accepting the hospitality of Kenyon Blackwell in Paris, and she at the same time connived at a correspondence he would have very justly objected to. Miss Amelia B. Edwards told us once that she owed some of her very best books to Kenyon Blackwell, whom she regarded as a fine man, and entirely unappreciated by his French wife. At that time were was no railway in the Isle of Wight, so you went -34- everywhere by coach; and it was delightful to ride on top of the coach from Niton to Carisbrooke Castle, and down to the long pier at Ryde. Thence you took the boat to Southampton and train to London. As I had much pain in my eyes, owing to the strain I had undergone, we began to consult doctors in London. But the best medicine was my own discovery of how comforting good salt water was. Aunt Elizabeth was very busy, because many friends begged her to settle in England and they would help in every way. Florence Nightingale was very willing she should settle, and wanted her to superintend some hospital work, but not to have private practice. Aunt Elizabeth very justly thought she ought to use what she worked so hard to get, as a private physician. Florence Nightingale was so enamored of the good nursing idea that I don't think she a bit realized what a valuable person a well-trained woman doctor would be. So the end was that Aunt Elizabeth, in the late autumn of 1859, voyaged back to New York. When we first saw Grandma Blackwell after our return, she said, "Oh, what have you done to that child's bright eyes!" That was the result of the strain in Gloucester Terrace. In New York we began to visit Dr.Delafield, who was considered the great authority on eyes at that time. He was very amiable, but he belonged to the old school in medicine, and believed in harsh measures; and one day, leaving his office we walked along the north side of Union Square, and the pain he had caused was so great that I begged Dr. Elizabeth to drop me under the nearest cart and make an end of me. That settled Dr. Delafield's attendance on my eyes. So Aunt Elizabeth presented him with several letters of Florence Nightingale's, and several of Florence Nightingale's pamphlets on the art of nursing. He would not have taken money from a fellow physician, but he admired Florence Nightingale exceedingly. So we gratefully retired from Dr. Delafield.-35- July 24, 1931. (Salt Water was then the thing we used for a long time; and oh! I liked it cold. Now I want it warm. That is degeneracy, Jock!) (Jock was her little black dog who sat her feet in Cliff Cottage at Chilmark on Martha's Vineyard, while she reminisced with A.S.B.) Aunt Elizabeth rented her 15th St. house to a Mrs. Dame, a birth-right Quaker. She kept boarders, and Aunt Elizabeth reserved the back parlor and extension room, and bedrooms in the attic. The rest of the place Mrs. Dame had. She had for boarders several students from the New York Medical College. They were mostly young Southerners. Uncle George boarded with the Dames for a time, and there was a strong belief that Miss Dame set her cap for him. Before the Dames came, I ought to have said how Aunt Marian kept the house and took in boarders. It was then that, wanting to move an iron bedstead, she got the maid to help her, who did not understand clearly; and suddenly the whole weight of that iron bedstead fell on Aunt Marian's foot, hurting her big toe so badly that she felt it all her life thereafter, till in Hastings the homeopathic doctor said that nail ought to be removed. It was done; and she could walk much better after the new nail began to grow. We had the whole house at the time Uncle George left Cincinnati to come to New York permanently to study law, He arrived one evening when there was a great snowstorm; and I, as usual, followed the maid to the door to see who was coming; and there stood Uncle George with two big saddle bags and a blanket shawl. The shawl I believe still exists at the Great Desert Serpent. He told me later, in England, that when I peeped out behind Augusta, the maid, he thought Aunt Elizabeth had adopted the ugliest little girl in the world! July 25, 1931. It is strange that they cannot find Aunt Elizabeth's house at Montclair. We had a very good hall, and a sofa in it -36- with pillows, and your father (Henry B. Blackwell) often came over from his own house and took a siesta there. From that sofa I took nappies occasionally. Once I was wakened by tugs and pulls, and a conversation between A.S.B and F.B.B (Alice Stone Blackwell and Florence B. Blackwell). One preferred my white hair, and the other the black, and you tugged and pulled till I woke and read you a lecture. That house had so big a verandah. I wonder it did not become noted. How Grandma enjoyed it, especially when there were storms all around the horizon. She would sit and look here and there, and enjoy the spectacle. Once Aunt Elizabeth went over to see the 40 acres of land she had brought at Peterson, in the place called the Notch; and it was so difficult to get there from Montclair, and she gave such an account of it, that Grandma said it reminded her of "Ap Shenkin lived in a great renown High on a mountain dreary He signed not for the sports of