Blackwell Family
Anna Blackwell
"Early Life of the Blackwells"Early Life of the 
Blackwells
letters from Anna Blackwell and 
one from Dr. Elizabeth
[*HBB
Emily
Marie
et al*]Anna Blackwell-to Henry BB-1
Paris. January 27, 1880.

Dear Old Harry:
In jotting down for your edification my reminiscences of the old times before "the flood which washed us off from our native land and set us loose from all our moorings, to say nothing of putting us all more or less in the position of the "rolling stones" that "gather no moss" (or very little!), I naturally begin with St. James's Parade, popularly called Kingsdown, at No. 11 of which I came point into this troubled world a month before I was due, mamma having foolishly fatigued herself, in defiance of prudence, in putting up curtains when she ought to have let all such physical effort alone for the time being.

My remembrance of my birthplace is, of course, due to frequent peepings through the little "judas" in the garden-door, whenever the tiny shutter happened to be open on our passing that very way in our daily rambles, in after years. For, as Marian, following, and improving upon, a bad example, made her appearance, at Counterslip, just two months before the proper time, two years and one month after my escapade, it is evident that our occupation of the rather pretty little red-brick house, at the end of a long narrow garden, in which our parents set up their Penates on marrying, on the 22nd September, 1815, could scarcely have extended to a couple of years.

Our little house was a few doors farther from Mother Pugsley's Field than the larger and handsomer2
house, in the same row, occupied (and, I think owned) by Uncle and Aunt Browne. I fancy, vaguely, that this larger house had a plastered front, painted gray. There was a set of steps leading up from the garden to the drawing-room floor. I only remember two rooms of this house, in which, however, I must have spent a good deal of time, as Aunt Browne was very fond of me, and I was very often there. One of these remembered rooms was one of the pair of drawing-rooms looking upon the garden, and used as the dining-room. I can see a carpet, white ground with red pattern of branches and flowers, a handsome japanned plate-warmer, and a large old folding-screen, which seems to me to have been artistic and handsome.  I see Aunt Browne in a handsome black velvet gown ( a much rarer thing in those days than now) and I have a general recollection of an atmosphere of handsome and hospitable substantiality, a sort of superior sphere, with a faint odour of custards, jellies, fruit, and nice things floating out of a large china pantry at the hither end of the room. I see wine leaves and jessamine that must have covered much of the front of the house and looked in at the windows. They must have lived there many years, until they moved to Bourton (Flax-Bourton it was called in those days); for handsome, affected utterly unprincipled Cousin Elizabeth is distinctly visible to my mind's eye, flirting with Charles Short, with whom she went, I think, the length of an engagement, which she subsequently 


3

broke off, treating the tall fair haired youth very heartlessly, so that he had the folly to break his heart for her, and either killed himself and died of grief, I forget which.  I seem him lounging on a sofa under one of the leaf-fringed windows, with a book in his hand; Cousin Elizabeth [*Cousin Elizabeth=Elizabeth Lane, a daughter of Hannah (Lane) Blackwell's brother William, who was a Dissenting minister. K.B.B.*] sitting by, doing airs & graces; I think he must have been reading to her. Aunt Browne was an Irishwoman, Miss Short; her brother, "Old Dr. Short" as he was called,was eminent in his profession and a remarkable surgeon. He was popularly believed to have take a man's eye out of its socket, cut off something from the back of the eye that was going wrong, & put the eye back into its place, making a perfect cure. He was, of course, our doctor until he died, which I think he must have done shortly after my birth, at which he presided, Aunt Browne being the first person into whose arms the little squalling brat was taken. After him came Dr.Henderson, followed (or partnered) by Dr. Huxtable, of King's Square, who took his practice, our family included. I rather think he was on duty at Marian's arrival, & possibly at that of Elizabeth. At his death we all passed into the medical hands of Mr. Mortimer, of whom I had a perfect horror, as he insisted on cutting a membrane which tied my upper lip to the middle of the gum, & which, if not severed, would have caused a deformity and impeded speech; at least, he said so & gave it a snip with a horrid pair of scissors, after which I lay & howled in the great easy-chair beside mamma's bed, in the Counterslip house, terrified to death at the blood I had to spit out for4
an hour or so. After Mr. Mortimer, who deserted 
Bristol for some other post, we had Mr. Chandler, 
who must have been head cook & bottle washer 
at the birth of all children after curly-pated 
Harry. But to return to Aunt Browne's pleasant  
house, the only other room of which that I can 
remember was a small one, downstairs, called 
"the housekeeper's parlour;" I see a gray carpet, 
an old-fashioned sofa, a high mantelpiece of carved 
wood painted white, with old fashioned white & blue 
china jars & vases upon it; I think a long, narrow, 
horizontal looking-glass; & two splendid 
peacock feathers crossing one another before the 
glass & behind these jars & vases. In a former 
life of mine there must have been peacocks, 
privet & polished oak floors; for, from my 
earliest years, those things have always caused me 
strange sensations, a half-awakening of dormant 
memories & impressions, a sense of their having 
been intimately associated with me in some 
far-off, dreamy, dim life of long ago. The prim, thin 
housekeeper, a pattern of neatness and very kind to 
me, giving me cake & sweetmeats, and letting me see 
the wonderful, mysterious (to me) peacock's feathers, 
was called Sarah; she & a sister were fixtures in the 
family; servants of a race now extinct. When they 
went to Bourton, she & the coachman married, but 
continued to live with them until the downfall 
of poor Uncle Browne's prosperity. They then set up 
a "fly," a better sort of hackney-carriage, in the little 
street, Orange St., which runs parallel to Wilson St., 
at the bottom of our garden. Of course, we should no 

5
more have dreamed of having any other fly than 
theirs than of flying; it is curious to me to look 
back on the persistence & strength of the social ties, 
even the most subordinate ones, in those days. 
Relatives, old friends, old acquaintances, old servants,
& dependents, the old creatures to whom alms & help 
were always given as a matter of course, old ways, 
places, & habits, all were taken for granted & held on to 
as a matter of course. Sarah's sister also married
someone in Uncle Browne's employ, and these "old servants," 
after their downfall, established themselves on 
the floor above the modest chambers in which they 
(Aunt & Uncle B.) had established themselves, above 
the goldsmith's shop, in front of the Exchange, & 
served them devotedly until Aunt Browne died and 
poor Uncle Browne divided himself between our 
house & some other, I forget whose ( I now remember 
that he took lodgings in Northumberland St.) until 
we took all the interest out of his life, as out of 
that and so many others, by crossing the Atlantic.
I think all the Kingsdown houses 
on our side looked out, behind, directly on the fields  
leading to Redland. There were still the remains of 
extensive walls, formerly an Abbey, I think, that 
looked picturesque; a sort of ruined archway spanned 
the path where it turned down the slope  under the 
magnificent double row of elms leading down to Redland 
Court, with the noble old fir-tree to the right, which 
is now little more than a blackened stump. 
How lovely all those fields were in those days! 
Mother Pugsley's Field had been immemorially the 
racing-ground of schools & scattered groups of 
children, who were always there by scores on6
Saturday afternoons & on Thursdays also, two 
half-holidays; scampering over the grass, flying 
kites, trundling hoops, running races, playing ball, 
& so on; consequently, the great green expanse, 
sloping down to the Gloucester Road & the beautiful 
open country beyond (now densely built over), 
never got up more than an occasional scrubby 
daisy. But the fields out Redland-way were 
enamelled with wildflowers of all kinds; the 
lanes & hedges were alive with flowers & birds 
& blackberries; - a beautiful region, redolent of 
perfume, & lively with the songs of blackbirds & 
thrushes.  As we were always turned out for a 
walk, twice a day, no matter what the weather, 
& as we usually went towards Redland, or took 
the Horfield, Gloucester, or Wellington Road, getting out 
to the fields of that side of the town, to Ashly Barn, 
to "the Brook," or to the neighborhood of the Duke of 
Beaufort's Woods, I remember those lovely fields 
more vividly than many other of the scenes of 
our childhood.  When we were at Counterslip, we 
used to go to "Sea banks," or down Redcliffe or Temple 
Streets to Brislington (Brusselton it was called 
then); but during the Wilson & Nelson St. periods 
we never went in those directions, much too far 
off & across the dirty parts of the town.  We went 
sometimes to Brandon Hill, then very wild & 
lonely; to the Hotwells, to Durdham & Clifton Downs, 
then without a house upon them.  But those were 
the exceptions, the excursion-days, when a whole 
afternoon was given up to walking, & mamma, 
aunts, Cousin Elizabeth, or anybody who happened 

7
to be visiting us, were of the party, & at least a couple 
of nurse maids for the little ones, who were always
 lugged along, & had to be frequently carried.  Then we 
usually had baskets of prog, or bought cakes, milk, 
ginger beer etc. on the way.  Papa went with us on the 
rare occasions when he took a holiday, & he greatly 
enjoyed these rambles.  A favourite one was to Redland 
Court, & then one of the two roads that branch out 
from that charming spot; the road to the right, 
leading to Durdham Down past the old Chapel, 
being bordered with hedges that were wonderful 
for the mass of violets to be found there.  How 
we used to load ourselves with flowers! and if 
we could get into a hay-field, & toss up the hay 
with our little wooden hay-rakes (of which we 
each had one, of appropriate sizes), how delighted 
we were! and if either found a rare flower, how 
desperately the others ransacked every bank & hedge 
to find the same, or some other novelty!  Especially 
in the Spring, when the may, the dog-roses, lilac, 
laburnums, & gueldre-roses, were in full flower, 
we used to come back laden with blossoms. 
I cannot remember any meal 
at Uncle Browne's, though I must have often 
dined there; but I know that it was a most 
liberally hospitable house, & my feeling is that it 
was altogether the pleasantest dwelling with 
which my childhood had anything to do.
A few doors off was the house of 
"old Mr. Lowell," for half a century the minister 
of Bridge St. Chapel.  The two families were extremely 
intimate.  Aunt Sarah (Grandma Blackwell's sister), very pretty & charming,8
was often at Uncle Browne's; whether, like mamma, 
she lived with them after the death of Grandmamma 
Lane, or was only an occasional guest, I never 
heard.  She died, I think, before mamma's marriage.  
She was very intimate with the Lowell family, 
and married the eldest son, who was an importer 
of foreign fruit in London.  The younger son, Joseph, 
was an importer of foreign books, in London.  
He married a very pretty, elegant Portuguese lady, &
brought her to Bristol, where we had them to 
dinner in the Nelson St. house.  She was covered 
with rich lace and jewels; we greatly admired her, 
but were rather awe struck at her elegance & the 
easy and fashionable air that contrasted so curiously 
with the "commonness" of most of the people 
we used to see, because they went to Bridge St. 
Chapel or some conventicle of even less social 
culture.  There were sisters, but I don't remember 
them.  I think that the father of Lowell, the 
American poet, who was a Bristol man, must 
have been another son of "old Mr. Lowell."
On the opposite side of Kingsdown, 
very near the favourite field, was Mr. Howells's 
Boarding school for boys; I can see the large brass 
plate on the door.  The Howells family were always 
very intimate at our house; to my great disgust, 
as I abhorred the whole lot.  They used to say, "Mr. B.", 
"Mrs. B.", and were responded to as "Mr. H." "Mrs H." 
which I instinctively detested as "vulgar."  After 
Mrs. Howell's death, the school was removed to 
the other side of Cotham, in the direction of Tyndall's 
Park, and Mr. Howells was always getting into 

9
scrapes with some lady or other whom he was to 
marry, but did not.  There was a charming Miss 
Somebody, a Moravian, who looked like a flower &
always wore snowboots, who was governess & deputy
mamma after the death of "Mrs. H."  Mamma desperately 
wanted her to be our governess; "Mr. H." desperately 
wanted to marry her.  But Moravians always 
marry by lot; basing the custom on the proverb 
of Solomon, "The lot is cast into the lap, but the 
disposing of it is of the Lord."  So, at the annual 
lot drawing, she drew a missionary, married him, 
and went with him to some Cannibal Island, 
(I think New Zealand) and, with her husband, was 
cooked and eaten a few days after getting there, to the 
great regret of all who had known her.  (I have 
since recalled her name, Miss Stronach).
Down the steep streets leading up to 
Kingsdown lived Aunt Browne's brother, "old Dr. 
Short," in Dighton St., just out of King's Square.  
I have no remembrance of him, and very little of 
"old Dr. Huxtable," who lived in King's Square.  Mrs. 
Short, his widow, much respected, continued to 
live in the same house until we left Bristol.  She 
was very tall and straight and the very stiffest & primmest 
person I ever beheld.  Her face was as white as a 
candle, with a most enormous projecting nose, 
of the same colour.  She always wore the same 
hideous widow's weeds, with the unspeakably 
frightful widow's white muslin cap of that age, &
a muslin collar and cuffs to match.  In the china-
pantry, opening out of the back parlour, she always 
kept, through the summer, along with nice home-10
made cake, a great stone jar with a "cooling drink," 
composed of cream-of-tartar, sugar, and a little lemon 
juice; she regarded this "drink" as a panacea for 
all troubles in summer, and was generous in dispensing 
it, together with the cake.  Whenever I 
went there, to see her and her daughter Honoria, 
who went at one time to poor Aunt Ann's 
miserable "Young Ladies' Boarding and Day School," 
No. 11 Duke St. (the next street on the hill, above 
Dighton St.)  I always drank a glass of it, and had some 
cake, with great satisfaction.  The prim old woman 
was fond of me, and often kept me to dinner, 
unbending with the lively little girl as with few 
others.  She had 5 sons; Francis, a lawyer of 
high standing, who had married a dashing widow 
with one very beautiful daughter by her first husband; 
of this daughter, Philippa Sydney, they were 
extremely proud; Richard, who married Miss 
Henderson, an orphan heiress, and died soon afterwards; 
Alfred, who thought himself very handsome, 
affected to be a fine gentleman, and was assistant 
and small partner in Uncle Brown's flourishing 
Goldsmith and Jeweller business, in which the 
dear old man made "a plum," (£100,000), which 
he lost in the bank he was unwisely persuaded into 
setting up, by his unprincipled nephew, brother of 
Sam Browne, of Cincinnati memory.  We children 
were afraid of Alfred Short, with his airs of an 
exquisite; but he was kind to us, setting musical 
boxes going for our delectation, in a small "boudoir," 
full of specially exquisite things, novelties for 
sale, at the end of the L-shaped upper show room,

11
to which you ascended by a few broad, richly carpeted
 steps, from the smaller room below.  There was a 
large and very fine oil painting of a grand old Cathedral 
or Abbey-Church in the foreground, a lovely stretch of 
fields and woods in the middle distance, and a little 
village church far away in the remote background.  
The grand old Cathedral Church had a clock with 
fine chimes, that played various airs before the 
hours; those before 12 o'clock being the longest &
 finest; after which, the clock in the church tower 
tolled out the hour in deep, rich tones that used to 
make me shiver with a sense of the wonderful 
unknown about us.  Then you waited silent, to 
catch the sounds of the striking of the clock in the 
tower of the little village church across the fields; I 
can feel my heart beating as I listened for the 
sweet little faint sounds of the clock of the village 
church, that seemed to float, like an echo, across the 
pleasant fields, just as many moments afterwards as 
the sound would have taken to travel across the 
distance in reality.  There were other pictures with 
clocks, but this was the finest, and was sold for 
several thousands of pounds to some nobleman.  
Musical boxes were a novelty; and I always pestered 
mamma to take me in to hear them, and, above all, 
the great clock picture, whenever we passed near 
Uncle Browne's.  The shop, as I remember it, must 
have been very handsome; richly carpetted from
 end to end, with splendid displays of gold & silver 
plate, pearls, diamonds, coral etc.  I was never tired 
of gazing down into the glazed cases, upon the rings 
and trinkets; trying to imagine the fine drawing rooms12
and fine ladies, in which, and by whom, these 
beautiful things were to be sported, & scornfully 
contrasting them, in my fancy, with the realities 
and real people about me, the absolute commonplaceness 
of our four aunts and of Uncle James, 
and the affectation of the same by Grandpapa Blackwell.  
The utter contempt and disgust I felt for all 
our relatives on the "B" side of the house, with 
the sole exception of Aunt Mary, and this from my 
earliest consciousness, was like a ball and chain 
at my heels, all through my childhood.  Aunt Mary 
always looked and seemed "a lady;" the others, just 
the reverse.  She conversed agreeably, & never 
seemed to disappear into nothingness in the 
presence of visitors, as did the other aunts.  As 
for Uncle James, who was short, looked like a 
clerk, talked and laughed noisily, ate great chunks 
of butter with his bread and talked of "junkets," I 
disliked him particularly, though he was kind to 
me in manner, and more than once took my part 
in the systematic persecution I underwent in the 
miserable years in which Aunt Barbara, as our 
governess, tyrannized over and tormented the whole 
household, with the exception of Marian&  curly-pated 
Harry, whose hair she curled every morning with 
water and a tail-comb, so that the little fellow, her 
pet, was the admiration of all who passed him 
when out for a walk; ladies constantly stopping his 
nurse, petting him, and telling him he was "a beauty;" 
all of which, when reported to mamma, used to 
draw from her the philosophic remark: "Yes, mamma's 
babies are always pretty; but unfortunately, they

13
are like pigs' babies, that grow uglier every day!" 
which was intended to take down any disposition to 
vanity that might be developed in our elder minds. 
"The pretty baby makes the ugliest person!" was a 
remark she often used to let drop in our hearing, 
to the same end.
Aunt Browne was always dressed in 
black velvet, with lace; she was ugly, & her head 
shook from side to side. She was a thorough 
Irishwoman, "a warm friend & a bitter enemy;" 
tall, large, rather "loud", & fond of making little 
jokes; innocent enough, but somewhat vulgar; 
saying "Moll Collins" for melancholy, & so on. 
I sometimes ventured on an echo of her jokes, but 
got into trouble by so doing, & contented myself 
thenceforth with laughing over them privately. The 
wives of our two maternal uncles, who prided 
themselves on their gentility, had her in horror, & 
quite overlooked her goodness & kindness in their 
contempt for what they considered to be her "ill 
breeding."
Uncle Browne was a very gentlemanly 
man; he was one of the last in Bristol 
to give up the pig-tail, & wore breeches, black 
silk stockings, & silver buckled shoes, almost 
until Aunt Browne's death. After their downfall, 
she spent her whole time darning his silk stockings. 
I think it was Mr Leifchild's leaving off 
breeches & taking to trousers that decided him, at 
last, to do likewise, to my regret, as I admired 
his appearance. He had exactly the astonishingly
high arched eye browns of Henry VIII; & wore gold14
spectacles, as did Aunt Browne.  Grandpapa Blackwell 
wore breeches to the last, with bluish- gray 
worsted stockings, and ugly, common shoes with 
only black buckles or shoe-strings; he affected 
to dress like a common carpenter, carpentering 
being his passion, and mamma, to humour 
him, always buying any furniture he made.  
We children were always ashamed of his dirty 
appearance, covered with bits of shavings, his 
white hair full of dust, and his vulgar corduroy 
breeches; but we were excessively shocked &
 grieved when he upset a pot of boiling lead 
over his legs, and the despised woollen stockings, 
in being got off, took all the skin off his legs 
with it.  He wore his hair short and brushed up 
all round; Uncle Browne wore his, which was 
but slightly grey, brushed back, just as mamma 
used to brush back hers.
Uncle Browne had eight sons, 
and every one died of convulsions in teething.  
Then they had a daughter, Eliza (Mrs. Goddard) 
whose life was saved by the application of 
slices of the root of the white peony, bound 
on to the soles of the feet, like a plaister, or 
poultice, the moment the dreaded convulsions 
came on.  It was a new remedy, & they had 
white peonies planted in the Kingsdown garden, 
so as to have them ready, and juicy, when needed.  
I have no remembrance of Eliza Goddard 
in that house; she was married, &
settled in a house on St. Michael's Hill,
 before I was born.  My first distinct remembrance 

15
of her is of a morning call she made when we were at Counterslip.  I see her coming into the upstairs parlour that was called the drawingroom, in a handsome crimson velvet dress, with bonnet to match, with a long feather, and handsome accompaniments; she sits talking with mamma, and the two gossip on, taking chocolate and rich cake, such as it was then the universal custom to hand to visitors on a tray.  She was remarkably fair, with flaxen hair, blue eyes, and lips the colour of coral; clever, ingenious, very good, very devoted, worshipping her husband, who was her cousin (but whether on father's or mother's side, I never knew), Ensign Goddard, a tall, high boned, long-whiskered, red-haired man, with a reddish face, loud voice, long, high Roman nose, and swaggering manner; we detested him, and he used to frighten us out of our wits, in the Wilson St. house, when he came, in his vast roquelaure cloak, with a red lining (we called it a "rocky low"), to escort her home, when she stayed to dine with us, as she often did, after giving a music lesson to Marian and me, after Uncle Browne's misfortune.  He had to pass through St. James's Churchyard and the Barton, to reach our house; and he invented the most frightful stories of the ghosts and devils he had seen in the Churchyard and flying over the church steeple; we did not exactly believe him, but it curdled our blood, and made us dreadfully afraid to go to bed.
Uncle Browne's elder brother, William, was a little, pale, shrunken, withered, and semi-idiotic16
creature, whose wife, much younger than himself, 
was devoted to him, her second husband.  There 
was a standing feud between "Aunt William Browne" 
and "Aunt Browne;" it grew, I believe, out of the fact 
that, when this brother failed as a bookseller, 
Uncle Browne pledged himself to give him enough 
to live upon, and this, when he had lost everything, 
was a heavy burthen to them, and kept Aunt Browne 
in a chronic irritation.  Aunt William Browne 
was a pleasant, lively, lady-like little body, somewhat 
prim and "old-fashioned;" she dined at the
Wilson St. house regularly once a fortnight; she 
brought with her a neat lunch-basket, & when 
we sat down to dinner, the old man's meal 
was generously and carefully stowed in this basket, 
and sent to him by one of the maids.  I see the 
prim little woman, profuse of thanks, suggesting 
"a little salt," or a "little more sauce," or perhaps 
"a little more fat," or not quite so much of this, or 
a trifle of that; and when her husband's dinner 
was placed to her mind and the servant started on 
her errand, our dinner went on.  I can hear 
scraps of the talk, Charles X's flight, & the comments 
thereon, Aunt W. B. being a staunch Tory, groaning 
over "Poor Polinac!" (the g omitted) and Papa, a Liberal 
Whig, indignantly declaring the whole lot to have 
only had what they deserved and less than their demerits.  
Or Queen Caroline's wrongs came in for consideration 
and pity, the King being universally blamed for 
his infamous treatment of his wife.  When Lieut. 
Goddard (he left the army on getting that rank, 
went on half pay, and lived on the allowance made