town, His heart was always cheery." After that we always called that place Ap Shenkin. On the north of Aunt Elizabeth's Montclair land was the brook that divided her land from Mr. Harrison's; and south of us, immediately below us was Batey's land; we bought the place from Batey, and he still had his house - and his kittens: East of us was Munn, and then your father's place; and behind us 10 acres of beautiful woodland, which belonged to Aunt Elizabeth, with a low cliff at the top of them where black raspberries grew plentifully. That was where I thought I saw a nice gray rock under a tree, and went to sit down on it and it proved to be a great big turtle! Aunt Emily laughed till she was pink in the face. Edith and Grace had been sent to stay with us while Agnes was being born, and they laughed too. Mr.Munn once called Alice's father "a snake in the grass" and I don't know why.-36A- All the furniture and bed linen of that Montclair house Aunt Elizabeth gave to Aunt Ellen when she went to England for good in 1869. The only things she took were the politely called "silver"- (plated), and knives. Aunt Ellen had all that to set up the house in Orange that Uncle George gave her. It was a good setting-up because Aunt Elizabeth got good things. Aug. 6, 1931. The first summer that I remember the Blackwell family coming to Chilmark was in 1866 when they occupied Cliff House, It was furnished by your father who was a burglar of parts. He entered unoccupied houses and helped himself to silver and china etc. and left a note saying "Captain Blackwell has taken such and such things." Most of them were houses whose owners had gone whaling - unmarried men, or those whose wives and children had gone to stay elsewhere. The people never resented it. Some of the things, like those we got from Aunt Jedidah (Stewart) were come by honestly. I wonder what has become of the red and green patchwork quilt that was on my bed. Grandma Blackwell was there, your father and mother, (Henry and Lucy), Aunt Marian, you and Florence, myself and two domestics Captain Ephraim Mayhew had given us a young tortoise shell cat, that liked to catch snakes, and sometimes left one in one of our beds. I arrived on a pitch dark, dark night, In those days vehicles did not have to carry lights. I felt as if we were going into the ocean, there was such a roaring of the waves. There was no gate. We got over a 5-barred fence. The driver got my trunk over it and various packages I had brought for Grandma from New York. One was a dozen of Bass's Pale Ale, and there was real Cheshire cheese, bought at an English cheese mongers in New York., and a box of McKenzie's biscuits. Grandma heard one of the bottles of ale crash as they were brought in: but only one was lost. - 37 - I wonder that I ever got there. I was at Maria Barlow's and I received many contradictory letters, and settled it by going off to N.Y. where I could get all the things Grandma especially wanted. She longed for the things she had had in England, and we got them for her; and very glad they were to see me, for I got everything she wanted. Uncle Sam rather demurred to Bass's Pale Ale, but your father insisted she should have it. He would have got her Burgundy and Sherry and anything she fancied. She was ill, with a carbuncle on her back, and we had neither doctor nor nurse. Aunt Marian managed everything, I came by the New Bedford boat. When I arrived, the man made so much noise that the front door opened and we saw two figures in nightgowns, that scudded away - you and Florence. The two maids were Mary O'Toole and Margaret Diamond from Gay Head, - a tall handsome Irish girl and a tall, handsome Indian girl - both of them very tall and both very fond of decorating themselves with goldenrod and purple asters. Aunt Jedidah Stewart had some very fine china cups, real eggshell china, Chinese china, very fragile: cups without handles, in deep saucers. We did not have them at Cliff House, but later, when we had Aunt Jedidah's house and Aunt Nettie was in charge. I was very indignant when Aunt Nettie made jelly in them. August. At the Cliff House they persuaded your mother to go for a drive with somebody, and your father was to see to the bread being kneaded and to cook the dinner. I sat on the front doorstep shelling peas. He came and asked me if I knew how she cooked her potatoes, putting them into hot or cold water. I did not. So he used half boiling water and half cold. During dinner he asked her about the potatoes. I began to chuckle, and she saw there was a trick of some- 38 - kind. Then he told her; and she did not see the fun of potatoes put into a pot half full of boiling water and half of cold. We had no bell at Cliff House, so your father would stand at the foot of theirs and call: "Alicia B, Come down to Tea!! Florentia B Kitteea B, Come down to Tea!" The little room at the left of the front door was a sort of writing room. The cat took greenish snakes into it, and would drop them under the table in that room. The large room on the other side of the front door was Grandma's room. The cat never tried to eat the snakes. It must have amused him to catch them. But when he left a large brown one in