17
 him by Uncle Browne) was one of the party, as he was 
a bigoted Tory, he loudly proclaimed the most slavish 
sentiments, declared that nothing could justify a people's 
rising against the Sovereign, whose right was 
from God and not from men, and that, "as a King could 
do no wrong, and was the fountain of honour, & so on, 
he, for his part, should feel honoured by the King's 
spitting on him," etc.  As we were all Whig's, & stood 
up for Oliver Cromwell, William and Mary, & the 
French Revolution, knowing precious little about 
these people and events, but believing them to have been 
for the popular benefit, we detested this noisy votary 
of loyalty, who made hideous faces to add to the
 horror of his ghost stories.
When Aunt W. B. did not dine 
with us, dinner was sent to her lodgings (I think 
in Queen Square) by Aunt Browne, excepting on market 
days, when she marketted for the "W. B.'s" as 
well as for herself, sending the provisions to "Mrs. 
William," who, she said, "was never satisfied & always 
found fault with what was sent to her."  
Aunt W. B. was an exquisite cutter-out of landscapes 
in fine shiny black paper, when she always brought 
in her reticule, with fine, sharp-pointed scissors; 
&, after dinner, she always cut out pictures for us 
all through the evening.  There were really little works 
of art; I am sorry we lost them, for they were well 
worth keeping.  One or other of the Blackwell aunts 
frequently came in of an evening; but only Aunt 
Mary ever came out of her shell sufficiently to join 
in the conversation.
To go back to the Shorts.  Next to lobster-18
faced Alfred (I always thought of that fish when 
I saw him) came Caesar, short, stumpy, pious, 
with a sleek, shiny, fair face, shiny yellow-hair, 
short sight and gold spectacles; a member of Bridge 
St., and great in "Sunday School work," prayer meetings 
(at which "Brother Short" was frequently called 
upon "to address the Throne of Grace"), & religious 
doings in general.  I think he was a clerk in 
some house; I abhorred him.  The youngest son 
was Charles, reading for the law, I think in his 
brother Francis's office; a fine, clever, excellent 
young fellow, feeling his way as a speaker, & probably 
ambitious.  Elizabeth Lane's behaviour to him 
was heartless in the extreme.  Francis Short always 
acted for Papa, if he had any legal work to be done.  
I remember, in the Counterslip days, the horror 
awakened by the fact that dashing "Mrs. Francis" 
had issued carols for a ball in honour of the 
"coming out" of the beautiful Philippa Sydney, three 
weeks before date.  All Bridge St. (to which they 
did not belong, having gone over to the Church as
 more genteel) considered this length of invitation
 to be such a presumptuous pretension to be 
above any dependence on Providential overruling 
that no words could express the indignant 
disapproval roused by the deed; so that, when the 
fair Philippa fell ill, died, and was buried just 
before the night fixed for the party, everybody 
considered her decease to have resulted from the 
anger of Heaven at the guilty presumption of "the 
Francis Shorts."  Honoria Short was Elizabeth 
Lane's age, had a trick of making grimaces, & was

19
 a worthless sort of creature, but very kind to me, 
whom she looked on as belonging to a younger 
generation.  What a figure Mrs. Short used to cut, as 
she sailed in to Chapel in those hideous "weeds!"  Papa 
used to say to Mamma, whenever she had been visible 
in our vicinity, "Remember, my dear, if you 
should become a widow, that if you should dare to
 insult my memory by putting on such horrid things, 
I shall come and shake your bed-curtains every night 
of your life!"
Grandpapa Blackwell was of middle 
height; a handsome face, well-cut features, grayish 
blue eyes; snowy hair; he took the best rooms of 
the house wherever he was, for carpentering.  
He was excessively bitter, with Radical tendencies, 
but very proud, an utter tyrant to his family, letting 
them struggle up as they could.  I don't think he ever 
paid a day's schooling for any one of them.  I have 
often wondered how they ever learned to read.  He 
looked on wives as slaves, and on the paternal relation as 
giving the father an absolute and exclusive right over 
the child; his children were his creatures, his 
chattels, bound to obey him in all things, to 
work for him, but no having the shadow of a 
right to any consideration on his part.  His talents 
were such as should have placed him in a high 
and independent position; his atrocious, cantankerous 
temper, his enormous pride, only half hidden by 
his assumption of the humblest exterior, made 
him quarrel with everybody, so that he never could 
retain any of the posts or employments which 
Mamma was always getting hold of for him, but20
quarrelled with everybody, and was a dead weight on 
Papa's pocket, as were the 4 aunts and Uncle James.  
Uncle Blackwell living in Worcester, and one of the 
stingiest and least giving of mortals, took good care 
to leave this heavy burden on poor Papa's shoulders; 
I think I remember his giving a gown, once, to 
Grandmamma, and also a shawl; but I don't believe
 he ever gave them anything else.  He had a linen-
draper's shop in Worcester; and used to bring us little 
packets of patterns, which we delightedly made 
up into patchwork.  He never dreamed of giving 
us anything else, although he always stayed at 
our house whenever he came to Bristol; we 
disliked him for his stinginess, his pipe, & his 
snuff; it was only the little bundles of patterns 
(of chintzes and printed cottons) that induced us to 
tolerate him.  As Kenyon and Sam grew up, he put
 them into shops, to learn the business.  I forget 
where Kenyon was put; Sam was put with a 
wealthy grocer, a relative of Aunt Blackwell's, 
Mr. Evans, whom he was very fond of; but 
both the boys despised shop-work, and loudly proclaimed
 their determination to get into some 
higher stratum of employment.  Just then, Uncle 
Blackwell fell in with an enterprising man 
who had invented a machine for making net; 
he sold off his linendraper's business, went into 
partnership with the inventor, and they set up 
a manufactory of net and machine-lace in Nottingham, 
and made a handsome fortune.  It was thus that 
Nottingham became the pioneer (it is still the 
great centre) of the net and machine-lace-making

21
trade.  In an evil hour, Uncle B., over-persuaded by his 
ambitious sons, retired from his lucrative lace-factory,
 and set up as iron-master, in the Black District; he 
prospered for some years, with a partner, and was supposed 
to have made a very large fortune; there came 
"hard times" and depression and he lost all he had made 
and his courage to boot, and sank into a mere dependent 
on his sons, who had managed to get hold of the 
Russell's Hall Ironworks, in Dudley, & prospered finely 
for several years. (But all this was after we had 
left England.)
Grandmamma Blackwell was Elizabeth 
Stokes, or Gay, or Powell; I cannot remember 
which, for she had relatives of all those names.  
There was, in Worcester, an old "Uncle James [Powell] Stokes," 
our great uncle, and an Aunt Powell, his widowed 
sister; or rather, it must have been "Uncle James 
Stokes," so that I think Grandmamma must have 
been a Miss Stokes.  In fact, on thinking it over, she 
must have been a Stokes.  "Uncle James Stokes," very 
old when I saw him, in 1832, was very small; 
not a tooth in his head; a few long gray hairs; but 
the kindest, liveliest, merriest old fellow alive.  
His passion was hops; his insanity, a fixed belief
 that he would ultimately make a large fortune by 
speculating in hops, though he was perpetually 
losing by the small investments which were all 
he could make, he having really made, in former 
days, one or two large fortunes thus, only to lose 
them the next hop-season.  Samples of hops were 
then spoken of as "pockets;" and you could not be in 
his company a minute, without his pulling [out] a22
little canvas bag out of his trouser pocket, & calling 
on you to see & admire this "pocket of hops."  I 
never remember him in Bristol, I only saw 
him in Worcester.  Aunt Powell, however,
 came occasionally; I think she must have 
been a nice-looking, kindly old lady; she was
 tall & straight, & well-dressed.  The two must
 have had a small income, which they clubbed 
together; I fancy they lived in lodgings on Rainbow
 Hill, Worcester.  Grandmamma Blackwell 
must have been very lovely as a girl; very small; 
I only remember her much bent, with thin 
gray hair; a most extraordinary gait, a sort of 
peculiarly heavy stump, owing to her feet being 
utterly deformed by bunions, which made it 
very difficult & painful for her to walk.  She was 
very pretty to the last; I remember, one day, as 
we went up Stokes' Croft, just as we came to
 the Almshouse, we met her coming into the
 town.  I can't imagine where she could have
 been going, for she visited no one, being always 
the domestic slave & drudge of her husband; we 
all ran up to her, & I kissed her, exclaiming, 
"Oh, Grandmamma, how pretty you are!"  She had 
on a light-coloured gown, chintz or perhaps silk, 
with a pattern; a straw bonnet with white satin
 riband; & a handsome pale fawn-coloured shawl 
that papa had given her.  She laughed & said "Nonsense!" 
but she knew, no doubt, that she did 
look very pretty.  She was very kind, very gentle, 
always working as a servant or gardening, which 
was her passion, & the plants seemed to love her, 

23
for everything she touched prospered.  I don't think she
 had an atom of mind; she could read, & count, but 
I never heard of her writing, or putting forth an 
opinion on any subject beyond house-work & meals.  
Aunt Mary lived with them for some years; then 
Aunt Lucy; & they helped in the house.  I never remember
 their having a servant, except occasionally; 
grandpapa would have rendered the place too hot for
 any girl to stay with them.  He had so completely 
crushed all life out of his wife that she would 
never had dreamed of having a will or a thought 
of her own; but no long before her death, she was
 staying at Olveston, & slept with me, as we were short 
on room; & the dear old soul used to tell me confidentially 
how she hated him for his tyranny, how 
careful girls ought to be before they listened to the
 flatteries of a man, seeing that all that ceased
 when they'd got a woman to marry them, & then 
the poor girl found what a dreadful master marriage 
had given her, what a slave she was, & what
 a world of care & labour & worry she had got into; 
adding that those were wise who did not marry, 
& that if it were to do over again, most certainly 
she would not marry "Grandpapa."  Papa was very 
fond of her; had she not died just when she did, 
we should never have left England.  They very 
often dined with us; the presence of Grandpapa being 
always felt to be a trial, which we were obliged to 
put up with for Grandmamma's sake.  After dinner, 
the handsome silver stand, with gin, whisky, & 
brandy in cut-glass decanters, & sugar-basin to
 match, was always placed on the table, with hot24
water, tumblers, & spoons; & a glass-ful prepared for 
each of the two.  I think Grandpapa used to take
 whisky & water; Grandmamma, gin & water.  Conversation 
usually languished on these occasions; 
mamma would do her best, feeding them plentifully, 
giving them the best seats by the fire, & 
making cheery remarks to the best of her ability.  
Poor Grandmamma had nothing whatever to 
say, unless we children plied her with questions 
about her flowers, or made her promise to make
 for us the little cakes (a sort of minute roll of 
pie-crust) of which we were never tired, tho' 
Mamma did not like our eating "the little unwholesome 
things."  If Grandpapa opened his lips, it 
was always to say something or other which he
 judged would be disagreeable to Papa; snarling at 
Mr. Leifchild's last sermon, or running foul of 
something which he knew his son to approve of. 
 Papa must have had to exercise immense 
self-control not to have come out upon him; 
there would be something of a retort, now & then, 
but very rarely, & never very severe.  But the incessant 
stroking & scratching of his son's back the 
wrong way, in which Grandpapa delighted, was 
undoubtedly one of the causes which decided Papa 
to quit England.  All his children were afraid of 
him; I have heard several of them say that he 
never said a kind or affectionate word to either of
 them in his life, never dreamed of kissing or caressing 
them when little, or of doing anything 
whatever for them as they grew up.  But he was, in
 his way, kind to his grandchildren; it would not 

25
have seemed "kind" on the part of anyone else; but, 
from him, his not plaguing us, & making us an 
occasional scoop or chest of drawers for dolls, were
 wonderful manifestations of kindness.  Sam & Kenyon
 (we saw much more of Sam, & so always 
spoke of them so), were as fond of scoops as we were, 
& equally delighted when he consented to make one 
for them.  The scoop was the knuckle-bone of a leg 
of mutton, which he cut into shape, about 3 inches 
& a half long, smoothly polished, for eating apples. 
 You insert the scoop into the apple & turn it round 
& round, & it comes out full of apple in a state of 
pulp, greatly enhancing the flavour & delicacy of 
the fruit.  Two doll's chests of drawers, mine & Marian's, 
went down from child to child; beautifully 
made, in mahogany; none were made for the 
others.  It was he who made our dining-table, 
with a lot of leaves; also the pretty child's chair 
used by us all, one after the other, solid mahogany 
& horsehair seat, with a bar underneath, which was
 fastened with a brass screw upon a large 
square stool, when its little occupant had to be
 perched up to a level with the table, at meal-times; 
& unscrewed again when the chair was to be used 
down on the ground.  I can see curly-pated Harry, 
bursting with dinner, at the corner of the table at 
Papa's left hand, pushing with his little hands 
against the table, & with his little feet against the 
chair, trying to push himself back from the table, 
& ejaculating, with a sort of stuffy sigh, "Had enough! 
had enough!"  Much of our furniture was made by 
Grandpapa, who was never happy except when26
carpentering; he used nothing but solid mahogany, 
or oak; no veneer, no shams, for him!  And it was 
all beautifully made; every part of a table was as 
smooth-fitting as though the whole had grown 
together into form; the drawers worked in & out
like a charm.  To please him, mamma bought
 everything he made that could possibly be turned
 to use.  The supper tray and tray stand, the knife box, 
clothes horses, & lots of things, were made by him.  
When I began to take music lessons, he began to 
make an organ, & declared that whichever of his 
grandchildren, girl or boy, should be first able to 
play on it should have it.  It ought therefore to 
have been mine, & I regarded it as my property; 
but though it was built & nearly completed years
 before we left, it remained in an unfinished state, 
& it was only after our exodus that he, at last, 
finished it, & sold it to some church or chapel. 
All his grandchildren, though despising his taste 
for carpentering & the dirty appearance he prided 
himself on presenting in order to vex Papa,--going 
out, often, in his carpenter's apron, & his hands 
covered with dirt & glue--were delighted to play in 
his workshop, getting behind the planks of wood 
set up against the walls to dry, glueing bits of wood 
together, picking out the handsomest "ribands" 
among the shavings, & so on; I think he must have 
had other customers besides mamma, for he worked 
as hard as though he were dependent on his tools 
for bread.  Our clothes horses, kitchen tables & dressers, 
quantities of things about the house were made 
by him; the tea caddy, & various boxes, etc., loom up to 

27
my mind's eye, as of his work.  What a figure he 
used to be, on week-days!  On Sundays he would 
wash, shave, & dress properly, & go to Bridge St. Chapel, 
where he had hired a pew, the very first, 
fronting the pulpit, to the left of the preacher, at 
the corner of the middle aisle; so that he could 
throw himself back, with his keen, spiteful gray 
eyes turned up & staring right into Mr. Leifchild's 
face, with the most sardonic expressions of face,
 making a succession of inaudible snorts, & looking 
the very incarnation of hostile & bitter criticism, 
from one end of the service to the other.  What on 
earth made him go there I can't imagine; it must 
have been to vex Papa.  He had a delightful time of 
carpentering with his pew, which he had no
 sooner rented than he pulled it to pieces & built it
 up again to his mind, doing it all himself, as he 
always did, & never having any helper, not even 
for lifting & carrying heavy blocks of wood or 
planks.  Our pew was the one nearest to the central 
entrance, to the left, as you went in; large, 
handsomely fitted up by papa, entirely lined, quite
 up the wall, the book-ledge, door, etc. with green
 baize put on with brass nails; about the handsomest 
in the chapel.  It was a step or two higher 
than those in front, so that, although quite at the 
back, it commanded a full view of all that 
went on.  Papa always sat next the door; then mamma;
 then the row of children according to size, the
 little one being next to her.  Whoever was governess 
for the time being sat at the farther end.  
There were seats for the servants in another pew;28
I think the one next in front, or up in the gallery, I forget which.  We had a row of straw hassocks in the pew, the tallest for the least child, & so on; it was by no means easy to make one's way along the pew, as one stumbled over these hassocks, bought at the little shop I showed Harry in St. James' Churchyard, just below the entrance to Barton Alley, where we bought baskets, mats, & pattens, of which everybody, big & little, had a pair, until these excellent adjuncts were superseded (more's the pity!) by "spring clogs," which suddenly appeared, & became "a rage" immediately, taking the place of the pattens, until dethroned by india rubbers.
Grandpapa hated black gowns in the pulpit, regarding them as unscriptural, a relic of "the Scarlet Woman," & an imitation of church doings, which he abhorred with an intensity worthy of a Roundhead or a Covenanter.  As Mr. Leifchild, a large, portly, distingue-looking man, with what Mamma used to tell him was "his dear ugly face," deeply pitted with small pox, used to emerge from the vestry in a sweeping black silk gown, with snowy band, his whole person & bearing being that of one well able to "magnify his office," & ascended the pulpit stairs with the air of an Ambassador, Grandpapa would follow every movement with a sort of gloating of hatred, throw himself back in his corner of his pew, settling himself for a resolute stare of a couple of hours, one gray-stockinged leg crossed square over the other & his hand on his knee, his 


29
great-coat usually buttoned up & his head sinking into his collar.  His presence was a perpetual torture to Mr. Leifchild & did much to cause him to accept the invitation of the people of Craven Chapel, in London.  Poor little gentle grandmamma, no doubt regretting this strange persecution, just showed the top of her bonnet above the aisle-end of the pew, which opened in front.  Aunt & Uncle Browne's pew was the second, under the great window, to the left of the pulpit, looking at it sideways.  Mrs. Short's was next to theirs.  The Ashes', Talbots', & Newells's were against the left hand wall, under the gallery; the Rumsays, Hensleys, & Godwins, were in the body of the Chapel.  We knew almost everybody who went there, the Ingrams, Prices, Howells, Palmers, etc.  "Mrs. Ben Palmer" was a daughter of "old Mr. Lowell," & they were looked on as pillars of the Chapel.  There were christenings (all our brats were baptized there, at a movable font, placed, when needed, in front of the sexton's desk, under the pulpit); & we were always agog to see the babies in white, with white satin bows in their caps, carried down the aisle with the parents & nurses.  One of our babies, I think it must have been Sam, was very angry at the water, roared & struck out his little fist in Mr. Leifchild's face.  The babies often objected strongly to the sprinkling & cross strokes of the wet finger on the forehead, roared, howled, kicked, or cried as the case might be.
There were two evening prayer-meetings in the week; we went occasionally, & papa was sure to be called upon to pray, which he30
did very well.  Mr. Godwin (woollen-draper, cousin & partner of Mr. Hensley) whenever he was asked to pray, invariably brought in--"and when we are laid--in the cold & silent grave," all run into one word, which I always listened for with malicious glee.  I detested these prayer-meetings, but rather liked to go occasionally, because I was allowed to come to supper, instead of being packed off to bed supperless, with "the little ones."  Strange to say, I don't think there could have been any Sunday-school, or we should have been sent to it, instead of being sent, on Sunday afternoons, to the Sunday-school in the gallery of the beastly "little Bethel" called Gideon Chapel, at the foot of the terrace of little houses (then very pretty, with charming little gardens full of flowers) opening out of the bottom of Wilson St.  What a shame it was to send us there, among a dirty, stinking lot of children scarcely above beggars, who hated us & constantly made faces at us, because we were "little ladies," better dressed than they were, poor little souls!  They used to call us "stuck ups!" which we were not.  The mere thought of that odious Chapel, with its pervading smell of unwashed humanity, makes me sick, like a puff of stench from a ship's hold, full of bilge-water.  How utterly we abhorred it; but our aunts had taken up with the bachelor minister, Mr. Wooldredge, & went there; & as it was so near, we were often packed off there to our great disgust.  Every unmarried woman in the congregation flattered herself she would carry off the prize; but one fine day he went off to Circencester,