the middle of my bed, I objected. I brought him to the place and showed him the snake, and he understood, and carried it out of the house. Aunt Marian, Grandma and Mary O'Toole went away before the rest of us; and then began a gradual distribution of the borrowed things to the lawful owners. Some things were easy: for the two young Ephraim Mayhew boys had houses nearby, and were absent at sea. Your father gradually restored things. My feather bed and my red and green coverlet belonged to Aunt Jedidah Stewart. Another thing that Capt. Ephraim Mayhew gave to the household was a trout to be kept in the spring to eat up insects etc. It was a snappy trout, and would have bitten humans if it had got the chance; but we only looked down upon it. Your father made wonderful grape jelly to take to N.Y.; and there not being a sufficiency of things to hold the jelly he bought a number of chamber pots at West Tisbury and filled them with jelly. He asked that no one would mention it and when he reached Roseville he would melt it and put it into proper glasses. When we were reduced as to furniture, etc. the rest of our party - 39 - started for New Jersey under your father's guidance. I wore there my gymnastic dress, a blue blouse and a short, full skirt of blue and white check, and blue knickerbockers. They called the blouse a Gariboldi in those days. And we were free to go anywhere and everywhere on the island, having right respect to our neighbors' property. Once when I climbed a five-barred fence, a voice hailed me, saying, "Be you one of Captain Blackwell's gals?". I said I was the eldest of them. We had Aunt Jedidah Stewart's house in 1867 and 1868. (Kitty thinks Aunt Nettie and "her tribe" and A.S.B. had it in 1867; and Florence and Alice used to take slides down the cellar door after dinner, and Kitty dubbed it "the patent digester". I was afraid it would break and let you down into the cellar. A snake had its abode under the lowest step of the cellar.) In 1868 Aunt Ellen was in charge. In that year I had inflammation of the lungs; and you and Florence came, in tears, and Florence said you could not speak but you wished to be forgiven for all your transgressions, because Aunt Elizabeth thought I was going to die; and I could not help laughing, in spite of the soreness of my chest. Aunt Elizabeth was there - the only time she was ever in Chilmark till her visit in 1896. Uncle George was here part of the summer and made a comical sketch of her sitting at the door of Aunt Jedidah's barn, wearing what was called a chemise blouse; - some sort of fine cambric print with a little pattern in black. He was behind her and she did not know he was sketching her portly form. Grandma Blackwell was there. She asked me to make her bed, because the maid would not put her blankets as she wanted them. She wanted the blanket next her to come clear up to her shoulders, the next one a little lower, and the next still lower, so that she could draw them up one by one if she felt cold. The maid thought that was absurd, so after that I made her bed.- 40 - Aug. 16, 1931. A Conservatory of Music was once started in N.Y. and I went there for most excellent singing lessons. The singing teacher declared he had no voice, and could not sing, but he had an admirable ear. He always wore a red shirt, and once I summoned up courage and asked him if he had ever been out with Garibaldi. His face lighted up and his eyes sparkled, and he said yes, and he hoped to be again. That was before Garibaldi marched into Rome, and the French-imposed garrison marched out, because Germany was invading France in the '70's. Oct. 17, 1931. Kitty says that when the Civil War broke out General Winfield Scott, who was Commander-in-Chief, did not approve of women nurses for the soldiers. Dr. Emily Blackwell, and a Mrs. Griffith - sister of Hamilton Fish, who was a member of Lincoln's cabinet - a woman of wealth and influence, very elegantly dressed - went to see Gen. Scott, and persuaded him, with much difficulty, that women could do good service as army nurses. Afterwards a room was opened in Cooper Union where Drs. Elizabeth and Emily Blackwell interviewed candidates. In their absence, Kitty and Miss Dora Howells, (niece of William D. Howells, A.S.B. believe) sometimes kept the office, though of course they could not pass upon the candidates. A rule had been made that no woman under 30 would be accepted; but Kitty says any number of girls who were evidently only about 18 or 20 came and swore they were 30. Nov. 22, 1931. Kitty says Dr. Elizabeth often invited "lady medicals" - women medical students from the London School of Medicine - to come and rest and recuperate at Rock House. When the secretary of the school told her that such or such a student was seriously over-working, the invitation would be given, and they would be told they must come for at least three weeks; one week to get over the journey and get used to a new place, the second to begin to get good from it, and the - 41 - third week to "set" the good. Aunt Elizabeth used to turn them over to Kitty and say, "She understands lady medicals. You must do as she says." Kitty took them to concerts on the pier, and for