31
pronounced Cissester, so people fancied he had gone somewhere to see his sister, for a short visit, & came back with a wife, daughter of a rich butcher, a buxom female in a glaring red gown.  Great was the general disappointment; but there was nothing for it.  Wooldredge never regained his popularity, & went away, & was successful by a couple of Missionary spirits, "Muller & Craig," pronounced Craik; thoroughly in earnest & bent on evangelising the miserable neighborhood of "Gideon Chapel" or "Newfoundland St. Chapel," as it was alternately called.  Craig died; having inflicted a fresh disappointment on many female hearts by marrying a very pious servant-girl.  Muller  took root, & founded the famous Muller Orphanage (now one of the lions of Bristol), which he began without a penny, his creed & system being "to trust to the daily providing of the Lord."  I suppose they were "Plymouth Brethren."  The Orphanage is out at Ashley Barn; an immense affair, with a wonderful history.  Aunt Lucy, after her return from America, devoted herself to it until she unhappily married her ridiculous & odious husband, Mr. Isaac, who was, I think, also an active man in the Orphanage.  I remember a great gathering of the children of the dissenting congregations of Bristol, in Gideon Chapel, to be preached to by Mr. Leifchild, whose sermon was mostly made up of anecdotes.  I think the poorer children were treated afterwards to cakes & tea in the vestry.  This must have been in the Wooldredge period.  Of course, on such a occasion, we were trotted off to the Chapel.  I remember that the sermon was
32made up, not only of anecdotes (one was of a lame boy, a model of youthful piety, whose father, hating his piety, jumped upon him in his little trundle-bed & broke all his ribs & most of his other bones, which made us all feel sore for a month), but also of warnings against the wicked wiles of the Devil "who went about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour," which so horrified me that I never went to bed, for long after, without peeping in agony under the bed, to see if a hairy Satanic paw was there, & never wakened up at night, if alone, without rousing the house (Aunt Ann's) with my screams, expecting the Devil to pounce upon & devour me.  Any slapping I got for screaming was amply repaid by the sight & presence of a human creature with a candle.  How monstrous to put such ideas into children's heads!
"The Sunday school movement" had been invented & set going, a few years before my birth, by Mr. Raikes, I think a Bristol man; it went like wild-fire over the whole country, so that Sunday schools were everywhere by the time I can begin remembering.  Papa was one of Raikes's earliest & most zealous disciples in "the work;" & it was through teaching in the same Sunday school, in Mr. Lowell's days, that our two parents met & lost their hearts to one another.
Uncle Lane, who lived at the village of Theale, near Wells, where he was minister of a Chapel, had married a daughter of


33
a Dissenting Dr. Davis, of Wells, I think.  She had a good income of her own.  They had one son, James, & one daughter, Elizabeth.  They quarrelled, constantly; she was believed to have had an affair with somebody, &, in order to get rid of her husband, she arranged everything for having him carried off surreptitiously & lodged, as a madman, in the then famous Lunatic Asylum of Dr. Bumpas.  Happily for him, he found out the plot just in the nick of time, & so escaped incarceration for the rest of his days.  Thereupon, they separated; he keeping the daughter, she keeping the son, whom she subsequently shut up in a mad-house & kept him there until a short time before her death, when he, who was not insane at all, came out, & took charge of her, in her old age, as she gradually sank from softening of the brain; which all who knew the circumstances, of course, set down as an evident "judgment."  When they separated, Uncle Lane kept her money, only giving her a small allowance.  Peoples' ideas of the rights of women were patriarchal in the extreme; he never dreamed, nor did anybody else, of its being a mean or unjust thing in a husband to live on his wife's money & leave her but a pittance of her property.  In the eye of the law, & in the conviction of society, the man was regarded as the owner both of his wife & of everything belonging to her.  I fancy her income must have been £600, & that he kept £400 a year & left her £200; which he no doubt considered as very liberal & handsome on his part.  He was anything than an agreeable man; I don't wonder she found him an unsatisfactory husband.  I never34
saw her; I once caught sight of James; he seems to me to have been rather tall, with sandy hair & whiskers, in no way remarkable.  Uncle Lane was rather stingy, but could spend when needful.  When he, or Elizabeth, spent any time at our house, as they generally did two or three times a year, he insisted on paying mamma £1 a week for board, though neither she nor Papa liked his doing so.  After Elizabeth left school, he brought her to Bristol every Spring for an outfit, which used to take mamma out a good deal, as Elizabeth was bent on having everything of the newest fashion; £20 (a handsome sum in those days!) used always to be spent at this work; & Elizabeth, in her new finery, going out with mamma to make morning calls, & going with papa & mamma to parties in the evening, was the object of great admiration to us.  It was during one of her stays in Wilson St. that her mother & brother came to lodgings in Bristol; &, after a good deal of negotiation, she was allowed, against mamma's wish, to spend a week with them.  I think James must have come to fetch her.  They took her to theatres, & other gay places; & led her, it was supposed in our camp, some steps on the general road to perdition.
A very old friend of Mamma's was Miss Caroline Lax, a tall, gaunt, large-nosed, black-eyed, scraggy, dashing person, grandly dressed & with long coral ear-rings.  She lived at [blank] on the road to Wells, with her married sister, Mrs. Uniacke; a very nice motherly woman, whose 

35
arm had been broken & badly set, so that it was doubled up & stiff; & it was painful to see her pour out the tea, as she always would do.  Mr. Uniacke was a handsome, hearty country squire; a huntsman, fond of dogs, free & off-hand in manner.  I was rather afraid of him.  There was a younger sister, Susan, gay, dashing, spirited, I liked her better than the others.  They were great cronies of Uncle Lane's; he always stopped the night there on his way between Theale & Bristol, which he invariably "did" in his gig.  They often kept Elizabeth for several days.  Caroline Lax had set her heart on marrying Uncle Lane, & constantly urged him to sue for a divorce, telling him she would give every penny of her fortune for this suit, if he would but take the step & marry her as soon as he found himself free.  But he never would do so; he used to say to mamma, "She's all very well as a friend; but nothing would induce me to have her for a wife."  She had a handsome fortune, & at length, finding Uncle William unconquerable, she was foolish enough, in a fit of despite, to marry her coachman.  No sooner had she done so than the fellow took to drinking, & soon drank himself to death, leaving her with one son.  In 1870, in London, who should I meet with but Mr. Lawler, the artist, whom I found to be a nephew of the Lax ladies, & from whom I heard all about them.
Uncle Charles was the favourite & scape-grace of the family.  He was possessed from his cradle with an intense desire to be aristocratic, to get into aristocratic & fashionable circles.  He worried Uncle Browne into buying him a commission, went36
out to India, was at a ball at the residence of Sir Edward West, Governor of Bombay, fell in love with Miss Fanny West, whose mother was a daughter of the Duke of Buckingham; a high & very proud family, cousins of the Earl De La Warr family.  They fell in love at first sight, a "first love" on both sides; she eloped with him, to the enormous indignation of her people, who, instead of saying "The deed is done; we must use our influence to bring Fanny's husband on in the army, so that the marriage may cease to be a blot on our grandeur," as sensible people would have done, did everything in their power to keep him down, so that he was an eternity in getting beyond his lieutenancy; & they did their utmost to disgust his wife with the step she had taken.  Only one of her grand relations every paid him any attention; the Hon. Mr. Way, who invited him once or twice to his country-seat, where, however, as he had neither valet nor horse, like the other guests, & could not spend freely as they did, he found it rather mortifying than gratifying & declined (unwisely) other invitations from that gentleman.  Though extremely ugly, & almost without education, he was a natural "gentleman," extremely agreeable, an amusing companion, & a favourite everywhere.  But his weakness for playing fine gentleman was his bane; he was always getting into debt, & it was always good, generous (much too generous) papa who paid off his tailors' and other bills, & set him up again.  His wife's friends got her to separate from him, giving 


37
her an income on condition of her not living with him; so she resided, with their two children, Edward & Fanny, for many years, at Dawlish or elsewhere on the South coast, he being absent with his regiment, & spending a few weeks or days with them, by invitation, as a guest, whenever he came to England.  He probably only had himself to thank for the estrangement; she stuck to him for some years, in spite of her family; but one time, when he was staying with her at Dawlish, he got into a silly altercation with her concerning a tea-pot, angry words ensued, then a quarrel, then an estrangement, & he, listening to his foolish pride (for he had no earthly reason for pride) stood on his dignity instead of sueing for peace, & so they parted, & she only saw him occasionally, as just stated.  He was extremely fond of his children, who adored him; but he never had anything to do with them; in fact, his whole course, as I look back upon it, appears so utterly ill-advised as to border on insanity.  She never came to Bristol excepting just after her marriage; she took poor Aunt Browne in horror.  She was very small, not pretty, but a beautiful figure, thoroughly the lady, elegant, refined, an exquisite singer, though singing so quietly that you had to listen, if you wanted to hear her.  Mrs. William Lane was visiting Bristol at the same time, after her marriage, the two brothers having married about the same time.  Elizabeth was a very little girl when she used to sit by & hear the two ladies (I don't remember where they again met) bemoaning their sad fate in having made a matrimonial mistake; she used to recount38
how, having given vent to their regrets, they would say to her, "Elizabeth, whatever you do, never marry beneath your station!" which she used to declare to me, confidentially, "she never would do"; but which did not prevent her making about the most absurd marriage a girl could make; her & our cousin, Sam Lowell, being just as incapable of making a good husband as of flying.  Uncle Charles's visits were few & far between, as he was always with his regiment (I think the 42nd Infantry) in India, in Canada, all the world over.  Wherever he came from, he brought us curiosities of all kinds; his first act, on arriving at our house, always was to order "a fly," pack the whole lot into it, & drive to Lucas's the pastry cook, in Wine St., & tell us to eat whatever we liked; raspberry tarts & cheese cakes were our favourites, but we did not despise other things, & our devourings were considerable.  Calves' foot jellies, among other things, were not contemned or forgotten by us.  All our pastry for parties came from Lucas's as a matter of course; & Lucas bought all the best of the fruit at Olveston, which, to our disgust, papa used to take into town, carefully packed in vine leaves, every morning, in the seats of the little yellow carriage that he drove in & out of town.  What wonderful peaches! enormous, lovely, & of a flavour! and the apricots, trained over the front of the addition to the main part of the house, which then belonged to it, but is now let apart.  Those apricots will glow in my memory as long as I live; very large, golden, & exquisite. 

39
 I remember mamma's preserving them; I helped her; most lovely they were!  It was on one of his visits to England that Uncle Charley saw Miss Major, who had just come to us  (from Frome or Devizes) as nursery-governess; he took a fancy to her at first sight, though she was the last person in the world one would have thought likely to attract him.  From the moment "Uncle Charley" appeared in our house, everything was turned topsy-turvy.  He begged for holidays & half-holidays, & took us out in all directions, going off to the Hotwells, to Clifton, along the river, or up over the downs; incessantly romping with us, rattling, laughing, telling wonderful stories of his adventures by land & sea, insisting on his ear having been shot through & a bit carried away, at the battle of Lundy's Lane, tho' mamma privately assured us that there was not a word of truth in this story, he having been born with the odd little slit in his ear, as tho' a bit had been torn out of it.  She used to "sit down" on some of his stories, & remind him how, when they were children, their mothers giving them a penny for every hymn of Dr. Watts' that they repeated to her on Sunday afternoons, Uncle Charley used to say the same hymn so often that at last she was obliged to make a cross & write "pd" under every hymn he repeated, to keep him from palming it off again upon her as a new acquisition.  Both he & mamma had the greatest affection for her memory, & always spoke of her as "my dear mother."  Mamma had a very beautiful miniature of her in a handsome gold setting; Uncle Charley tormented40
her so resolutely to lend it to him that she at length did so, & he carried it about with him for many years; when, in returning from India, he was wrecked in the Persian gulf, & lost everything except this miniature, which he contrived to keep about him as he swam to the shore; but it was injured by the sea water & mouldied.  There was also a good miniature of mamma; I wonder what has become of it; & also a little black profile likeness of her & of papa; lost also, probably.  There were no other likenesses of either of them taken in England; of papa, no other was ever taken, anywhere.  Uncle Charles, when with us, went to whatever parties went on among the Bridge St. people, with whom alone we consorted; he went to them, for the sake of going with papa & mamma, & made himself a prime favourite wherever he went, all the unmarried ladies & young widows setting their caps for him, as, his wife never being spoke of, he usually passed for a bachelor.  But he despised Bristol & our set; & did all he could to persuade us how very vulgar was our social surrounding, how badly we were dressed, & what a very different thing was polite & aristocratic life, if we only knew it.  He liked Mr. Leifchild, however, declaring that he was "a gentleman," & that he "had no nonsense about him."  He used to talk to us children of his children, wishing that we could be together, & hoping that his son, Edward, would enter the army, & telling me what "a nice sweetheart" he would be for me by & by, & how

41
 much he would like me to marry him, & similar nonsense which he ought not to have put into a little girl's head.  He fancied that, if Aunt Browne had been out of the way, his wife & children might possibly have had some intercourse with us; as I look back on that time, it seems curious that we could have got up such a romantic interest in them as his allusions, & the fact that "Aunt Fanny" was of a high family & was supposed to look down upon us, created in our minds, especially in mine, as better able to understand the circumstances of the case.  To have so few relatives, & not to see anything of them, seemed at once regrettable & mysterious.  Of "Mrs. William Lane" (we never thought of her as "aunt") & her son James we had a vague horror, as of something very wicked & dreadful; but the desire to see, & be friends with, "Aunt Fanny" & our two cousins on that side, was a pervading longing all through my girlhood.  I remember, on one of his visits, making a little reticule, of card-board & blue silk, such as were in vogue at the time, as a present for Fanny; I expended all my skill in painting flowers on the bits of card-board, & wrote my little letter with a beating heart.  I forget what I made, or bought, as a present for Edward; & I committed the two presents & the two letters to Uncle Charles, who was going to make them a visit at Dawlish, & who promised to deliver them.  When he came back, he brought me a handsome silver & mother-of-pearl pocket-knife, from Fanny, & something (forgotten) from Edward, with two prettily turned little notes, from the two children.  The letters42
were written in immense, round hand; which 
he explained by saying that "Aunt Fanny" only
 allowed them to write thus, being determined 
not to let their writing become cramped by 
writing too small too soon.  I was delighted to have 
the letters & treasured them for years; but I felt 
humiliated at having such handsome bought 
things in return for the modest presents I 
had sent, which I had made expressly for 
these invisible young cousins, & which, it seemed 
to me, ought to have been responded to by something 
equally simply & made by themselves.  The 
truth of the case probably was that Uncle Charley, 
not considering my advances as likely to find 
favour in "Aunt Fanny's" eyes, burned my 
gifts & letters, & good temperedly bought the two 
return presents & himself concocted the two little 
letters in that wonderful handwriting.  At all 
events, nothing came of my attempt.  Poor 
Uncle Charles, without fortune or influential 
friends, remained so long a lieutenant, that his 
becoming "Captain" seemed hopeless; it was not 
until after our exodus that his promotion took 
place; & he never got any higher, though his foolish 
vanity prompted him, after he had gone on 
half-pay, to pass himself off as "Major Lane."  I 
believe he had what is called a "brevet-majority"; 
that is to say, he would have been Major if he 
had remained in the service.  Instead of doing 
that, & thus making sure of his promotion (which 
must have come with time) he idiotically left 
the army just when his long, weary waiting 

43
was about to bear its fruit & would have ensured him 
the rank & pay of General with a little more patience, 
came to America, & on the mere report that his wife 
was dead, married Miss Major, supposing that his 
wife's relatives had probably taken charge of his 
children.  How he could have taken so criminal a
 step, how he could have thus neglected to look up 
his children, & how papa & mamma could have 
been so insensate as to encourage him in such an 
utterly ill-judged proceeding, I cannot imagine.  
Not long before his death, having had full leisure 
to judge & regret this aberration, he remarked to 
me, "My poor dear sister was much to blame in 
the business.  She first put my unfortunate 
second marriage into my head by remarking to 
me, "what a nice wife Eliza Major would make 
me," & by encouraging me to the step, by expressing 
her belief that, in the sight of God, I was free to 
marry, as my wife had practically divorced 
herself from me."  After my return to England, 
I felt so strongly the horrible disgrace that would 
be the consequence of his bigamy becoming known 
at the Horse Guards, if it proved, as he feared, that 
his first wife was still living, & I felt so much 
pity for his misery in living on, year after year, 
with such a sword of Damocles over his head (for 
he would have been expelled from the army &
 imprisoned for years with hard labour) that 
I determined to find out the truth, a most difficult 
& delicate enquiry, as I could not let it be 
known why I was enquiring.  I wrote to the three 
witnesses of his marriage; all of them had forgotten44
the incident; I went to the Army-tailors, who knew nothing of any "Mrs. Lane"; I set inquiries on foot in every direction, & I ascertained (I forget through what channel) that his daughter had married a Mr. Druitt, of Arundel, that the mother had lived with her since her marriage & had recently died; that Mrs. Druitt had several children; that Edward, having no one to buy a commission for him, had been forced to renounce his hope of going into the army, had gone out to Australia to seek his fortune, & had died there, after having been for some years employed as a shepherd in the bush.  When I had succeeded in getting these particulars, the longing to see his daughter (for, strange to say, he never ceased to adore his children, &, as I know from Aunt Eliza, he would sit & cry by the hour together, wondering what had become of them, & intensely longing for them) was so overpowering that nothing could prevent his risking a visit to Arundel.  He had remarried Eliza Major immediately on receiving the news of his first wife's decease, so that he was no longer obliged to hide himself in France, where he spent so many years in St. Malo, & then in Dinan, hardly venturing out of doors for fear of meeting some old brother-officer who would have seen that he was living with a lady who passed for his wife, & through whom trouble might have sprung up at the War-Office in London.  As soon, therefore, as his mind was set at rest on this point, he sold off his furniture,

45
 Aunt Eliza gave away her parrot & her pet green canaries, & the unlucky pair came back to England.  Uncle Charles went down alone to Arundel, & learned all he could, at the inn, about his daughter, &, at last, managed to have an interview, I think, with the husband, & the fact of his presence was broken to his daughter.  Unhappily, she was near her confinement, & the shock brought on a miscarriage, so that he had to leave Arundel without seeing her.  On her recovery, I wrote, for him, such a chef d'oeuvre of a paternal letter, speaking of his constant affection for her & Edward, of all he had suffered away from them, of the cruel effects of the opposition of her mother's family to what had been "a first love" on both sides, that the daughter & her husband were quite touched, & the breach seemed to be on the point of healing, & Fanny came up to London, with her husband, as (all who knew her having shared her & her mother's belief that he was dead) she refused to receive him at Arundel, on account of the endless gossip & wonderment his resuscitation would have roused; her uncle, Earl de la Warr, having his castle near by, & the tablet to her mother's memory, in the village church, being to "Lady Fanny Lane, relict of Capt. Charles Lane" etc.  The interview was satisfactory, & they promised to contrive some way of sending the children for him to see, & sent him a hamper of delicacies from their place; an attention which his vanity had longed for, to be able to show it to the people at his boarding-house, with a perfectly childish intensity;--there was clotted cream, butter, eggs, poultry, sea-kale46
game, cream cheese, &c., & poor Uncle Charley
almost cried with delight on getting it. But,
with the wrong headedness which ruins so many
lives, he soon began to turn over in his mind
all the incidents of his unsatisfactory marriage,
to the reviving of his old bitterness against his
wife's family & herself; & then sat down & wrote a
most ill judged & unjust letter to his daughter,
abusing her mother & her mother's people,
raking up all the old griefs over which my
chef d'oeuvre letter had thrown a veil of flowers;
& actually claiming as his by right, the little
property (I think about £140 a year) which
she had inherited from some relative some
years before her death. You may imagine the
amazement & indignation stirred up by this astounding
letter! Fanny & her husband were
equally angry, & the former then wrote him a
terrible letter, taking her mother's part & bitterly
reproaching him for his utter neglect of them,
& his contracting a second marriage without
taking the trouble to ascertain whether her mother
were alive or dead. "And if she had been dead," she
continued, "ought not our being left alone in the
world to have brought you to us? Your place was
with us, your children, & not elsewhere." She then
went on to the little income, exclaiming against
his selfishness in wishing to take from her
"this pittance, the only money that I can call
my own, the only source from which I can ever
make a little gift to my husband, so good & so
generous, who took me without fortune, befriended


47
my poor brother, & gave a home to my dear & unfortunate
mother until she died." Poor Uncle Charles's
blunder became sadly apparent to him when he found
how completely he had alienated his daughter's feelings
by his astounding letter, which completely undid
all that I had so successfully built up. "Your
beautiful letter did everything for me!" he mournfully
admitted, "& my miserable letter, that I can't
conceive how I ever could have been such a fool
as to write, has knocked everything on the head."
After some correspondence, it was settled that Fanny
should retain the little property she inherited
from her mother, but that she should let her
father have £20 a year from it as long as he
lived; after his death, Mr Druitt wrote Eliza that 
she should have the £20 for two years, but that,
after that lapse of time, she must look for help
solely to her own friends. Just after my letter had
done its work, Uncle Charles had begged them to
let him introduce Eliza to them, as having been
entirely devoted to him for so many years; & they
consented, came to London, & met her very kindly.
She told me that Fanny is not at all pretty, but
pleasing, & extremely refined & lady like. She
thought Mr. Dowitt rather prosy; both are very
pious church people. Fanny said to her, "We are
the only gentlefolk in the village, & I have consequently
to do a great deal among the poor; in fact
I am quite the Lady Bountiful of the village." Their
residence is a gentleman's place, handsome & agreeable,
but nothing remarkable; they are in easy
circumstances without being rich; Mr. D. is the48
son of a banker, & has his money from his father.  The wound caused by the miserable letter, which I would have prevented his sending if I had had the least inkling of it beforehand, was never entirely got over.  They never let him come to their place nor see their children, nor did they repeat either the visit or the hamper; &, when he died, at Ramsgate, they declined to be at the funeral, though they paid the expenses of his last illness & burial.  Since then, I have had no news of them.  Poor, foolish, kind-hearted, void-of-principle Uncle Charley!  His great torment, in dying, was the fear lest his tombstone should bear "Captain" & not "Major"!!  He made Eliza write to an old brother-officer of his, at Walmer Castle, & beg him to come & see him before he died; saying, in his letter, that he had unfortunately supposed himself to have been gazetted "Major" & had taken the title; that it had been impossible for him, having once done so, to leave it off, & that he earnestly besought him, if he came, to ask for him, & address him, as "Major Lane"!  The friend came & did as requested; but, being a pious & strict man, he read poor Uncle Charley a lecture on his wickedness that made him cry, as he lay in his bed, but that could not shake his determination about the tombstone, which is as he wanted it to be, although the friend expatiated fully on the horror & danger of "his going into the presence of his Maker with a lie in his mouth."  Curiously enough, Marian, who knew nothing of all this, & was unaware of Uncle C's want of 


49
truthfulness, when sitting by me, one day, trying to get spirit messages, suddenly exclaimed "Here's a spirit signing 'Charles Lane,' & says 'I shall come back, to learn not to tell fibs.'"  I then gave her an insight into the case, & she was very glad to have this evidence of identity.  After Uncle C's death, Eliza offered to send Fanny various things he had prized highly, among others, a large handsome cup & saucer in which he always had his tea for breakfast & which (I think) I had given him years ago; but she would accept nothing but the Bible Edward had had with him in the bush, & which she had given her father as a memento of the son he had, through his own dereliction of paternal duty, never seen since he was a very little fellow.  This Bible (as, in spite of appearances to the contrary, he was really excessively fond of his children) he prized very highly, & would read in it, & kept it by him, talking, with tears in his eyes, of "my poor boy."  Poor Uncle Charley! peace to his ashes!  He was very affectionate; always cherished papa's memory, regarding him (& rightly) as the best & kindest friend he had ever had;--he kept, in his waistcoat pocket, until he died, the little gold toothpick that I had bought at Uncle Browne's & given him as a keepsake, when very little, once when he was going out to India.  He deeply regretted his shortsighted folly in leaving the army, as, had he remained, he would have been a General years before he died, by force of seniority.  He had served under Lord Raglan, with whom he had always been a favourite; & tried his utmost to get back into the army at the time of the Crimean War; but he had50
been too long on half-pay, & Lord Raglan was unable to get him replaced on the list of officers on active service.  His death occurred not long after the conclusion of the campaign.
Of the relatives on the Blackwell side, there is not much to be said.  Aunt Ann was very well-meaning, obstinate, ignorant, & ugly.  Aunt Barbara was one of the most disagreeable, ill-tempered, strict, narrow-minded creatures alive; a dreadful tyrant, always quarrelling with poor mamma, who put up with insolence & spite that she ought not to have tolerated for an instant.  She was very clever, & education might have had its full course of usefulness in her case; but she straggled up, like the rest of her family, ignorant as a broomstick, except what she may have picked up in forcing Pinnock's Catechisms & Mangnall's Questions down the throats of her unlucky little pupils.  She had a decided talent for drawing, & managed to take lessons of Danby; that great artist, as he was subsequently recognized to be, being a Bristol man & having begun his career by giving lessons.  Papa no doubt paid for these lessons.  Had she been taken in hand, & properly pushed forward as an artist, she would no doubt have achieved fame & fortune.  Danby always said she was his "best pupil," & was annoyed at her not devoting herself to an artist's career.  Her pencil drawings were admirable.  She was about the neatest, most orderly, most methodical creature that ever lived; sewed beautifully; adored Kenyon,

51
 Marian, & Harry, & detested & persecuted the others, especially me.  Uncle Blackwell had her with them when his children were young, but her temper was unbearable, & he was obliged to get rid of her at last, & Mamma had the weakness to take her for our governess.  What wretched years those were for us!!  Marian & I had previously been sacrificed to Aunt Ann's horrid school, in which Aunts Barbara & Lucy took part at one time; we were taken home when Aunt Barbara was set up in authority, her reign coinciding with the Wilson St. life.  After she had made herself utterly unbearable, papa sent her to Dublin, to keep house for Uncle James, whom he had established there as the head of the branch-house he had founded there.  But Uncle James was no doubt already lapsing into the sort of insanity which gradually took possession of him, so that he had at length to be placed in a private asylum.  He mismanaged the business most horribly, inflicting heavy loss on his brother; &, as his insanity was not then suspected, papa supposed he had intentionally ruined the interests confided to him, resented it deeply, & broke with him; Uncle James, on his side, falling into a state of hatred against him which became more & more violent every year, & included all of us, whom he always designated as "that Devil's brood."  Happily, I was able to change this feeling shortly before he died; by a letter & the present of a £5 note sent to him in Jersey, where he lived for many years & where he died.  I have had messages from him thanking me for having broken up his bitterness before he went; & saying52
that papa has forgiven him.  He was not without talent, & wrote several large books about, I believe, controverted doctrinal Pauline points; how he managed to get them published I don't know; one was called "A Cry in the Wilderness," another, "A Howl in the Desert."  After we left, he hung about on Uncle Blackwell & Sam & Kenyon, who maintained him so far as to keep him from starving.  But he took it into his head that he was constantly tracked by assassins who were lying in wait to kill him, employed by Uncle Blackwell; he would cry out suddenly, "I hear them plotting!  They are downstairs (or "upstairs," or "behind the door," or "outside the window," as the fancy took him) they are describing how they are to do their hellish work!"  He would work himself up into frenzy, listening to the plans of his murderers; & that to such a degree that he twice attacked Uncle Blackwell & came very near killing him, as he said, "in self-defence."  So they were forced, at last, to place him in a private lunatic-asylum.  He was let out, after some years, as harmless, his mind showing no other derangement than that of intense hatred of Papa & of us, most of whom he had never even seen, but all of whom he fancied to be constantly plotting to kill him.  From what Cousin Sam has told me of him, I rather suppose him to have been an undeveloped auditive medium.  He probably really heard & was persecuted by, a horde of invisible enemies, spirits whom he had wronged in some previous existence, & who took this method of wreaking their vengeance upon him.  He never


53
 forgave Sam for putting him into the asylum; & as Uncle B. after his failure, became dependent on his sons, &, at length, on Sam (as Kenyon, after his marriage, shirked all family-obligations, allowing himself to be absorbed & fleeced by his wife & her beggarly relatives, to the utter exclusion of his own relations); & as Sam was careless & soon got into difficulties, this unfortunate member of the B. family was often without a half-penny for months together, & used to send a stream of violently abusive letters to Sam, blowing him up for his neglect, & telling him that, as he had "ruined his career" by "falsely proclaiming him to be a madman, it was doubly incumbent on him to send him his allowance always in arrears," etc.  He had been released from the asylum on his engaging to reside constantly in Jersey, where he lived with plain, poor, but decent people, in a little cottage; & it must have been very trying to him to have been almost always, as he was, in debt to these poor people (who seem to have been very kind to him), to his washerwoman, & to a doctor who looked after his health, which was long failing.  He died in 1866; a few months after the death of our beloved Howy.  It was in Howy's name that I sent him the £5 note, telling him all the good & noble qualities of the brother whose loss had taken all the sunshine out of my life, & who had always intended, as soon as his own affairs should have enabled him to do so, to make the poor old fellow a comfortable income.  Knowing how strangely bitter was Uncle James's feeling towards all our branch, & anxious to help him to a better state of mind before returning to the spirit-54
world, where this bitterness would have been sadly injurious to him, I had been meditating the letter & the little present, but I had not £5 note at hand, & I let the weeks pass without hurrying myself about it.  Being in London, & spending the evening with Mrs. Milner Gibson (with whom I was then very intimate & who liked Howard & sympathized with me deeply in the terrible bereavement), I was seated on a little couch near the window, reading, & Sydney, the daughter, was on another little couch at a distance, reading also, while Mrs. M. G. & a friend, who was staying with her, sat at a little table in the middle of the room (a very large drawing-room), getting spirit-messages.  I was neither listening, nor in any way attending to what they were doing.  All of a sudden, Mrs. M. G. turned her head towards me, exclaiming, "My dear, here's a spirit has just given his name as 'James Blackwell'; have you any relative of that name?  I never heard you speak of any 'James Blackwell.'"  I replied, "I have an uncle of that name, my father's brother; but I have not seen him since I was a girl.  Unhappy family-dissensions have severed him from our branch; & we never mention his name.  But I have no reason to suppose him to be in the spirit-world.  Ask him if he is in that world."  The two ladies enquired, several times, but could not obtain any reply.  It was evident that a spirit had given the name in passing & then gone his way.  It struck me that it was meant as a hint to me that what I intended to do should be done quickly, & accordingly, next 


55
day, I procured a £5 note, wrote my letter & sent it off; I had at once a most pleased & grateful reply from the poor old soul, showing no trace of the old bitterness.  He died, rather suddenly, a very short time afterwards; so that, had I not been induced to send when I did, it would have been too late (I will copy his letter & also his spirit-message after his death, in an Appendix that I see will be necessary; I have not got them with me).
Aunt Mary, as already remarked, was the natural lady of the set.  Everybody liked her; she & Mamma had been great friends, & it was, I fancy, through her that the acquaintance with Papa was made.  She was rather pretty, extremely amiable & kindly; we were all very fond of her, & always rejoiced when she came to the house.  She was at once time engaged to Mr. John Harwood, son of the old sugar-refining firm in which Papa began his career.  He was the only one of the Harwoods who ever visited us, the old people, who had come to regard Papa as one of themselves, & wished to give him a share in the business, were so deeply hurt & offended by his leaving them & setting up for himself, thus becoming a rival instead of a support, that they never forgave it, & ceased all intercourse from that time.  They lived in St. Paul's Square, close to the Wilson St. house; but we never met.  They were rich, highly respected, & with a social position altogether above ours, which was absurdly limited to the Bridge St. Chapel set; they were pillars of the Baptist Chapel in Broadmead, of which the renowned Robert Hall was the Minister for so many years before his death,56
he having succeeded "Old Dr. Ryland," who lived in Stokes Croft, which was crowded the day of his funeral.  The match would have been a wonderfully fortunate one for Aunt Mary, & would have been an immense social lift for all her connexion.  Unluckily, they quarrelled over baptism, & the match was broken off.  But John Harwood is one of the earliest friends I can remember, & was intimate with us until we left Bristol.  He must have been spirited, lively, & agreeable, as I remember him; a gentleman, man of the world, contrasting with the "commonness" of our Blackwell relations, who were only not vulgar, because entirely without pretension.  Nature made Papa a gentleman & Aunt Mary a lady; they had nothing but their name in common with the rest of their family.  Aunt Mary was the only one of the sisters who was ever engaged.  Aunt Barbara, strange to say, had an intense admirer in Mr. Bancroft, a rich grocer in College Green, a man greatly respected; but, as he used to tell Mamma privately, she was so grim & unbending in manner that he never could find the courage to pop the question.  I fancy poor Aunt Barbara liked him; & I don't understand how mamma should have failed to bring them together; for, though papa's position ought to have been such as to give his sisters access to people of higher social condition, she would have been in clover had she married him, & as he was much respected in "the Broadmead connexion," she would have been vastly more 


57
happy & prosperous than she ever was.  During her stay with us, whenever our daily walk took us through College Green, she used to call in upon him as he was in the shop, & he used to give us a paper of raisins & currants which occupied us while he vainly tried to get up a thaw in the icy manner of his unpropitious lady-love.  After wasting ten or a dozen years this way, the rich grocer married somebody else; I remember Mrs. Bancroft being very handsomely dressed & looking altogether a person of a superior order to our poor starveling aunts.  I fancy this marriage was probably one of the determining causes of Aunt Barbara's going to Dublin, where she kept house for Uncle James.
Aunt Lucy was very small, kindly, & null.  Mamma let her make nearly everything we wore, sacrificing us utterly (as she had not an atom of taste & knew no more of dress-making than of Greek) for the sake of putting a little money into her pocket.  The miserably ugly (& often shabby) things we were made to wear, from a mistaken notion that dressing us badly would keep us free from vanity & love of finery, were a constant source of annoyance & mauvaise honte to us, through all our childhood.  We knew we were sad little figures & felt ashamed & mortified every day of our lives; had we been properly arrayed, we should probably never have troubled our heads about the matter, as we were not naturally vain.  I have never forgotten the torture caused me by certain odious garments, hats, frocks, & pelisses, we were forced to wear; & many of these were "creations" of poor Aunt Lucy's industrious58
but uneducated fingers.  I remember the wonderment of Eliza Goddard, & the contemptuous comments of "Cousin Elizabeth" when examining some frightful frock or pelisse in which I was forced to "make a fright" of myself.  Aunt Lucy was more lively than her sisters; she was very small, & scarcely looked more than a nice sort of upper servant.  I never could understand why Uncle Charles should call her "pretty Lucy."  She took a fancy to learn French on "the Hamiltonian system," just then out, & consisting of the Gospel of St. John in the tongue you were to learn, without a master, the English words being printed under the foreign ones.  (It was thus that I began Latin;--how well I remember the book with its cover of blue paper, & my learning the Latin by heart:--"In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum apud Deum, et Verbum erat Deum s?" & so on.  The beauty of this precious "system" was that the pupil was to teach himself, without the need of a teacher!  Aunt Lucy got a copy of the French book, viz., the Gospel aforesaid, & went at it diligently, pronouncing the words as though the letters had the same sounds as in English.  I can see her hammering away at it in the Wilson St. back parlour, & Uncle James coming in & teasing her, as she was debating aloud whether the word "etoit" (etait was then spelt etoit) in the first verse, should be eto-it or e-to-it.  "It must be one or other," argued the puzzled student; "but how am I to know which?"  To which query Uncle James replied laughingly "As it is French, you may be very sure it can only be e-to-it; for what else does a Frenchman

59
do, all his life long, but toe it?"  Just as he had delivered this triumphant decision, in came Mrs. Goddard; & to her Aunt Lucy, knowing that she spoke French, immediately appealed.  Amused, but rather embarrassed at having to convict poor Aunt Lucy of such utter ignorance, she explained that the word was neither "eto-it" nor "e-to-it," the French letters having different values from the English ones.  She then spelled the words, showing the sounds of the letters, & finished by reading the text in French: "Au commencement etait le Verbe," etc.; an exposition which, showing the impossibility of learning French without a teacher, so thoroughly disconcerted poor Aunt Lucy that she then & there relinquished the attempt as hopeless. 
My two earliest remembrances are of a wonderful diorama which I was taken to see when I must have been three or four years old.  It was at the Princes' St. Assembly Rooms; & we must have been living at Counterslip.  Papa & Mamma, Aunt Mary, Aunt & Uncle Browne, & perhaps others of the family, all were together.  The lights went out, to my great terror, audibly expressed, no doubt, as people round us laughed, & I was assured there was no danger, & that something pretty was coming.  Then, there appeared on the stage a great ship, tossing on the sea; everything was lit up & moving, & I was dumb with amazement & rather frightened.  Then it grew dark again, & there appeared a beautiful wood, & a road, & along this road drove a carriage & horse, & in the carriage a gentleman who was driving, & a lady with a parasol.  There was a handsome entrance to a park.60
The audience, or, rather, the spectators, were delighted, & applauded enthusiastically, frightening me almost out of my wits.  I was seated on Papa's knee, or on Aunt Mary's lap; & clutched hold of them in terror when the ship in the storm let off guns, & when the people clapped & applauded.  There must have been many other scenes, but I only remember these.  In 1870, when in London, I happened to speak of this childish remembrance, & a Dr. Perfitt (a very learned man who preaches in an individual conventicle & drinks) said that he distinctly remembered it, the diorama being a very fine & famous one, that made the tour of England somewhere around 1819.  My other remembrance is of the Proclamation of King George IV. in 1820, when I was in my 4th year.  I was sent to see the show, in care of a man, a servant, & saw it, perched on his shoulder & holding him right round the neck, our stand-point being in Nelson St., where there was then a sort of open space between Bridewell Lane & the steps leading up into Clare St.  A herald, clothed in armour, sat on a great white horse covered with gilded trappings; having proclaimed the advent of the new king to the throne, he dared the world to dispute the right of the new Sovereign & threw down a great glove of buff leather, covered with gold embroidery & fringed with the same, as a defiance to all gainsayers.  There must have been a grand procession accompanying the herald, who repeated the proclamation & ceremony on various points of the town; but I remember only the herald & his steed & my being seated aloft 

61
on the shoulder of a man, who held me fast & took good care of me.  
My next remembrances are of Counterslip.  Our house was an extremely old one, with a gable on the street; at each storey an immense window, occupying nearly the whole of the front.  The door was to the right of the window & a long passage ran the whole length of the house, which had a ground floor & two storeys, with perhaps servants' rooms above, but this I don't remember.  There was an inner court, & also a second court beyond the back of the house, which must have abutted on the filthy little Frome, which flows through the town to the back of Counterslip, emptying its black water into the Avon, which flows into the Severn estuary down to the Bristol channel.  Here's a plan of the queer old place:--

Counterslip
window fireplace Parlour Door
folding-doors fireplace Dining Parlour Door
window Court window
window x old clock range Kitchen x warming-pan tables shelves
sloping kind of cellar, used for beer, coal etc.
x x pagoda court
river
x long passage stairs pantry Dresser passage
x house door on Counterslip with brass plate, "Mr. S. Blackwell."

The same arrangement of rooms in the upper storeys, ending with the kitchen.  Mamma's bedroom over the kitchen; a light closet over the pantry; then the stairs, then papa's dressing room, & the long passage leading from mamma's room to the drawing-room over the two small folding-door rooms below;--same again upstairs; the room over the drawing-room being the nursery, the one over papa's dressing-room being called62
"Uncle James's Room"; & a servant's room over mamma's bedroom.  There was a closet full of old books in Papa's dressing-room; a cupboard with jam, manna, honey etc. in one corner of the drawing-room; a large light closet in the passage to mamma's room & ditto on ground floor; a closet in Uncle James's room (which he had ceased to occupy before my memory begins) of which we had an insurmountable horror.  Every servant we ever had believed it, & the pantry on the ground-floor, to be haunted.  All declared that a shadowy white figure used to be seen gliding into that pantry; not one would have gone past the door to the stairs, alone, at night, on any consideration.  There was no ingress into the court in the middle of the house.  The great windows were of little tiny panes of greenish glass in leaden frames, only a square bit opening for air.  The floors were so rotten from age that our feet were constantly going through the bare boards of the nursery, the only uncarpetted part of the house.  We used to amuse ourselves with hiding small objects, thimbles, balls of cotton, spoons, snuffers, etc., in the hollows under the boards; when things were missed, the maids used to ferret in these hollows.  There was a large cupboard to the left of the chimney, & another in the opposite corner; the same two cupboards in the drawing-room.  When mamma took possession of the Kingsdown house, on coming back from her wedding tour, she was astounded at finding all the closets & cupboards in the house securely nailed up; she found, on enquiry, that Grandpapa had persuaded

63
 Papa to let him do it, telling him that "cupboards were slut-holes"; a definition very uncomplimentary to poor Grandmamma (& I think unjust), who, as far as I ever saw, was a neat & careful housekeeper.  Mamma was a considerable time in persuading papa to let her have the cupboards opened.  I have often heard her describe her dismay on finding that Grandpapa had influence enough with his son to persuade him to so inconvenient a piece of absurdity, & wondering what would be his next infliction on the new household; & how vexed she was, when John Harwood came in to pay his first visit to the little house, to see his amazement & hear his merry denunciations of the folly that had nailed up the indispensable repositories that quadruple the value of a home.  The cupboards of the Counterslip abode were, of course, not interfered with, Mamma having gained the point previously to going there.
Among my earliest remembrances are the beautiful roaring coal-fires we always had.  Papa had his coal by contract, direct from (I think) Swansea; a barge came to the sugar-house wharf every week, discharging its contents; & we had our coal brought in regularly, in a large quantity, burning it without regard to cost, papa having it, of splendid quality, at very low price.  The beer was equally allowed without stint.  Everybody drank beer like water, which nobody every dreamed of drinking, unless as toast-water, which was in constant use in all houses, for the children, being made fresh, every morning, in great jugs with covers & strainers in the spout, called "toast-and-water jugs."  Ours was white,64
with a blue pattern.  Our breakfast china was white, with bunches of thyme; the every-day dinner-set was the old willow-china earthenware.  The best dinner-set was also of earthenware, of a newer pattern.  Our silver was handsome from the beginning, being mostly presents from Uncle Browne & others of mamma's friends.  The little silver saucepan, in which the pap of each child was made in succession, is one of my earliest remembrances; & the silver "sauce-boat," the beautiful epergne, with its trifle-dish & accompanying little dishes of splendid cut-glass for jellies & preserves, as also the silver-wire cake-basket, were among my earliest friends.  There were green blinds at the bottom of all the windows; & a brass plate (Mr. S. Blackwell) on the door.
I cannot remember a single meal at Counterslip; tho' I well remember the intense longing with which I used to see mamma taking rich cake & chocolate with visitors; & I can well recall the guilty delight with which I used to make away with the baby's food, pap, arrow-root, or biscuit-food, whenever I got the chance of doing so.  Uncle James used to dine there, as he was in & out all day long, having some post in the sugar-house.  Aunt Mary was there a great deal; I can see her making a new cover of black & red chintz for the old red sofa we took to America; a very odd covering, as the carpet was pale gray.  I remember the intense, curdling horror with which, when recovering from whooping-cough, I listened 