walks over the hills. They went away cured. Sometimes women doctors who had graduated came for a rest. Some of them asked Kitty if there was any objection to calling them "Doctor" - "A pretty house in which to ask such a question1" Kitty said. Some of them (married) preferred to be called "Mrs." because it was thought a married woman doctor would inspire more confidence - a view that Kitty resented. Lily Rogers called Rock House the "haven of rest". And Miss Pertz, when driven to distraction by the disagreements among Madame de Noailles's 8 servants, she would come to Rock House and say that there at least there would be peace. Miss Pertz was a friend of Mme. de Noailles. Sept. 12, 1932. Kitty says the first and last automobile ride that Aunt Elizabeth ever took was taken in Mr. Gulesian's car, when she visited the U.S. in 1906. Kitty also says that she and Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Marian spent six months in Rome. They lived on the "Street of Four Fountains", just opposite the palace that contains the portrait of Beatrice Cenei. August 1933. Kitty says Aunt Elizabeth had beautiful hands, cool, but not moist; and that she always warmed her hand before touching a patient. In a letter to Francis Titterton, dictated August 20, 1933, she said: "I feel myself very fortunate to have no severe pain. I have always a niggling pain in my temple from the neuralgia, but it is not a piercing pain. A niggling pain is what Grandma Blackwell used to call it when she saw Aunt Marian rubbing her stomach with her fingers after dinner. How courageous it was of her (Grandma Hannah- 41 - Lane Blackwell) to start off on a seven-weeks' voyage, with all those children and another coming! One of the nicest pictures that I have of Grandma Blackwell is of her standing at the window of the Roseville house to watch for Alice's father on his way to the railroad station, and one day she greeted him with the wish "Increasing happiness with revolving years!" It was his 45th birthday and he answered, "Here I am, fair, fat and 40!" About October 4, 1933, Kitty told me that all four of Grandpa Blackwell's sisters accompanied him to the U.S., Mary, Ann, Barbara, and Lucy. Barbara did not go west with the family when they went to Ohio. She stayed in N.Y. and ran a little millinery business. Mary went to Ohio with the family and died there, and she and Grandpa were both of them buried in a cemetery lot belonging to a Mr. Brown. Ann and Lucy returned to England. Ann established a boarding-school for girls, which did not do very well. Lucy married (at 60) a very bigoted Plymouth Brother- He was impossible; but once when he was away Aunt Elizabeth invited Lucy to spend a fortnight with her and Kitty, and took her to all sorts of treats that her husband would have thought sinful; and she thoroughly enjoyed it all, and showed that she had "the Blackwell sense of humour". I think Kitty said she believed Ann really died of slow starvation. September 5, 1936. Towards the end of her life, Kitty said to me, "Did I ever tell you the real reason why my Doctor decided to go back to England and stay there?" (Kitty called Dr. Elizabeth "my Doctor".) It seems there had been some disagreements between Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Emily while they were in charge of the N.Y. Infirmary. Kitty said: "Aunt Marian told Dr. Elizabeth that she had alienated and was alienating Aunt Emily. My Doctor wrote to Madame Bodichon about it and Madame Bodichon urged her to come to England and settle there". I think, to - 42 - hold some good position, but I do not now remember what it was. Her serious illness, after she returned to England, interfered with or rather prevented her from taking the official position. Copy of press clipping from THE VINEYARD GAZETTE June 19, 1936. LOVED THE VINEYARD Miss K. B. Blackwell One of First Off-Island Visitors to Chilmark. The following tribute to the late Miss Katherine Blackwell has been received from Miss Alice Stone Blackwell with whom she made her home for a number of years, accompanying her each year to her summer home in Chilmark. Miss Katherine Barry Blackwell, who lately died at the age of 88, was one of the first off-Island visitors to come to Chilmark; and she always loved Martha's Vineyard. The early women physicians were almost ostracized. Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman in modern times to take a medical degree, was very lonely. In 1854 she took a little orphan girl to bring up. The child proved a treasure - unusually intelligent, very affectionate, and wholly devoted to her adopted mother. She was with the Blackwell family when they occupied the house now known as Windy Gates. As she was carrying up the high cliffs a pail of salt water for use of my invalid grandmother, Mrs. Hannah Lane Blackwell, a stone came rolling down and broke one of the small bones in her foot. But she carried the pail safely to the top of the cliff, and hopped about courageously, not knowing that a bone was broken till after it had healed.