65
to the elders discussing the hideous murders of Burke & his band; papa had brought in a long piece of paper, that folded up, like a book, each fold having a picture of some scene of the murders.  The frightful sense of the wickedness of the world which could render such things possible, that sank into my mind as I heard all this, has never left me; I was driven wild with terror, also, lest some dreadful man should murder me.  Some other horrible murders, about the same time, being much discussed by the elders, filled me with never-forgotten horror, & set me wondering, with the feeling of having a bottomless abyss at my feet, what God could be about, to let such things be!
In the Court at the bottom of our premises, abutting on the river, but closed in with high walls, was a rickety wooden stair-case leading up to a lot of rooms that had no connexion with the inside of the house.  I never went up there, having a superstitious horror of them; but papa & Uncle James spent much time up there, making experiments on new ways of purifying & clarifying sugar.  They had a sort of chemical laboratory there; I often saw crooked, long-necked glass bottles going up, for their experiments.  Bullocks' blood was then the substance used for clarifying; we thought this shocking & refused to believe it, when the servants told us so; then they took lumps of sugar & held them in the flame of the candle, & the drop of red liquor that was thus produced was declared to be blood & disgusted66
us accordingly.  I think that, even then, Papa had a hankering after beet-sugar-making.
My memory runs not back of the miserable years when Marian & I were exiled to Aunt Ann's horrid school, except for a few detached remembrances.  I remember being scolded both by Uncle James & by John Harwood, for lying on my back on the horsehair sofa that stood between the windows in the front parlour downstairs, & kicking up my heels at right angles to my body, an amusement I was fond of, until it had been sufficiently dinned into me that "It was not pretty for little girls to kick up their legs in that style!"  I remember the bright windows & brass plate, with the name of Tozer, on the door, of a house nearly opposite ours; & how much I used to speculate, peeping over the green blinds, on the existence of "Old Mr. Tozer," wondering what the house was like inside, what he would have for dinner, & so on.  I was never tired of speculating about "old Mr. Tozer." Aunt Mary was often with us, & she & Mamma used often to gossip about "old Mr. Tozer," whom I think they must have slightly known, & who had, I think, some small Government or city post.  I remember the cherries, as they used to make their first appearance, stuck into split sticks, & the enormous baskets of fragrant, lovely strawberries, & how our mouths used to water at the sight of them.  I remember being once (only) whipped by papa, but so slightly that I didn't much care, though I screamed & 

67
roared by way of protest; & I remember sleeping with him in the great bed in the nursery, Mamma, it seems to me, & the others, being absent, I can't imagine where, & being wakened in the middle of the night by the singing of the Waits, which shows that it much have been a few days before Christmas; & I remember the cries of the watchman on his rounds, crying the hours, with some stereotyped addition of a religious character, & a heavy thump of his cudgel on the pavement, to strike terror into the hearts of malefactors, by showing that he had wherewithal to pound them if they came in his way.  I remember my little white frilled pants & my white diaper pinafores; I remember wearing little frocks with embroidered fronts, little sleeves tied with blue ribands, & our coral necklaces, also blue ones, given by Aunt Browne; I remember the tall silver candlesticks & handsome silver snuffers, all given by her, & that were always on duty, lamps being unknown.  I remember learning to strike a light with flint & steel & helping to make tinder for the same; & I remember the elaborate chemical contrivances that heralded the invention of the modern allumette; papa having one day brought home a handsome red morocco-case, the lid of which lifted up, disclosing two small bottles, & a little stand of small matches; you dipped a match first into one bottle & then into the other, & it took fire.  This was considered a most interesting & valuable invention; the case stood on the night-table at the head of the bed, on mamma's side.  I remember her elaborate night caps, of fine corded muslin, & my longing to have caps like them; & I68
remember sitting on the corner of her pillow (some
new little brother or sister, probably Elizabeth, having 
come to town) & kissing her, telling her I loved 
her so much that if wicked people came to kill 
her I should tell them to kill me instead of
her, & her sleepily replying from under the bed-
clothes, "No, no; you'd say 'Take Mamma! Take
Mamma!'" at which I was grieved & scandalized.
I remember my little red shoes, which I was 
extremely fond of; & how, when I had outgrown
them, they were passed on to Marian, who had
long coveted them, & who nearly broke my 
heart by the insolent triumph with which she
used to sit in the little chair which, also, had
been passed on from me to her (though I
used to squeeze myself into it whenever I found
it empty, when she would claim it, making a
row that forced me to give it up to her) & stuck 
out her two feet at me, displaying the dear little
shoes on her aggressive little feet, till I was
bursting with grief & indignation. Just after the
red shoes had thus been torn from me, Mrs.
Ben Palmer (Redcliffe St., grocer, opposite Cathedral,
daughter of "old Mr. Lowell") gave a child's party
for her little boy, name forgotten ("Ben", I think).
We were asked & went. I, in a new pair of little
black shoes that I hated, wrapped up in shawls,
was carried to the house by a servant, & deposited
in a little chair in the drawing room, beside fat
Mrs. Palmer, who had helped to unroll me from
the wraps. The sight of my black shoes brought up
all my trouble, & I burst into a choking fit of

69
crying, sobbing out the story of my wrongs. "They've
taken away my little red shoes! & they've given them
to Mary Ann! (as we stupidly called her in those
days) & she's got them on to come here! and I hate 
these black shoes!" I was in the midst of my tale
of wrong & sorrow, when another servant came in,
bringing Miss "Mary Ann" in her arms, wrapped
up into a bundle, but sticking out her legs at a right
angle, to display the little red shoes. She was speedily 
extricated from her wraps, & was ensconced in a 
little high chair, where she displayed the little red 
shoes, all through our visit, with pertinacious
glorying over me. I have never forgotten the heartache
of that evening! Tea, cake, jam-tarts, custards,
nothing could comfort me! And to this day, I am
conscious of a sense of unrequited wrong, whenever, on
looking back into the past, I remember the cruel
loss of my little red shoes!
Vivid among those very early 
memories, is the terror I used to feel whenever the
Cattle Market was held; as Bristol Bridge, & the
adjoining streets, were the scene of this great 
gathering of horned beasts; a perfect pandemonium!
On Saturday afternoons, Marian & I were brought
home from Aunt Ann's utterly horrid school; & it
was impossible to reach Counterslip without
crossing the Bridge. The sidewalks were partially
protected by the chains between the low stone pillars
on the Bridge, but the cattle would get over the
chains, & the streets at either end were crammed with
cattle, & with drovers in white smocks, & the agonies
of terror I underwent at being conveyed under the70
heads of the beasts, among the lowing, & shouting,
& swearing, & quarrelling, are something I have
never forgotten. And the mud! the black, pasty,
sticky mud of Bristol is something I have never
seen elsewhere.
I do not remember anything 
like a party at Counterslip; I don't think any 
could have been given while we were there.
An old hand in the sugar house, William White,
used always to come to clean the knives & shoes;
no one wore boots. He was the kindest, most
faithful, & devoted old soul, - we were very fond
of him, stooping, broken, hard-working, worshipping
Papa somewhat after the manner of a dog. He &
his wife lived in miserable little rooms, at the
bottom of Counterslip; their little windows looked
out on the river, & you could hear the water 
running under the floor; it must have been a 
sort of old shanty, in wood, built partly over the
river. I often went down there with Mamma
or with a servant, to carry the old woman some
little present, tea, sugar, or what not. Poor old
William White continued to clean knives & shoes
for us until out exodus; he cried like an infant
when we left, & he died soon afterwards.
While we lived in Counterslip, Papa,
who always wore black, with a white cravat, - (a
square of fine muslin one yard & a half square,
the ironing of which must have been an affair
for Mrs. Yandall ( I think of Nailsea), our perfection
of a washerwoman, whom we had until we left,
to her great disgust & sorrow, - which was put on

71
clean every day; so that he had quite the look of a
minister. I don't think he affected it; it came 
natural; he had probably been a clergyman in some
previous life. He & his injurious crony, Mr. Howells,
(how I detested him & his!) persuaded him to join
him in setting up a Little Bethel of their own, for he
had just the same hankering as Papa for playing the
minister. They hired a long room, that you went up 
a flight of 19 steps to the door of, fitted it up with
wooden benches, & set up a kind of square low
platform at the upper end, with a desk & two chairs, as
a pulpit. The two sat together, occupying the two 
chairs, & divided the preaching & praying between them.
They administered "the Lord's supper" every Sunday, &,
I think, took up a collection also, which, as the 
congregation was a collection of the very humblest folk, 
must have been mostly in half-pence and farthings.
I think the collections were for charity. I only 
remember two incidents of this affair, the scene of
which, I fancy, was in some dirty lane opening
out of Broadmead. One is my persuading 
mamma to let me taste the little squares of bread, &
the wine, used at "the Sacrament", & which I
thought very nice, though I wondered how people 
could bear to drink after one another, especially
such people, & thought it wise in Mamma to take 
the first sip, as she always did: - & the other is 
seeing the "ministers" hold a sort of trial on a miserable 
old couple who always sat on the front bench,
exactly in front of "the pulpit". The old man was
accused of some dishonesty; possibly connected with
the collections; the "ministers," especially "Brother72
Howells", were terribly severe on the wretched old
culprit, who was shaking with shame & terror &
did not seem to have anything to say for 
himself; but the poor old wife, in her little round
black beaver "milk-bowl" hat, which all the 
women of her class wore in those days, tied
down over her cap, & a little short black cloak,
kept repeating, pitifully, through her sobs & tears,
"Daunt-ee be too hard upon 'im! Daunt-ee be too
hard upon 'im!" I forget how it ended; but I 
fancy they were expelled from "Little Bethel".
Papa had a wonderful fancy
for going about & holding services in "desolate
places". It was thus that we made acquaintance
with Clevedon; where Howells persuaded him to
take his turn in holding forth, in a Lion Chapel
that zealous dissenters had built to counteract
the deadly teachings of the established Church,
which we were brought up to hold in a holy
horror only a degree more mild than that
instilled into us for the "Scarlet Lady" & her doings.
He & the other "preachers" used to be driven down
to Clevedon in a little yellow double-seated carriage
with a gray pony, by a carriage builder, name
forgotten, who had a lovely tenor voice, & patronized
the affair, for the sake of listening to his own voice,
as he led the singing; & a good old woman, name 
also forgotten, but whom they all called "A Mother
in Israel," used to have tea for them after the 
holding forth. (I suppose she was paid, for she was
very poor; but her welcome was genuine, & also her
devotion to "the cause.") Mamma went down 

73
occasionally, on a fine Sunday, when Papa's turn came;
& I was taken down once, with Cousin Elizabeth. (on the
back seat), whose proclivities were strongly for the Church,
as more genteel, & who made great mocking, privately,
of "Uncle Sam's wasting time & trouble on a lot of 
clodhoppers", & of the profit probably made out of her
hospitalities by "the Mother in Israel."
A Mrs. Powell, a vulgar ignoramus,
had a Young Ladies' Boarding School in the place; &
she used to come to the Chapel with the Dissenting 
children, while sending the Church children to the
Church, with the other partner. Papa knew nothing
of this temporizing with an "idolatrous worship"; &
remarked to Mamma that "he had often thought
on looking down on the row of little girls, that
he should like to see his little girls among them".
So, in an evil hour, the idea struck them that
it would be good for Marian's health, & for mine,
to send us there for a twelvemonth; & without any
enquiry as to the character of the school, the meals,
teaching, companionship, &c., we two children were
sent there; a most miserable mistake, & waste of time
& money. The teaching was an illusion; we were half-
starved, & the scholars were a vulgar & corrupt lot. 
Cousin Maria was sent also; & was as miserable as
we were. I contrived to get myself taken away, poor
Elizabeth being sent down "to take out" the rest of the
quarter, paid in advance; & all were taken away at
the end of the year. All our pocket-money went in 
cakes & gingerbread; we never had a quarter enough
to eat. I've a perfect horror of the school. Our 
butcher's daughter was one of the pupils; & as her mother74
dressed her beautifully for the flare-up before the
Christmas holidays, while Marian & Elizabeth had
only ugly little frocks without without ornaments, the
butcher's wife entertained our servants with a 
quantity of insulting criticisms about the 
shabbiness of Mr. Blackwell's daughters, interlarded
with descriptions of the admiration excited by her
girl (who was extremely pretty) with her satin
ribands, & lace, & a "real pearl necklace" given her
by her Godmother! This absurd episode of our 
mismanaged education was just at the beginning 
of the Nelson St. days. 
To return to Counterslip. I often
see the enormous baskets, like washing-baskets,
in which the country-women brought fruit into 
the town for sale, setting them down on the edge
of the pavement & selling them in quarts. 
Twopence a quart for the strawberries of those days!
Fragrant, luscious, reddish-pink on one side,
pinkish white on the other: the old fashioned 
strawberry, before the new-fangled failure that pass for
strawberries now! How well I remember when
first the great, coarse, new kinds came in!
People thought them handsome, but inferior in flavour,
& felt sure they would not be adopted. And now,
where do we find the true old strawberry-flavour?
First-rate butter came in the same great open
baskets; each 1/2 pound in its own dock-leaves; 8d a 
pound, in those days. And so on. Bristol had
excellent markets; dirty, slatternly, ugly, but capital
supplies. The general market was behind the 
Exchange; the First Market, in Union St. But 

75
immense quantities of things were brought in by the 
country-people, & sold in the streets.
I remember nothing of our moving
into the Wilson St. house; though I well remember the
putting up of the black beading, instead of paper border,
in the back parlour, & the long affair of the making up
of the chintz-hangings in the front parlour, in the 
Best Bedroom over it, & in mamma's room. We had
an upholsteress & two or three aids stitching away at
it for many weeks. The chairs & sofa in the
drawing room (which was the front parlour) were of
rosewood (the real) not the dyed wood that is called so
now, but a beautifully-veined & costly wood, that
sent out a sweetish smell when rubbed. It was a
very handsome set, the seats beautifully made (springs
unknown) covered with chintz; a beautiful sofa-table,
of a rare, ornamental wood, inlaid with a band of
another rare wood, stood before the sofa, with a very
handsome oilcloth cover, that fitted it, & lifted on & 
off. In the shallow recess, opposite the fire-place,
another handsome piece of rosewood furniture, I
think it must have been a cheffonnier. A pretty
penny those rooms cost; more than it could
have been wise to lay out at that time. I remember
mamma's planting creepers in the court; I
helped her in the planting & watering; a Passion-flower
against the back-building; a white jessamine over the
back-front; a virginia-creeper opposite the back
building, to climb up into the railings of the steps 
that led down into the garden. These plants throve
wonderfully. The back building was covered with the
flowers & the great yellow egg-shaped fruit of the passion76
-flower, the jessamine hung in masses about
the back-parlour window, the virginia-creeper was
up in the railings, long before we left. Mamma 
had also had some bushes of arbor vitae planted
at the foot of the steps, & they also throve fast. The 
garden was a grove; magnificent lilacs, the
largest & finest red may-tree I ever saw, as tall
as the elm, & the admiration of the neighborhood;
a fine plantain, that Marian patronized; masses
of ivy; a beautiful variegated holly-bush. No
flowers would grow there, the shade was too
dense. So papa had it gravelled. I fancy there was
a swing at one time.
The large square garden in front
was our delight. A broad bed round the whole,
under the four walls; the one next the street, a
garden in itself, devoted to raspberry-bushes. One
morning, Kenyon, being on a visit, got up with
the light, contrived to get the key, & when he came
in to breakfast, boasted that he had put the
raspberry bed "into perfect order, having cut out all the
young stragglers"; as these were the fruit-bearers for
the following year, he had just annihilated all
hope of fruit for that year. Papa, who never liked
Kenyon, was naturally vexed. The two cousins
had walked all the way from Worcester in a day;
60 miles; & were very proud of the feat, though
their feet were blistered. Their mother's brother,
Mr. Holden, lived in the next house; we children
used to visit their children, & a great lending of 
books went on constantly between the two houses.
Maria Holden was a charming little girl; Joanna

77
was peevish & selfish, like Cousin Maria; Adam was a
pale boy, wonderfully freckled; he has become, I
learned, years ago, a furiously pious Baptist, book-seller.
The walls of the front garden were
covered with splendid espaliers; a green-gage over
the door, pears, plums, & red currants, with bunches
nearly the length of a hand. A grass-plat, filling
the greater part of the garden; a gravelled walk all
round it; & a broad, box-bordered bed, full of plants
& flowers at the foot of the four walls. A very fine
young apple-tree of our planting, on the edge of the
grass-plat; a very large old apple-tree on the other
side, with apples quite as large as a baby's head. A
fine bay-tree in one corner, behind which, having
explored, one day, I discovered a magnificent
rose-tree, laden with great roses, that set us wild
with delight, no one having known of its existence,
hidden by the tall bay, that filled the corner, &
shut it in. The bed at foot of the wall nearest
the house was devoted to raspberries.
Kenyon & Sam having walked the
60 miles from Worcester to Bristol, to make us a
visit, Kenyon got up early, one morning, possessed
himself of the key of the front garden, & worked so
diligently, without leave, at the raspberry bushes, that
he managed to cut out every one of the young shoots
(the hope of the coming year) before breakfast, to
which he came in great exultation, to boast of
what he had done. Papa's vexation, on learning the
havoc thus wrought, was natural enough. The bed
was in fine bearing, & the fruit splendid; & the
unlucky busybody had simply ruined it.78

Someone gave Papa some peas that had been found in an Egyptian mummy; he divided them amongst us, & we sowed them in our gardens.  Impatient to see what would come of them, we used to dig them up every day, to see if they had sprouted, putting them carefully back into the earth.  They came up all right despite this peculiar treatment; wonderfully thick; stout, sturdy stems & large thick leaves; but I cannot remember what came of them.  Probably we went to Weston, as usual, about the time they would have flowered; & being neglected, may have dried up, or been devoted by snails; -- for I cannot recall any peas being had from them.  
(So many months have passed since I wrote here, that I have forgotten what I had previously written; I see I had already narrated Kenyon's famous but not successful attempt in the raspberry bed.)
To return from this digression.  It must have been mainly during the Counter-slip period that Uncle & Aunt Browne were at Bourton; what a paradise it seemed to me!  A flagged path, from the top of the steps by which you came in from the road up to the door; a bed of flowers on each side of the path; a pair of grass plats; there a bed of flowers under the windows & all round.  The kitchen garden on one side with such quantities of fruit & vegetables of splendid quality; lovely green fields beyond & behind, belonging to the house, with cows, poultry, &c.  Uncle Browne made a carriage-entrance to the left of the 

79

house as you looked from the house into the garden; threw up the earth to form grass banks, planted shrubbery, & built various additions of offices, carriage-house, stables, &c.; making a handsome place of it.  As I look back upon it, I see masses of lilac, white & purple; laburnums, laurustinas, laurels, & various shrubbery; -- the garden beds gay with peonies, tulips, carnations, &c.; nothing rare, but masses of the usual English flowers; the grass plats like velvet, & Aunt Browne delighted when I, with a little knife, cut out any stray root of daisies that developed itself in the turf, which daisies were considered as spoiling.  There was a dairy, & a good establishment of servants.  The table was of a far more artistic & recherché style than ours; soup, made dishes, trifle, jellies, &c. all of which seemed to me like glimpses of a higher world than ours.  It was a most hospitable, enjoyable place.  I must have been there a good deal.  I remember being there with Mamma, & getting up in the grey of the dawn to look out on the garden & the fields across the road, in the lovely ante-sunrise light, everything covered with dew, & creeping back, shivering, into the vast curtained bed, in which Mamma was sound asleep.  At that time, Sam was the baby; & he was almost brought up there.  Aunt Browne, superstitious, was horrified when Papa & Mamma, having lost the first Samuel Charles, determined to give the same name to the second boy, as it is popularly (or was) believed that to give the second child the name of the one who is dead is fatal to it.  "The second died; the third lives," was a saying she looked on as Gospel.80
The second boy, named Samuel Charles, despite
the entreaties of many, having died as predicted,
the arrival of a third boy was regarded with great
interest; the three elder children being girls, it was
considered very desirable that the 3rd S.C. should 
be kept alive if possible; & as he was a very
delicate child, Aunt Browne insisted on having him 
out there, with his nurse, to benefit by the
country air & the beautiful milk. Marian & Elizabeth
must have been there often; but I only remember
their presence on two occasions, when Cousin
Elizabeth & Uncle Charley & a large party of us were
there. One of these occasions was out going in a
body, through fields & woods, to visit the famous
"Bleeding Rock", that Hannah More had written
about; we had been made to read this
composition (I think a poem) before we set out. We
found, for the first time in our lives, wild
strawberries, during this expedition; & went wild 
with delight over them. Elizabeth could just toddle
along; Sam was in arms. The other remembrance, 
of the same visit, is out all being in the lovely
meadows of the house, gathering the masses of
cowslips for the cowslip-wine which Aunt Browne
had made every year, & which was greatly 
renowned. What fun we had! We had a couple of
nurse-maids there with us, of whom Harriet Bryan
was one; I don't remember whether Jane Bryan 
was there. I remember being there alone & making
myself ill with eating too much fruit, & good
Uncle Browne, alarmed at the violent stomach-
ache I had incurred, coming to the little room I

81
occupied behind theirs (looking out upon the new
carriage-drive) & bringing me a dose of magnesia in a 
china cup. I can see the dear old man, arrayed in a
flannel dressing-gown & slippers, coaxing me to swallow
the dose, & how I sat up in bed (with white 
dimity curtains) making a terrible fuss over it, but
swallowing it at last. The argument that had, at
length, prevailed over my disgust, was the assurance
that, if I took the physic, I should soon be well
again & able to eat more fruit, which I should not
be able to do if I did not take it.
Aunt & Uncle Browne, though
pillars of Bridge St. Chapel, were too liberal & genial
to be over-strict, socially; & as there was no chapel at
Bourton, they went to the village church, had the
Rector to dinner, & went to dinners at his house.
In spite of habitual narrowness, mamma did the
same when visiting them. I remember, when the
blackberries were ripe, begging Aunt Browne to
have a blackberry-pudding, to which she amiably
consented, though declaring that it would certainly
not be eatable. So I gathered a mass of blackberries
& the pudding came in at dinner (3 o'clock, the
fashionable hour then), the Rector being there. When
it came in, flanked with a jug of cream so thick 
that the spoon almost stood up in it, Aunt Browne
announced that it was "Anna's pudding", so that 
I felt shy & awkward; the pudding being voted a 
success, my health was drunk, much to my
confusion. The Rector was a youngish man, polite, lively,
& agreeable; they were all invited to dine at the
Rectory a few days afterwards, & I should have liked to82
go too, but of course, as "little girls" do not go to
dinner-parties, I was left at the house. On Sunday
we all went to Church. We were up in the gallery;
I listened to the service, & watched the movements,
with great wonderment; when they came to the 
bread, I was dreadfully shocked at hearing "I
believe in the Holy Catholic Church", & anxiously
whispered "Mamma! isn't that very wicked?" To
which she replied in a whisper "It doesn't
mean Catholics; Catholic means universal, &
only means that all good people are the servants 
of God." So I continued to listen & marvel.
Visitors, handsomely dressed,
used to call, & be received by Aunt Browne &
Mamma in the drawing-room, to the right
hand as you enter the house. The polished
oak-stairs always oppressed me with an
undefinable feeling of belonging in some way to my
past, to some past that I could not recall, but
which I felt to have been. I slipped one day in 
coming down, battered my elbow & knee, & was
done up in brown paper & vinegar for several days.
Poor Aunt Browne! she was so happy
in that pleasant place! When Uncle Browne, then
worth £100 000, was unhappily induced to turn
banker, she strenuously opposed his doing so,
saying "I am perfectly satisfied to be the wife of
plain Harry Browne, the goldsmith; I have not
the slightest ambition to be the banker's lady!"
Well had it been for kindly genial Uncle Browne
had he listened to her objections!
I never remember seeing any

83
of the Goddards at Bourton, though they must often
have been there; no doubt, as there were not many
bed-rooms, they came by themselves, as we did.
I remember, but vaguely, the run
on the bank that shattered Uncle B's prosperity
in a few hours. There was plenty of specie in the 
vault to have met the call & restored confidence;
but they lost presence of mind, & this was their 
ruin. But it was so entirely the result of bad
management, notably on the part of a brother of
Sam Browne's, of Cincinnati memory, that many
suspected him to have been the paid tool of a rival
establishment, & to have purposely brought about the
smash, though Uncle B. had been a most generous
friend, protector, & employer to him. I think he 
disappeared in the catastrophe, having hastened to go to
one of the Colonies (Australia). After the smash, 
Uncle & Aunt B. lived in two rooms on the second
floor of the house in Corn St., over the shop, with
which Uncle B. was still connected. They furnished
these rooms with dark, heavy old oaken furniture,
black with age; they still had handsome linen, 
silver, &c., but had sacrificed everything else to their
creditors. They were immensely pitied, & much 
respected; I do not think they were ever blamed. 
Uncle B. went on with the jewellery business, Aunt B.
spent her time mostly in darning Uncle B's fine
black silk stockings, indispensable with his knee-
breeches & silver buckles, & shoes idem. Aunt B. had a
great dread of draughts; & an immense folding-screen, of
India lacca, black ground covered with gorgeous foliage,
flowers, & beasts, always stood before the door of the84

sitting room, enclosing the fire place & two thirds of the room.  How fond I was of going there!  I was a great favourite with them both & they made much of me.  Their old servants, from the Bourton days, lived in the rooms above them, & waited on them, cooked, & acted as their servants.  My latest recollection of the place is a dinner they gave on the anniversary of their wedding day.  It must have been the last before Aunt B's death.  We were all there, Cousin Elizabeth & (I think) Uncle Charley; also the Shorts, in great force.  There were toasts & speeches.  Cesar Short made a speech that rather hung fire; but Charles, his young lawyer-brother, created great enthusiasm by his flowing eloquence, & the admirable style in which he wound up by calling for "Three cheers for The Hamilton Sprig & the Sprig of Shillelah!" which was drunk standing amidst tremendous applause, poor Aunt B's handkerchief being in demand.  To understand this oratorical & affectional triumph, you must know, dear old Harry, that Honiton, Uncle B's native town, is famous for its lace, the patterns of which are produced without any ground, & then sewn on to a ground; this lace is very rich, elegant, & costly; the elements of the patterns are called called "Honiton Sprigs." Aunt B. was an Irishwoman; & the shillelah (the sticks & clubs with which her countrymen belabour one another,) was oratorically supposed to be a tree, & Aunt B. to be a sprig of that supposititious piece of vegetation.  I think the Goddards were present on the occasion.  Kind Aunt B. must have died not very long afterwards; so that this dinner could not have 

85

been later than 1829; for she was frequently with us at Olston, which must have been about that time, going on into 1830 or 1831.  After her death Uncle B. was partly with us, partly, I think, with the Goddards, until they left Bristol, & went to live in Swansea.
But Uncle & Aunt B. were very often at our house in Nelson St.  Uncle B. had a few good stories, & was fond of telling them after dinner, & we were never tired of hearing them.  One was of Grimaldi, the famous actor, who was taken to show off his powers of gesture for the amusement of George III.  He went through his posturings with great effect; & some one, I think a Bishop, was called on by the King to explain what the pantomime was intended to convey; or rather, I think it must have been Grimaldi who proceeded, in the character of a Bishop, to explain the meaning of his own pantomime, as something very pious, poetic, exalted, & refined; & then, changing his tone & countenance to those of a rude peasant, proceeded to give his (the peasant's) interpretation of the gestures, so ludicrously unlike the interpretation of the Bishop, but fitting the gestures equally well, & tending, I think, to the glorification of a "pot of beer" with allusions to domestic passages between himself & his "dame," that people used to go off into fits of laughter.
After a time, Uncle B., who was never so happy as with us, took up his abode with us in Nelson St., & remained there until, to his great sorrow (he said our going would shorten his life) we left on our "fools' errand" across the86
ocean. When he & Aunt B. dined with us, Papa used
often to read aloud one of Mrs. Sherwood's stories,
which were then at the height of their reputation;&
we used all to listen with the greatest interest &
delight. Papa read very well, & liked to read. Those
evenings were a perfect contrast to the restraint 
& gloom of the visits of Grandpapa & poor little
gentle, affectionate, non-entity Grandmamma.
Having now jotted down a
general view of the people & places of "the old time
before" we so unwisely & unfortunately cut from 
our native moorings, I proceed to put down the
principal things I remember of each place
connected with our Bristol life.
Of Counterslip, I have noted
nearly all that I can remember. But I have
not mentioned Conham, an obscure village, or
perhaps hamlet, a few miles from Bristol, on
the Avon, where Mamma managed to get
Grandpapa employed as Land Steward (or
something of the kind) by a wealthy man (I think Mr.
Miles, then member of Parliament, for Bristol or
for the county) with a good salary & a house & large
garden; a comfortable & respectable position, which
Grandpapa must have retained for several years,
as he planted with young firs a bare hill above
the house, & the trees were becoming a wood, & a
young snake had been found there, before he left.
Near by was the owner's house, with extensive
grounds, but I think he was rarely there. I 
remember going in one day with Cousin Sam, & the
gardener's giving us some grapes, which were like

87
vinegar & gave us stomach-ache. It seems to me the
country must have been pretty. I thought the garden a 
Paradise. You went up by steps, through an iron gate. At the
top of the steps were two roots of splendid purple double
violets, "Russian violets", they were called, extremely 
fragrant, & great favourites of Papa's; the flowers were
always kept for him. There was a garden on one side 
of the house, level with the road; on the other side of
the house, the garden was higher than the road; this
part was bounded by a sunk shrubbery, above a wall.
There was a large glass-plat, with a gravel walk round
it; it sloped upwards; across it, was a large tree, &
railings looking down into a disused quarry. At the
top was a garden-seat, under a filbert-hedge. The back
wall of the house was covered with a fine pear-tree,
bearing delicious pears, which we all called 
"Bergamies", a corruption, doubtless, of "Bergamotte".
There were strawberries, currants, gooseberries, 
raspberries, &c., in abundance, all very fine. 
Grandmama was a capital gardener. Some stone steps, the
low walls covered with yellow stone-crop, at the
near end of the filbert-hedge, led up to another part
of the garden, which must have been large,
surrounding the house on all sides. In the lower
garden were mint, balm, & all manner of herbs.
I think they must have had a servant. Papa often
drove down there in a gig. Aunt Mary lived with them.
She always wore nankeen, which I hated, but which 
we were all made to wear. She was in bad health, &
was attended by a Dr. King, considered eminent, but
very rough, brutal, & autocratic. He made her ride on
horse-back, for which purpose a great cart horse88
used to be brought to the gate, & mounted by her with
the aid of a kitchen chair; I can see her cantering
off in a nankeen habit & straw bonnet, armed
with a stick; - he forbade her eating fruit or
vegetables, & when she prayed to be allowed to eat some
strawberries (they were worth eating in those days!)
he told her she might do so if she abstained from 
eating the seeds. He supposed this would have 
prevented her eating them; but she spent an 
afternoon in picking out the seeds, & triumphantly
eat them, being no worse for them. This dreadful
doctor tortured her with a seton in the arm, pills, 
in great quantities, & no end of "black draughts",
bleedings, & other horrors, then more in vogue
than now.
There was a little old woman
who lived in a little old cottage near by, to whom,
for some reason now forgotten, papa always 
made a visit & a gift of a shilling or a half-crown,
whenever he drove to Conham. I was very fond
of her, & often went to her cottage, & got the little
potatoes out of an old three-legged iron pot, which
seemed to be always full of potatoes, deliciously
cooked, the pot half-buried in the embers of the
little wood fire on the hearth. 
One Sunday, I was allowed to go
with this old woman to a meeting held among 
some hills, some little way off. The day was fine, &
a great concourse of peasants had gathered there,
to hear some favourite preacher. All squatted
in a circle on the grass; the preacher stood in 
a cart; all the women wore little short cloaks &
89
round black beaver hats (no nap) with loops of black
riband around the crown, & narrow rims, almost
like men's hats, tied down at the ears over their 
caps. The men wore smock-frocks, & breeches. A 
concourse of carts & carioles were drawn up at a little
distance. Nearly all had a little posey; & I was petted
by them all, & and had as many posies given me as I 
could carry, all having southernwood, pinks, 
carnations, gillyflowers, & columbine, with roses & hearts-
ease.
One day, a hot summer sun
brooding over everything, Aunt Mary, Cousin Sam, & I
set off for an excursion. We went down to the
river, to a ferry, & were ferried across to a wood,
\where I was amazed to find honeysuckle growing
wild. We gathered a quantity of flowers, some of 
them new to us; & came home feeling as though
we had had a very exciting & adventurous time of it. 
We went to Weston every summer.
The only pleasant remembrances of my most 
uncomfortable, unhappy, unsympathetic childhood are
of Weston & Bourton; for though I liked the garden
& the fruit at Conham, the shadow of Grandpapa's 
sternness, the dreadful reading of chapters of the
Bible & praying, morning & evening, the horror of the
Devil, the perspective of hell-fire as dangerously
near & threatening, poisoned the place for me; &
Grandpapa, at length, having quarrelled with his
employer, threw up an excellent post & came back
to be a burden on poor Papa, in Bristol.
How lovely Weston looks to me in
the past! When the time came for going down, the90
whole inside of the coach, & several places on the
roof, were engaged a day or two beforehand, & off
we went with at least a couple of servants & a
good deal of luggage. Papa came down in the gig
every Saturday afternoon & stayed till Monday
morning. He was a good swimmer & used to 
go out dangerously far from shore, keeping
Mamma in great trepidation. Uncle William
sometimes brought Cousin Elizabeth to join
us, also in a gig. One summer we had two or
three of our aunts, Cousin Elizabeth, Sam Lowell,
Uncle Charley, & Kenyon & Sam, who came for a
few days only. We then took the lodgings at
Knightstone, which were considered very
distingues, much more so than what we were
in the habit of taking; this was to quarter Aunt
& Uncle Browne, who also came down to join
the party. Aunt Browne wished to take warm
sea-baths, which could only be had there. I
remember being in bed, on a mattress on the floor,
when they arrived, in their handsome yellow chariot
& pair, packed with fruit, vegetables, poultry, &
various delicacies, & seeing these set out in dishes,
plates, tureens, basins, & buckets, to our lively 
admiration. The party was very gay; the elders went on
delightful excursions to neighbouring points; to
Hutton & Locking, to Brean Down, to the Cheddar 
Cliffs & grottoes. Uncle Charley, as usual, was the
life of all that went on. Cousin Elizabeth, & Sam
Lowell alternately flirted & quarrelled, the latter so
violently that they fought more than once. One 
day, they got into such a fight that I, who had

91
rushed into the melee to part them, received on my 
left wrist a blow from a flying chair that hurt me
severely; I had a red mark there for many years.
Uncle Browne was always adjusting a telescope on
the battlemented wall, & we were always on tiptoe to
look through it. The sands were splendid in those
days; the shrimps ditto; shells plentiful & pretty.
The parsonage at Uphill was our
special admiration, with a verandah hung with
clematis, roses &c. We admired it, & longed to live
in such a house, almost as much as Redland
Court, which was our ideal of beauty & grandeur,
& which looked very lovely with the long tails of the
peacocks hanging over the balustrade of the terrace.
How wonderfully delightful, it seemed to us, 
whenever we walked by Redland Court, must life be in 
so grand & beautiful a place, with such lawns,
gardens, hothouses, dove-cots, &c.!
Knightstone was an island twice
a day, when the tide came in. One day, on coming
back from an expedition, we were caught by the tide,
which swept in quicker than we expected. Happily,
several fishermen's boats were moored near, & we 
were able to get into them in time to escape
drowning, & there we were held prisoners until the tide
went down. Had any of the boats got loose, we should
have been in a very awkward predicament.
There was a raffle on day; Mamma
(who always won) won two pretty work-boxes, which 
were given to Marian & me. On an earlier sojourn
there, I was stroked on the head by Mrs. Thrale,
Dr. Johnson's friend, who said, as she played with92

my frizzy pate "Little girl! where did you get your curls from?" parodying Kean's query to "The Wild Irish Girl" (as she was then called from her novel) afterwards Lady Morgan.  "Now, Arina," said Aunt Mary, as we went homewards, "you must never forget that your head has been patted by Mrs. Thrale!"
We used to go a good deal on donkeys; sometimes we had "a car" & a troop of donkeys as well.  Uncle Charley made a point of going on a donkey, & nearly choked us all with the laughter be provoked on that species of steed in "racing."
A favourite excursion was to Lizzie Harris' Cottage, at the top of a romantic little ravine on Whorl Hill, just above the village of Milton, then full of pretty cottages & gardens crammed with flowers.  The whole of the hill was then perfectly bare, & perfectly open; no trees, no walls, no hedges excepting the low hedge round L. H.'s little garden.  Partie's constantly went out there to tea; they took all their provisions with them, even to bottles of milk; & L. H. furnished  tea-things & boiling water.  There was a tiny parkour, for visitors; but people usually had their tea in the garden.  We sometimes dined there; I remember some lovely broad beans, out of the garden, boiled with fat bacon, that we thought perfection.  I think there were a pair of old yews near the cottage; there was an old upright clock in the kitchen, that had something moving on the face of it.  I can still hear it ticking!  We were very


93
 fond of L. H., & she was equally fond of us.  We always took a present of flannel, tea, sugar &c. with us, for her, when we came down to Weston.  Once, mamma bargained with her for a certain row of black currant & raspberry-bushes, paying her a fixed price, that we might eat all that was upon them, which we did conscientiously.  The air of the hill was most pure & exhilarating; & we made a point of going down Kewstoke steps.  Once, Mamma & Marian went down to Kewstoke beach, to a farm house there; but I never went farther than the steps, then in good repair, though very ancient.  Lizzie Harris was a widow; a niece lived with her, & helped to look after visitors.  I remember there were on one occasion, two other parties besides ours, so that the excursion was looked upon by us as a failure.
Our favourite walk was past Anchor Head, where we generally bathed, over the shoulder of the hill, & along the narrow path overlooking Birnbeck & the Welch hills.  A dangerous current used to set in, when the tide was up, between Birnbeck & the shore; two young sons of Sir Abraham Elton, who had a lovely place near Clevedon, were drowned there, while bathing; which caused great horror all over the countryside.  Birnbeck is now a fortification, joined to the mainland by a causeway; it was then only resorted to by fisherman, though I think we once went there to look for shells.
Mrs. Muggleworth, the enormous red-faced and red-legged bathing woman at Anchor Head, in her blue cloth bathing dress, was a prominent figure in our Weston life.  We often used the bathing94

machines, also.  One day a wheel came off one of the machines that were in the water when we also were there.  It was necessary & difficult to get it out, & the bather man & his horse were occupied in doing so, for so long that the water came into ours, & was getting up higher & higher, until we were forced to climb up on the seats, & the clothes & towels were all floating about.  We screamed & shouted & thrust handkerchiefs through the holes that served as windows; & at last the bather-man perceived the dangerous plight we were in, & came & pulled out our machine.  But we had had a terrible fright, & it might have ended in a catastrophe.  "Old Muggleworth," the bathing-women's father-in-law, popularly supposed to be over ninety, lived by himself in a tiny cabin in the open field near "Mrs. Fry's Hotel," now "The Royal Hotel" & quite transmogrified.  The only other hotel was "The Plough Inn": one of my earliest remembrances is of the dancing shadows of the leaves of the poplars of the garden across the road, so distinctly traced (I forget whether in sunlight or moonlight) on the pale yellow front of this Inn.  I have never forgotten those pretty dreamy dancing shadows; any more than the peacocks &c. of Redland Hall, the beds of roses & gum cistus in the lawn of Sir Henry Lippincott's, the Dublin "steam packet," Lady Rodney, & the East Indiamen coming up from Pill, & the glimpses of Bourton, & the polished oven floors of Lord de Clifford's seat near Thirlhampton; -- of all of which, more anon.