- 43 - This must have been almost seventy years ago. She was also with the Blackwell family when they occupied the Willie Mayhew house. She and Dr. Emily Blackwell used to pace up and down the level ground in front of it together, and called it their quarterdeck. She was very fond of children, and all children were attracted to her. To the Blackwell children of my generation she was the dearest of cousins. Spent thirty years in England. Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell went to England in 1869, and finally decided to remain there. Miss Barry Blackwell was with her during the more than thirty years that she spent at Rock House, In Hastings, She was not only a daughter to her, but her accountant, housekeeper, and right-hand woman generally in all her progressive and benevolent work. She was a good pianist, spoke French and Italian and had acquired a thorough knowledge of French cookery. She was an omnivorous reader, and was a perfect encyclopedia of information on a wide variety of subjects. It is to her that we owe that delightful book, "Pioneer Work in Opening the Medical Profession to Women", by Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, now published by E.P. Dutton and Company in New York in the Everyman Series. It was written in consequence of her persistent prodding They spent several summers at Kilmun, Argyleshire, Scotland, and became very fond of the place. Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell was buried there. Miss Barry Blackwell, who had nursed her devotedly during the years when she was fading out of life, continued to make her home at Kilmun. During the World War she was ardent in the cause of the Allies, and she received a medal from the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders in recognition of the practical help that she gave them. She was warmly interested in Kilmun, and made a number of dear friends there. In 1921 she returned to America, and since then she has made her home with me in Boston, spending her summers in Chilmark until she - 44 - became too infirm. The admirable cheerfulness and buoyancy of her temperament upheld her in these last years. Almost blind, very deaf, too lame to walk without difficulty, under her ever-increasing load of infirmities she remained not only cheerful but merry, full of little jokes and poetical quotations. Until her final brief illness, she suffered little severe pain, and she continued really to enjoy life. She was by nature a Lady Bountiful. She loved to give. The white heather, sent to her every year by friends in Scotland, was divided among as many persons as possible. She gave whatever she had that she thought could afford pleasure to others. Until her hearing became too poor, even with artificial aid, she enjoyed regular reading aloud, especially from Scott and Dickens, of whom she never tired. She took a keen interest in the news of the world. She had accompanied Dr. Blackwell in her travels on the continent. After she could hardly see at all she said: "I can sit here and go through all of Switzerland and Italy, and parts of France and through England and Scotland, and look at the scenery." And she wondered what people did who were blind, but had not her resources. Before going to bed, she would stand at the window and watch the lights of the trucks and automobiles, passing, each with two eyes of fire. Then she would bid them good night in Italian, adding some pleasant wish for their drivers. Once she said, "I wish you may all be as contented as I am!" She looked forward with anticipation to entering the next world. She said, "I shall hear, and see, and be useful!" Lived in Memories and Dreams. She lived in her memories and her dreams. The dreams were sometimes beautiful, sometimes amusing, but almost always cheerful. Once she thought she saw Dr. Elizabeth's face smiling at her out of heaven.- 45 - This was a great comfort to her. At another time she dreamed she looked down from our flat in the sixth story and saw assembled in a vacant lot across the road all the "dog friends" that she had ever had. (She had once made out a list of thirty.) She went down and told them she was afraid they would get into trouble because they had no licenses. Her first dog friend, a great big mastiff named Lion, answered, "We are dogs of heaven, and we have come to escort you there." She told them she was not yet ready to go, and they departed. Those whom she had once loved, whether human beings or dogs, she loved to the end. In former years, she used to say she hoped that when she died Dr. Elizabeth would come to meet her, surrounded by a "bevy of beautiful dogs". But of late she had repeatedly expressed the hope that Dr. Elizabeth was getting together in heaven a large number of small children, against her arrival. To be surrounded by little children was her idea of heavenly bliss. She added, "Lion might help to take care of them." To the last she worshipped the memory of her "dear Doctor". Very near the end, she quoted Tennyson's lines: "Oh that 'twere possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love Round me once again!" And she explained that by her true love she meant Dr. Elizabeth. By her own request her ashes, after cremation, were sent to Scotland, to be buried in Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell's grave.