95

In the little bay beyond Knightstone (now built on) Marian one day picked up the outer case of a gold watch, a wreck, lying on the sand.  The jealous excitement that seized on "Bessy" & on me, to think Marian should have had such a wonderful incident, & we nothing, was deep & intense.  Mamma sold the case & bought, with the price paid, several books, which formed the nucleus of our large children's library, that became famous in our set.  Marian also became bosom-friends with a daughter of Lord & Lady Strange, which also roused our jealousy.  She also was taken in one of the "cars" in which the numerous party at Knightstone were conveyed to Hutton & Locking, & crowed over us (Eliz. & me, who were not taken) with stories of all the wonders she had seen, especially the doors of the pews in the old church at Locking, on which were ancient carvings of "The Devil roasting a Pig."  The shells & the seaweed were an unending delight to us; but Cousin Elizabeth & Uncle Charley rather humiliated us by describing the clear water at other bathing-places, putting to shame the muddy water of the Bristol Channel, so dirty that it was needful to wash our heads & hair on getting back from our daily bathe.  Whorl Hill was delicious then; not a tree upon it, soft springy turf, full of thyme, lonely, breezy, altogether lovely.  When Mr. Piggott built a house above Anchor Head, & planted some hundreds of tiny firs about it, people called it "Piggot's Folly," prophesied that the firs would die of the wind, & triumphed each time their prophecy came true.  But the owner planted, & re-planted, year after96
year, & at last succeeded in covering the bare
hill with shrubbery, now a dense wood, &
bought up nearly the whole of the hill; the 
carriage-road he opened being now a 
fashionable drive.
I find it impossible to
write these remembrances methodically & in
order of date, & am forced to jot them down
just as they crop up in my memory. Thus
I forgot to note the great jug of delicious milk 
& the exquisite home-made brown bread & butter,
which were always brought out for us by the
landlady of the half-way inn, at Backwell, where
the coach stopped to change horses on the way
to Weston. How we devoured it all! From the
time we started, we longed voraciously for the
bread & butter & the creamy milk! Papa always
brought, in the gig, on Saturday evenings, a great
supply of home-made cake & baked pears. The
Weston of to-day, with its railway-stations, theatres, gas-
works, "avenues", "roads", "crescents", &c., is built
on a marshy expanse formerly full of ditches
that collected the superfluous water & were bordered 
with immensely tall reeds, in flower, that we
vainly longed to gather, but could not, without
falling in. The old parish church stood far away
in wild fields, on a line with Anchor Head, but
far inland. All this is now absorbed by the 
Weston of to-day.
It must have been in the
beginning of the Weston days, that we were once
taken down to Shirehampton, near Pill. We were

97
recovering from whooping-cough; & I remember getting
out of bed, driven desperate by the intolerable itching of
the "Burgundy-pitch-plaister" between my unhappy
little shoulders, standing in the moonlight & picking
it off, feeling that, even should I die, & go to Hell, for
so daring an act of disobedience, I could not bear the
dreadful plaister another minute! Marian was a 
mite at that time; being weak, mamma took her out,
every day, in a boat, into the middle of the river (the
Avon, a tidal stream) & the boatman dipped the poor
little thing into the muddy river, over the side of
the boat, two or three times, when the poor child
was received by mamma in a little blanket, 
rubbed, dressed, & brought ashore. Even now, when
dropping asleep, I sometimes see the boat, the group, 
the poor little white body, the ducking of the terrified 
child, & the thought of the horrible risk so
unconsciously incurred (for if the boatman had by 
accident lost his hold of the little slippery body, the poor
child must have been sucked under the boat & 
drowned) turns me sick with horror & amazement
that any mother could have incurred so frightful
a risk! I remember one day the "Lady Rodney", the 
Irish packet-boat, coming up the river just when
poor Marian was being dipped; & how the nutshell 
of a boat danced about in the waves ploughed up
by the steamer, inflicting extra terror on the poor
little frightened creature, & on me, who watched the
scene with horror & dismay from the muddy shore.
I remember the bargaining with a 
fruit-woman, from whom mamma bought pretty
much all the contents of her baskets; gooseberries,98

cherries, strawberries, raspberries, currants black, white, & red, the stairs being covered with the plates to which the fruit was transferred, & my longing eyes & eager nose anticipating the delight of devouring the same, from my perch on the topmost step of the stair.  I remember the tall waving grass, nearly ripe, under splendid oaks, as I trotted on beside mamma, escorted by Mr. Howells, through Lord de Clifford's Park & the beautiful private grounds, to the Hall, which people were allowed to visit on certain days; I remember the variegated laurels in lavish blossom, the privet hedges, the beautiful walks & lawns; the stately dwelling, with its stairs & floors of old oak, black with age, polished like a mirror, & making me creep with the dim echoes of long ago that thrilled & awed me with a mysterious wonder, that, at that time, I could neither explain nor account for.  I see Mamma walking on quietly, with her big parasol; & myself, with a little parasol, tagging at her side.  We only went over to Shirehampton.  Aunt Mary was there, &, I think, Aunt Barbara was there for a day or two.  It may have been about that time that we went to see the famous picturesque almshouses built, at Henbury, near Westbury, by the owner of Blaize Castle, name forgotten.  (It was at Westbury that Uncle William took a small house, & lived, for the last dozen years of his life, & where he died, bled to death by an ignorant "doctor"; for he never recovered from the monstrous mistreatment of the ignoramus alluded to).  Dog roses in the hedges &

99

the ripe grass make my memories of Shirehampton fragrant & lovely.
I think it must have been about the Shirehampton period that I was taken to Worcester, on a visit to Aunt & Uncle Blackwell, who then lived in Sansom St.  The visit was not a pleasant one.  Kenyon & Sam both tried to tyrannize over me & my seven years; they were learning Latin, & despised the sampler I was finishing, with the record of my age, seven.  They had a very fine gooseberry-bush, laden with fruit, which I should not have thought of touching, if they had not insulted me, a dozen times a day, by peremptorily forbidding me to do so.  So I waited till the gooseberries were beautifully ripe; & the boys had boastfully declared that they should gather them next day; got up very early, stole quietly down stairs, & ate up every gooseberry on the bush before they came down.  Their rage, on finding that I had devoured the whole of their treasure, was violent in the extreme; they so positively declared that I deserved to be hung or to have my head cut off, that, for a short time, I felt some little uneasiness of remorse.  It is but fair to my childish self to add that had they put the gooseberries under the guard of my honour, I would have died sooner than gather one of them; but they bullied me incessantly about their bush, stirred up my mettle, & had only themselves to thank for the revenge to which they drove me.  I remember being perched in a high chair, & Cousin Sam in a similar one, eating an artichoke, the first we had ever seen, which had been given to us by some one having a fine garden; we each had an egg cup of melted butter, & we dipped our artichokes100

therein; they were yellow & mellow, I cannot imagine of what species, or due to what treatment, they could have been.  I remember Sam & myself standing on chairs & looking over the green blinds into the street, & watching a perfect deluge of rain that had turned the street into a river; Sam informed me that it was evidently the Day of Judgment that had come, & that we were all going to be drowned & washed away, & suggested that we should slip out quietly & have a run in the back-garden, under an umbrella.  Which we did.  Being presently missed by Aunt Ann & Aunt Blackwell, they hunted for us all over the house, &, not finding us, they looked out into the garden, & found us, under our umbrella, racing as hard as we could tear about the grass plat, my little white pants soaking up to my waist, & Sam, like myself, wet to the skin.  We were promptly brought in, first into bed, & treated to warm drinks & abundant scolding.  One day, we went to a party at the house of the Minister of the Chapel we went to, a Mr. Page, who had also a Boys' School; a very large handsome place, with fine fruit, &c.  I got into a scrape, & became a pariah among them, having spied from the verandah, the lair of the boy who was hiding, & incontinently divulged the same, pointing to the lair & crying "There he is! there he is!" on which the boy thus betrayed came & bullied me, & all the others joined in assuring me that I was a good for nothing little girl, & ought to be sent to bed for spoiling their fun.  Crestfallen & indignant, I was much relieved when the servant

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came to take us home.  As we did not wait for the supper that was to be, Mrs. Page brought us an apple & an apricot, & told me to take my choice.  I took the apricot, & poor Sam was put off with the apple.  As we went along, I having devoured the apricot in a trice, Sam poured out upon me the vials of his wrath, informing me that I was the greediest & most unconscionable little girl in the world, to have taken the apricot & left him only the apple.  He did not reflect that he would have done exactly the same, had the choice been given him; & that Mrs. Page ought, evidently, to have given us two apricots or two apples. -- Aunt & Uncle Blackwell were intimate with a rich grocer, Mr. Evans, I think, a relative of Aunt Blackwell's; they had a handsome place in the suburbs, with a splendid garden, full of fruit.  Sam & I went there, one day, with Aunt Ann, to breakfast; I see a handsome table, well set out, lovely china, & all sorts of good things.  To me was given such a lovely little china mug, for my milk & water, that, having turned it round & round, admiring the picture on all sides, wanting to see if there was a picture on the bottom, I, absorbed in my admiring examination, turned it upside down to look at the bottom.  Of course, the contents went instantly over the snowy, shiny table cloth, & over my little clean white frock.  What a stir, & a mopping up, & a lifting up of the table cloth, to wipe underneath; -- if ever a poor child felt the agonies of amazement, horror, & remorse more crushingly than I did, all I can say is, she deserves pity!  How ashamed I was!  how intensely I longed for the floor to open & swallow me up!  I burst into tears, & cried out "I didn't mean to do it!  I only wanted102

to see if there was another picture on the bottom of the mug!"  "And you forgot all about the milk that was in it!" put in good-natured Mr. Evans, who did his best to comfort me under my mortification, as did also Mrs. Evans, who assured me it did not matter at all; & a servant came with a nice napkin, folded in four, & laid it over the wet place, so that all the mess was covered up, & the meal went on as before.  But I was terribly mortified, & could not get over my remorse; so Mr. Evans took me out into the garden, with a little stool, & told me to choose a gooseberry-bush, & sit under it, & eat up all the gooseberries.  The bushes were splendid, very large, far above my head, & laden with beautiful gooseberries.  I speedily chose a bush, settled my stool in the midst of it, & set to work, forgetting my sorrows, & clearing the bush with unfailing energy.  How delightful it was! sitting there in the fresh air & the sunshine, with the flowers, & the birds, & the butterflies, eating my fill of the delicious gooseberries, & our genial host, having brought a stool for himself, & called to Sam to bring another, gave a bush to Sam, took one for himself, & we all cleared our bushes, Mr. Evans laughing with us, telling us merry stories, setting us prattling, & enjoying the scene, the fun, & the fruit, as heartily as the two children he made so happy, & neither of whom ever forgot the incident & his kindness, Sam being very fond of him, & remaining always greatly attached to him, although, being determined to rise above the Counter,

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he remained but a short time in the shop, to which he was sent by Uncle Blackwell some years afterwards; retaining only, from the short time he passed there, a particularly neat knack of tying up parcels, of which, all his life, poor fellow, he was always rather proud.
After grandpapa had so insanely thrown up his employment at Conham, he took a large house, in a large garden, on St. Michael's Hill, or near it; he filled it all with planks & shavings, but did not stay long there.  I mainly remember a bush of most exquisite little pink roses, scarcely bigger than large peas; with a French name, "Burgundy roses," they were called, that intensely delighted us.  I think it was in that house that he began the famous organ, which should have been mine, but was not.  After that, they were established in an old house in Counterslip, that formed part of the sugar-house premises.  It had once been a handsome dwelling, but had run down.  A circular corridor, upstairs, went round the hall, which had a sky-light; the living-rooms opened out of this corridor; the kitchen was on the ground floor, a great ancient-looking room, at the end of an immensely long, dark passage.  The best rooms, as usual, were taken by grandpapa for his carpentering.  It was there that he so unfortunately upset the pot of boiling lead on his legs; a shocking accident, as it was all but impossible to get off his gray worsted stockings, without bringing away the flesh with them.  Probably his health suffered from the shock & the torture; for my next remembrance of him is their being set up in a tiny, pretty house, with a long narrow garden,104

in Wellington Place, in good air, as the long line of houses & gardens ran out into the fields at the back with no other houses either before or behind.  Wellington Place turned out of the top of Stokes' Croft, at the turnpike on the Gloucester Road; it was pretty, flowery, agreeable, & countryfied; all the neighbourhood is now densely built over.  it led out to Ashley Barn, the Brook, the Duke of Branford's Woods, &c., our usual "long walks"; of which few vestiges probably now remain.  I think grandmama must have died there; but, strange to say, I have not the slightest remembrance of her death or of that of Aunt Browne.  Both of them were frequently at Olveston, where we only were for a year or two, & from which we started for America.  They must have died soon after one another.  The last remembrance of the handsome, ill-tempered, clever, strongly Calvinistic old man, who made everybody about him unhappy, was his being in the Nelson St. back parlour, dressed in a nice new set of black clothes, just after Grandmamma's death, his white hair, short, thick, standing up all over his head, & literally as white as snow; he had come in, with Aunt Lucy, who had washed & dressed him, to bid us good-bye, before starting for Worcester, on a visit to Aunt & Uncle Blackwell.  It was on this occasion that he first wore trousers, instead of the breeches he had hitherto worn.  He, Mr. Leifchild, & Uncle Browne, all wore breeches when I first remember them; they were among the last to abandon them, which, to my disgust & regret, they did about the same period.  He remained in Worcester,

105

where he managed to rent a very modest little house, & married an old widow, for the sake of company, & to make a drudge of her, as he had done with dear, gentle, kind old Grandmamma.  But the arrangement did not fulfill his expectations; for she became rheumatic & was bedridden until she died.  I remember Cousin Sam's saying it was a piteous sight to see the two old things, unable to move, & slowly dying, as they did after a few years of poverty & gloom.  Grandpapa's perpetual worrying of Papa was one of the strongest of his motives for the unfortunate expatriation; no doubt the poor old man, in his lonely, decaying old age, may have often regretted the alienation of his most good & generous son, & the consequent absence of our family.  Uncle Blackwell was an incarnation of stinginess & certainly must have kept him on not much more than bread & water; & I think he must have moved to Nottingham before Grandpapa's death, so that the latter must have been almost alone at the last.
The Goddards had a handsome house, in a sort of lane opening out of St. Michael's Hill; a sort of gentleman's place on a small scale, elegantly furnished; garden looking down, from a railed end, high up in the air, over the Hotwell Road.  I feel pretty sure I spied that old railing, when Harry & I went on that side of the town to Brandon Hill.  The garden had a number of horse chestnut trees, & we were horrified to learn that the little four year-old Augustus, having been given some cockroaches in chocolate, took to eating the live ones that infested those trees, & which he took for chocolate; his mother had a dreadful deal of trouble to break him106

of it.  There were quantities of laurels; not many flowers.  There was one daughter, Sarah, named after Mamma's sister; & I think only three sons, Thomas, George, & Augustus.  They were all very slow little coaches, & spoke with the singular drawl which was natural to their mother & which they had unconsciously acquired from her.  Thomas became an astronomer, & was for many years secretary to Lord Rosse, & busy with the latter's big telescope, which was then the largest known, & one of the wonders of Europe.  He married, or, rather, was married by a woman with a little money.  I think, a widow, much his senior; his family were dreadfully vexed at this marriage, but it turned out very well, as she was extremely fond of him, took excellent care of him, fed, clothed, & guided him in the way he should go, he being so immersed in his studies & duties that he would have gone all day without thinking of eating, & would have put his coat on hind side before, or not at all.  He called on me when I was in London, in 1851; even with his wife's care, he was one of the most extraordinary scarecrows I ever beheld; absolutely bald, looking three times his age, with eyes red from night-work & poring over figures; lank to a degree, in a queer old-fashioned suit, & bent under the weight of a great shiny green bag, full of books & papers, that he carried on his back.  He seemed friendly, but with nothing to say.  I think that George went out to Australia


107
[*The Goddard were cousins of Hannah Lane Blackwell, children of her aunt Sarah, K B B*]

When poor Uncle Browne's crash came, Eliza Goddard, a most ingenious, clever, persevering woman, devoted to her family, set to work at once, giving music-lessons, composing songs which she got public singers to sing at concerts, to make them known; & diligently making various fancy articles which she disposed of by raffles, that she got all the old friends of the family to buy tickets for.  One of her songs (patriotic), she got permission to dedicate to the (then) Commander-in-Chief; another was sung at a concert by Miss Stephens, which was regarded as a great triumph.  She worked quantities of velvet bags & bracelets, in coloured beads; very pretty, but of a style that would not be considered acceptable at the present day.  In these ways she managed to eke out a living for her family, as Lieut. Goddard had nothing but his half pay to live upon. After a time, they quitted Bristol, & went to live in Swansea, where she died, & we, having gone to America, lost the track of them.  She spoke French & Italian, & played the harp as well as the piano, & had some knowledge of thorough-bass.  Very good, simple, charming, thrown away on a horrid husband who was incapable of appreciating her superior worth.  I think they lived in Swansea until she died, when he married one of two Welch girls, sisters, who had lived with them as cook & house-maid for many years, were perfectly devoted to them, & nursed poor Eliza Goddard through the long years of illness & suffering that preceded her death, with exemplary kindness & fidelity.  
Mamma was a member of a Dorcas

[*He married the cook.  K. B. B.*]108

Society, & took her turn receiving the ladies belonging to it.  They came early in the afternoon, worked hard at making up garments for the poor, heard "a report" from the Secretary, did a little mild gossipping, & had a most lovely tea about 6 o'clock, after which the gathering merged into a party.  How well I remember those teas!  Such fragrant tea, such odoriferous coffee, such exquisite bread & butter (wonderful small bread, called "rasp rolls", with very shiny, springy, spongy crumb & such extatic crust, not hard, full of holes!) such heavenly cake of two or three kinds, all handed round & round on handsome trays, with a profusion of thick cream.
"Anniversary week" was an exciting time with us; it came in May, all the religious, Missionary, & other Dissenting Societies, holding their annual pow-wows.  Our favourite field-day was that of the Missionary Society; scene, Ebenezer Chapel, Broad St.  Papa was Secretary until we left England, & we listened with breathless attention & interest to the Report he read, very well dressed, in black, & were delighted whenever the audience applauded him, as they often did.  On these occasions, hosts of ministers came from all parts, & were hospitably quartered; we always had two or three, sometimes very pleasant, some times odd.  I remember a little Scotch minister, who had never before left his native village; & whose nervous shyness & greenness were very amusing.  There was a pleasant supper, one evening, 

109

a large party, who came straight from some evening meeting.  There were oysters, among other things; & the poor little man, who had never seen one before, & had not the courage either to eat them or to leave them surreptitiously slipped them under the table, where they were found, next morning, on the carpet.  We had a famous "light," Rev. Mr. Unwin from Dublin, that year; very small, a head taller than his green silk umbrella with ivory handle; witty, merry, full of fun, as many of them were.  There was a grand dinner party, one day; in the evening, when some of the guests had gone, the remaining ones, settled in for gossip & stories, & Mr. Unwin, Mr. Leifchild, & others, but especially those two, poured out anecdote after anecdote, story after story, until the laughter was almost too much.  I see Papa writhing on his chair as though sitting on fire, Mamma laughing till the tears ran down her cheeks, Mr. Unwin falling from his seat & dying with laughter as he rolled on the floor, Mr. Leifchild "piling up the agony" of fun till he started from his seat & rushed up & down the room, Aunt Mary splitting & speechless; all present nearly choking with the drollery of the narratives.  And presently, as it grew late, everybody calming down, the servants called in, a Bible brought from the back parlour, & prayers gone through with, after which the visitors went home, & we all went to bed.  I think it was for that party that Aunt Mary's "alum baskets" were filled with artificial flowers, scented to nature, that took people in, so natural & so fragrant were they.  I remember standing by the chiffonier on which the basket of flowers was placed,110

& enjoying the exclamations of the guests, as they came in, & their wonderment at our having such lovely flowers in the middle of winter.  I made alum baskets, also, & succeeded pretty well.  I think grandpapa helped me to get the wires into shape.
John Foster, author of the Essays that made so much noise 60 years ago, must have liked Papa, for he occasionally dropped in of  an evening, & sat for a couple of hours at the corner of the fire, wrapped up in an immense old Scotch plaid cloak, of a rough stuff, red, green, brown, faded & odd.  The renowned Robert Hall, the minister of the Broadmead (Baptist) Chapel, was occasionally at our parties; I remember handing him 23 cups of tea, poured out by mamma.  He lived for years on tea & (I think) morphine, being a dreadful sufferer & lying for hours on the floor in agony.  He was very eloquent, & wonderful smooth flow of language coming out of his mouth by the hour together.  People of all ranks & denominations used to flock to hear him, enchanted with his wonderful delivery.  Dr. Chalmers, a very great gun in those days, made a great stir, with his rugged Scotch eloquence & fiery out pourings, when he visited Bristol.  I think he was once at our house.  And we gave a great party to one of the inventors of phrenology, either Gall or Spurzheim, I forget which.  After tea, we three little girls were let in, & at once taken possession of by the great man & Mr. Howells (who had brought him) & our bumps were investigated for the edification of the company, to 

111

our very great disgust.
Election days were exciting in those old times; we stuck on ribands of the colour of the Liberal candidate, & went to see "the Chairing," the triumphal procession of the victors.  "Davis & Bright," having won, after a violent contest, had a splendid "chairing;" this was, I think, John Bright's entry into Parliament.  There was also an exciting time with Protheroe," but I forget who was the other victor.
We were tremendously enthusiastic about the Reform Bill.  John Harwood brought in a tremendous poster of his own drawing up & posting all over the town.  We put it up, with him, over the parlour mantel-piece.  It wound up by calling on all lovers of their country for "A long pull!  And a strong pull!!  And a pull altogether!!!"  Each line being in larger & larger letters, & the whole very imposing.  We were in Nelson St. then, & we illuminated so splendidly, on the passing of the Reform Bill, that we were cheered incessantly through the evening, & our fine show was spoken of in the newspapers.  Miss Taylor, our ridiculous goose of a governess, being fond of flowers, had bitten us all, Mamma included, with her floral mania; all our pocket money went in pots of flowers, & the court at the back of the dwelling-house was lined with immense pots & tubs, & converted into a garden.  All these flowers were pressed into the service, for the illumination; the windows were lined with them, all over the house, & the lights looked charming among them.  Over the warehouse gates were two enormous pans of grease, that were kept in a prodigious flare, with a man to112

each, to look after them. I see good Uncle Browne coming in & chuckling over a "skit" that was going the rounds of the papers; the King (William Fourth) being represented as the master of a stable, whose stable boys would not clean out the stable as he wished, so that he was fain to threaten them for their obstinacy; - "he swears, if they don't mind what they are about, he'll  take the broom (Brougham) to them!" This joke had a great success; & the King did "take the broom", created a lot of new peers (the broom's measure) & so forced the Bill through the Lords. On which the whole country illuminated, we among them.
It was while we were pestered with that odious Miss Taylor (a sad ignoramus) that Papa struck out the idea of the Domestic Contributions of verses, stories, &c., which were read on Christmas Eve. We were much outraged by Papa's giving the prize to Miss Taylor, from a generous politeness, altogether misplaced; as she ought either not to have contributed, or been placed, as a compliment, "hors concours". She had written a rambling thing, rhymed, meant to be witty; & our evening was spoiled by her getting the prize, I forget what (I remember, it was a large plum cake). Papa always sent home, on Christmas Eve, a great chest of oranges, a drum of figs, & a box of raisins, all splendid, Bristol being the great port for importing foreign fruit, & Papa knowing the merchants & having the pick of the market. The oranges were laid out on the floor of a large room, on straw, & everyone had three a day as long as they lasted.

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The first appearance of the Annuals caused great excitement all over the land. I think it was in 1828. We had several, + went nearly wild with delight over them; even Papa was carried away by the beauty & romance of this new style of book.
The first novels we ever read were smuggled in by Marian, with the aid of one of the nurse-maids, who procured from a circulating library "The Bandit's Bride", "The Scottish Chiefs", &, at length, "Ivanhoe" & others of Sir Walter Scott's. Marian, finding the burden of secret doings too heavy to be borne alone, took me into the secret, & we devoured the stories privately, until we got caught. There was a dreadful scene, & our beloved novels were seized & carried off to Papa, & we expected some dreadful punishment. But, to our immense relief, Papa began to read them, to see what we had been reading, & became so much interested in them, that we not only got off without punishment, but were allowed to go on reading them! Papa read aloud very well; & when Aunt & Uncle Browne came to tea, as they often did, Papa would read some story aloud, for the gratification of the party. Nearly all Mrs. Sherwood's stories, illustrating the Church catechism, were read aloud by him in this way. I remember one of them, intended to enforce the duty of wives to obey their husbands, that brought out strong expressions of sympathy & admiration from Aunt Browne, who devoutly believed in that "duty", & who adored Uncle Browne to such a degree that she stood up for the "rights" of husbands for his sake. "So good, & so obadient!" she would exclaim, in her sympathy with the heroine, who was allowing her114

self to be tyrannized over ad nauseam by a scoundrelly Lord Somebody, because he was her husband.  But the story & the comments made me very indignant, & I gave the assembled family my views on the monstrosity & nonsense of the supposed "duty" & repudiated St. Paul & his sayings on the subject, with so much anger that I got myself into disgrace thereby & was ordered off to bed as a punishment for my outbreak of rebellion against the assumption of marital authority.  I got into trouble many times by my expression of determination never to consent to obey any man.
One Christmas, Papa brought home a little jointed figure of card-board, a handsome Spanish-looking little fellow, some half a yard high, with a cap & (I think) a feather.  This little figure he made to dance between his knees, the figure standing on the floor.  We never succeeded in finding out how he managed it, which he did very cleverly.  We were all made to go out of the room when he prepared the exhibition, & we came back when all was ready.  The candles were so placed as to favour the illusion, & we could see nothing to account for the movements of the figure.  On these occasions, Papa sat with his knees wide apart, & his hands on his knees.  No movement was apparent in hands or knees, but the moment a dance was played on the piano, the little man began to dance exactly as though he were alive.  Cousin Elizabeth was as little able to find out the secret as we were; & she fell decidedly in love with the handsome little Spaniard.  We supposed the figure to be hung on a thread of black silk, &

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that this thread was cleverly worked to give the motion; but we never knew how this was, for Papa persisted in keeping the secret.
One of the Wilson St. Christmases was marked by the stealing of mamma's black velvet reticule, stuffed with oranges which she was taking home for the jollification in the evening.  A tiny gold watch, given me by Uncle Charley or by Aunt Browne, my especial pride & delight, was in the bottom of the reticule, being brought back from a visit to a watchmaker's for some repair.  There was, at the time, a gang of boys who robbed ladies' reticules.  I trotted along beside Mamma, when she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, you naughty, wicked boy!" & I saw the young miscreant making off (we were in Cumberland St.) toward Stokes' Croft, as hard as he could tear.  The thought of my dear little watch gave wings to my feet.  I sprang after him, shouting at the top of my voice "Stop thief!  stop thief!"  Everybody within hearing took up the cry, & the young rascal was soon caught, but he managed to toss the bag to a confederate, who got off with the booty.  The young thief was taken to jail, tried, & convicted, but Papa exerted himself so generously for the little rascal (whose father was a decent labouring man, much distressed at his son's evil doings, & the boy himself professed great repentance & determination to amend) that he obtained a lenient sentence for him; & Papa afterwards sent him out to Australia, with good clothes, &c. some money, & good advice.  And the fellow did really mend, got employment, prospered, & wrote a grateful letter of thanks to Pope for all he had done for him.  But though the boy had tried116

to get back my watch, he was unable to do so; & the loss of this little treasure was a great grief to me for many years.  Uncle Charley had also given me a garnet ring, which Mamma kept in one of her drawers, & only allowed me to see occasionally.  I had dreams & visions enough to fill a volume over that ring, which I was to have possession of, & be allowed to wear, as soon as I should be fifteen.  And how I longed for that time!!!

Vol. II.

Dear old Harry! will you have patience to read all that I have written for your edification & gratification?  Having noted most of the people we had to do with in our childhood, I now proceed to jot down what I remember of scenes & doings.  You are at liberty to throw these reminiscences into the fire, if you don't care to preserve them.
A certain Miss Henderson was a ward of "old Dr. Short's"; she was a co-heiress, with a fortune; I don't remember whether she was a daughter of Dr. Henderson, but think she must have been.  She was the whitest creature imaginable; excessively fair, without colour, & her hair & eyebrows almost white; very amiable, but very silly. Her sister, placed in better hands, was married to Sir Frederic Ffolks, Bart.; but the Shorts, instead of finding an equally favourable match for her, got her to marry their son Richard, without a penny; they were greatly blamed for this sacrificing their 

117

ward for their own advantages.  I remember the wedding, the fine dresses, the bride's white bonnet trimmed with real crocuses, yellow, purple, & white, & the wedding cake, of which, incited thereto by Cousin Elizabeth, we put pieces under our pillows, that we might dream of our future husbands.  But we only put the smallest bit that could be supposed efficacious; the cake was too delicious to sacrifice more.  "Mrs. Richard" had half a dozen bridesmaids, all in white, with lots of crocuses.  Richard Short died of consumption soon after his marriage; I remember being sent to the house for news of him; & the bewildered way in which Mrs. Richard replied, in the drawing-room & in tears, to my enquires.  After his death, she soon married a vulgar creature, named Spilsbury, who ran through her money in no time, so that she had barely enough to eat, & presented a woefully changed appearance.  What became of them, I never knew.  We lost all trace of them on leaving England.
There was a rich family, that of Mr. Richard Ashe, whose father had made a large fortune as a brewer; he was one of the pillars of Bridge St.  They had a very handsome place, Cotham House, on the outskirts of the town; kept a carriage, & entertained handsomely.  I remember calling there often with mamma, & the rich cake & chocolate that were handed us; also children's parties there.  The place looks to me very lovely.  Mrs. Ashe died, after 40 years of wedded life; & the widower scandalized the whole connexion by marrying within the twelve-month, a daughter of a Mr. Newell, another of the Bridge St. pillars.  Since then, Mr. Ashe foolishly118

"swapped" his beautiful place for a house in a row; a stupid wager, or something of the kind, with Mr. Newell, that the other held him to, & he was goose enough to carry it out.  Papa & Mamma, & Aunt & Uncle Browne, were there at a party, in the time of the first Mrs. Ashe, when Uncle Lane arrived in his gig, from Olveston, with the news that Cousin Elizabeth had surreptitiously married Sam Lowell, a match that had been on & off a dozen times, & match that had been on & off a dozen times, & that all the family wished to see broken off definitively.  Cotham house had splendid gardens & almost a park.
Near Cotham was a large boys' school, kept by an active minded Mr. Pococke, a local celebrity, whose inventions made a good deal of noise.  Among other things, he contrived a carriage propelled by sails; & he & the boys went out with it, taking turns to get in & be driven thus.  He was always doing some ingenious thing or other, & was much talked about.  We often met the school when out walking.  I think he invented the first velocipede, that his boys used, to the amazement of beholders.
Mr. Howells' Boys' School was also in the neighborhood.  How intensely I disliked him & his!
New & splendid nursery grounds had been laid out, on that side of the town, by Miller & Sweet; the opening of those grounds was a great local event.  We were there, Aunt Mary, Aunt & Uncle Browne, & Cousin Elizabeth, & everyone we knew.  There was a band of music, & all the fashion &

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elegance of the town promenading through the grounds.
The Hot Wells were in high favour.  The Pump-Room was a very fashionable gathering place; & the Assembly Rooms were the scene of Bazaars, Raffles, Promenades, Concerts, &c.  I see Aunt Browne, in a handsome black silk cloak, with Uncle Browne, in a handsome black silk cloak, with Uncle Browne, in his breeches, pigtail, & gold spectacles, heading our party, drinking the water, & eating cakes & tarts; there was a dense crush of visitors, "Beau Brummel," then in the full swing of his fame, having come from Bath to honour the place with his illustrious presence. But I don't remember seeing him or "Beau Nash" his emulator , who sometimes came there.
St. Vincent's Rocks, & Nightingale Valley, were favourite resorts of ours when we went out for a whole afternoon.  A murder having taken place in the latter, we rather fought shy of it after wards; we also feared snakes, & gradually deserted it.  But Aunt Barbara took some good sketches of "bits" of the Valley, which was very lovely.  Her sketches & pencil drawings were capital.
St. Vincent's Rocks, though already much spoiled by blasting & quarrying, were very picturesque, showing various bright colours & romantic forms.  There was a "Giant's Hole" on the face of the Rock, under the Down; & a family legend credited Uncle Charley with having clambered down into it, when a boy, & up again, at the imminent risk of limb & life.  We went so often to the Durdham & Clifton Downs & Hotwell region, tiring ourselves out, & dragging home weary & cross, that we ended by disliking them, & looked forward with satisfaction, as a118

"swopped" his beautiful place for a house in a row; a stupid wager, or something of the kind, with Nr. Newell, that the other held him to, + he was goose enough to carry it out. Papa + Mamma, + Aunt + Uncle Browne, were there at a party, in the time of the first Mrs. Ashe, when Uncle Lane arrived in his gig, from Olveston, with the news that Cousin Elizabeth had surreptitionsly married Sam Lowell, a match that had been on + off a dozen times, + that all the family wished to see broken off definitively. Cotham house had splendid gardens + almost a park.

Near Cotham was a large boys' school, kept by an active-minded Mr. Pococke, a local celebrity, whose inventions made a good deal of noise. Among other things, he contrived a carriage propelled by sails; + he + the boys went out with it, taking turns to get in + be driven this. He was always doing some ingenious thing or other, + was much talked about. We often met the school when out walking. I think he invented the first velocipede, that his boys used, to the amazement of beholders. 

Mr. Howell's Boys School was also in the neighborhood. How intensely I disliked him + his!

New + splendid nursery grounds had been laid out, on that side of the town, by Miller + Sweet; the opening of those grounds was a great local event. We were there, Aunt Mary, Aunt + Uncle Browne, + Cousin Elizabeth, + everyone we knew. There was a band of music, + all the fashion +

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elegance of the town promenading through the grounds. 

The Hot Wells were in high favour. The Pump-Room was a very fashionable gathering-place; + the Assembly Rooms were the scene of Bazaars, Raffles, Promenades, Concerts, +c. I see Aunt Browne, in a handsome black silk cloak, with Uncle Browne in his breeches, pigtail, + gold spectacles, heading our party, drinking the water, + eating cakes + tarts; there was a dense crush of visitors, "Beau Brummel", then in the full swing of his fame, having come from Bath to honour the place with his illustrious presence. But I don't remember seeing him or "Beau Nash" his emulator, who sometimes came there. 

St. Vincent's Rocks, + Nightingale Valley, were favourite resorts of ours when we went out for a whole afternoon. A murder having taken place in the latter, we rather fought shy of it afterwards; we also feared snakes + gradually deserted it. But Aunt Barbara took some good sketches of "bits" of the Valley, which was very lovely. Her sketches + pencil drawings were capital. 

St. Vincent's Rocks, though already much spoiled by blasting + quarrying, were very picturesque, showing various bright colours + romantic forms. There was a "Giant's Hole" on the face of the Rock, under the Down; + a family legend credited Uncle Charley with having clambered down into it, when a boy, + up again, at the imminent risk of limb + life. We went so often to the Durdham + Clifton Downs + Hotwell region, tiring ourselves out, + dragging home weary + cross, that we ended by disliking them, + looked forward with satisfaction, as a120

great prospective gain, when the exodus was mooted, to getting rid of it as a walking-ground! And yet how lovely that region is! What exquisite air, & what exquisite views in every direction, with beautiful undulating green country on either hand, & the river running down into the Channel, shining in the distance! How many a time, in the weary exile across the ocean, have I longed for the sight of that charming region, for the lovely air, & the elastic turf of the glorious open Downs, at that time without a house upon them! What geese we were!!
On the road leading down from the Downs & Clifton, & all along the road by the river & the Docks, were women with little tables, or boards, selling pretty & curious stones, crystals, spars, fossils, &c., mostly found in the quarries there, but with specimens of the famous "potato stones" from the Cheddar caves, looking just like potatoes outside, but crystallized inside, & extremely pretty; shells, & baskets & boxes of shells, things in pith; & colored straw, & various other little curiosities, which people bought as they went by. We used to lay out our pocket-money on these things, ranged on boards by the way-side, until the advent of Miss Taylor, who fired us with an enthusiasm for flowers, so that we put our money mostly into floral purchases, while she remained with us. If the idiot had only understood something of botany, or of drawing, or painting, this floral mania might have been made useful; but she knew nothing of either, & we merely threw

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our money away on plants we did not know how to take care of, & the keeping of which in our bedrooms must have been unwholesome. But people thought nothing of hygiene in those days.
An old town, called "Cook's Folly", a few miles off, in the direction (I think, for we never thought of points of the compass, neighbourhoods, or direction) of Westbury, or Pill, was a favourite object in the landscape, & we often longed to go thither, without having succeeded in doing so. The story went that a certain Mr. Cook, a rich merchant of Bristol, was told, by a fortune-teller, that he would die by the bite of a snake. So, to preserve himself from the threatened doom, he bought  piece of land, & built himself a tower, without any door, & of which the windows were high up above the ground. In this tower he shut himself up, alone, having food, &c., drawn up from below in baskets by a crank of his contriving; never going out of his tower, & letting no one in. He lived thus for several years, & supposed he had placed himself out of reach of the prophecy; when, one day, on drawing up a store of faggots, a snake, that had got into one of the faggots, unperceived, made its entry thus into the tower, got out of the faggot, bit him, & he died of the bite, as had been predicted. From that time, the tower was known, far & wide, as "Cook's Folly". When we were children, an old couple lived in it, to take care of it. A door had been made below, so that people could enter the tower, & go up to the flat leads on the top; parties went out there, taking their provisions with them, & the people in the tower furnished hot water &122

crockery for tea, which was generally take on the roof, the view being very fine. After we had vainly longed to go there for years, a party was at length made up for going there. All our lot, with the two nursemaids (Harriet + Jane Bryan), a third servant to look after the baskets of prog, Aunt + Uncle Browne, all the Goddards, Cousin Elizabeth, Aunt Mary, + I think Uncle Charles, went out in "flys" (the one in Orange St., kept by Uncle Browne's old coachman, being, of course, of the number) + stayed there all the afternoon, coming back in the evening. I don't remember whether Papa + Uncle William were of the party. The weather was lovely, + we had a splendid golden sunset; + we watched, with immense delight + interest, + grand "West (or East) Indiaman" that was coming up the river with the tide; a mountain of snowy canvas, with a regiment of troops on board, come home from their long foreign service. The children all got up on the battlement round the top of the tower; the elders stood behind them; Uncle Browne made everybody get out their pocket handkerchief + fly the same as the noble ship came up with the soldiers massed on the deck. We were all greatly excited with the splendor of the scene, + shouted "Hurrah!" + "Welcome home!" at the top of our voices, (inaudible on board); the troops stood stock still, as though they did not see us; but just as the ship passed under the tower, every cap was lifted + waved, as though by a single arm, + a ringing shout, thrice repeated, sent up a "Hurrah!" that rung in our ears long afterwards. The whole lot of us, old + young, 

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went off into a fit of enthusiasm that nearly took us off our feet, + threatened to send us down headlong into the woods that went down to the river. Didn't we fly the handkerchiefs + shout our answering "Hurrahs!" with impassioned vigour?!!! When this piece of excitement was over, Uncle Browne took out a pocket knife that he always had about him, + cut round the sole of one foot of every member of the party; cutting the initials of the owner of each inside his mark; + I think he put the age of each child in its sole. By the time this operation was got through with, evening was coming on, + we went home, greatly delighted with our excursion. I think the Goddards must have left Bristol soon after this, for I do not remember any subsequent events in which they were mixed up. 

It would be impossible to imagine any people more genial, more ready to enjoy + help others to enjoy, than Aunt + Uncle Browne, Mamma, or Uncle Charley. Aunt Mary, too, came out brightly on all such occasions. The others were dead weights, + added nothing to the life + spirit of any little jollification. Papa was very kind + enjoyed an "outing" when he could come; but he was usually absorbed in business, + only joined occasionally in our doings; but he liked to know that we had been enjoying ourselves, though he seldom took any active part either in planning, or in carrying out, any little plan of the kind.

After poor Uncle Browne's crash, the Goddards sold off all the handsomest of their furniture + whatever they could manage to do without. 124

Among other things, this sold off by then as superfluities, was a very large + handsome rocking-horse, the size of a small poney, which Mamma bought + installed in the little end room, opening out of the Wilson St. back parlous, which we three elder girls had take possession of, as our special play-room. This rocking-horse was a great delight to us. I used to get on the top, Marian got on the end of the rockers behind; "Bessy's" place was on the rockers in front; + thus seated we worked our wooden steed backwards + forwards by the hour together, singing verses out of Taylor's (I think it was) scenes in foreign lands. One "poem" about "Mumbo Jumbo" + another, beginning "Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, They crowned him long ago", were especial favourites. Sometimes, instead of songs, we improvised stories, in which we got up deep interest. Marian's were usually the longest; she launched out, at such length + with so many romantic complications, into one of these improvisations, called "The Beautiful Estelle", that we never reached the end of it, + have lived in uncertainty of the eventful fate of the heroine.

At the end of the back building, of which the main room was considered to be our play-room, + contained the rocking-horse, was a sort of light closet fitted up with a hole + plug, for washing hands. There was always a disagreeable smell in this little room, + also in the larger one, coming up, no doubt, through the pipe from the wash-hand basin, which communicated with the pagoda in the garden below.

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But no-one worried about drains, +c., in those days; ignorance of which we, brought up among many conditions that must have been very injurious, have doubtless paid the penalty in uncomfortable results.

But what magnificent lilac, white + purple, there was outside the window of that little end room! We used to get at the top boughs through the little window, breaking off masses of flower to stick in all the rooms of the house. I never saw more beautiful lilacs. And the very finest red hawthorn I ever saw was in that garden. A large forest-tree, beautifully shaped, + a mass of crimson flower; superb. A very large + fine laburnum was considered to be Marian's property, also a fine sycamore. We each had a little garden, + tried hard to get flowers to grow in them; but it was impossible; the foliage was too dense. There was a large elm, a large sycamore, + masses of ivy on the wall to the right, + up the outside staircase leading to the three storeys of an empty house, at the bottom of the garden, which belonged to our premises, but of which we made no use, except the ground floor rooms, which Papa fitted up for making beer, as he did, a few times, having a brewer there to manage the operation. I remember how strong the must used to smell all over the place, while the beer-making event went on. But the beer was excellent. 

Mamma had, on first going to the Wilson St. house, planted a white jessamine in the court, beside the kitchen window, to climb up the back-front of the house; a passion-flower in front of the scullery, to climb up round the window126

of our play room; + a Virginia creeper on the wall opposite. A mason came + cut away a piece of one of the flags for each planting; holes were made + filled with earth, + she herself planted the three plants with her own hands. She also had planted an arbor vitae, at the foot of the steps that led down from the parlour-floor into the garden, by the door that let into the street; - + some variegated holly-bushes, in the little bed in front of the back-parlour-windows. The court was lower than the garden; you went up to the latter by three steps. The kitchen was underground, though open behind, + was not damp. There was a pump in the scullery. One day, when mamma was making pastry in the front cellar (for coolness for the paste) as she often did, I was allowed to bring her water + otherwise take part in the operation. I see her pretty white hands daintily rolling out the paste + putting the apples into the pie-dish. I worked the pump with such zeal that I shook down a large saucepan that had been stupidly perched on the top of it; the great heavy thing came down plump on my head, cutting it, so that my face was covered with blood in an instant. It is a wonder it did not kill me; I have the scar to this day, + attribute my incessant, life-long headache, in part, to the violent concussion of this blow. The sight of blood, in my childhood, always terrified me beyond expression, drove me wild with fright + horror. The pouring down of blood was more terrible to me than the blow + the cut. My head was bound up, + the pain

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went off in a few days. But nothing could induce me to have it touched. It was only when the matted hair began to smell that I at length consented to let Aunt Barbara bathe my head with a sponge + warm water, so as to wash out the blood which had made a cake in the hair + was become offensive + dangerous.

I see Mamma making the superlative custards we always had when there was a dinner-party; stirring the mixture in a broad shallow brass preserving-kettle, with a down new marbles (that we had been charged to buy for the purpose at the great toy-shop in the Barton) to keep it from sticking. Her custards were a rare perfection; her trifle, ditto. If things ever go well with me, I mean to have custards + trifle made exactly as she made them, quite sure that they will cause rapture to all creatures favoured with their acquaintance!

The "best bedroom", first floor front, was a good large room, but contained a very handsome + elaborate four-post bed (mahogany, with chintz hangings, matching the curtains at the two windows) so enormous that it took up a good part of the room. There was a little set of steps, mahogany + green baize, that stood beside this bed, for its occupants to get up and down by! The feather bed was a mountain; it cost [20 pounds]! You sunk into it as into a bath; we delighted in climbing up, + letting ourselves fall plump into the ocean of softness. Whenever Elizabeth Lane was visiting us, she had that room + I generally slept in the big bed with her. When Cousin Maria128

was the visitor, one or other of us had to sleep there with her, as she was terribly afraid of being alone.  During one of her visits, we took it into our heads to want leave to sleep all together in the big bed, which would have held half a regiment; so we drew up a petition to that effect, signed it; & I took it into mamma's room; & gave it to papa, who was seated at his wash hand-stand, shaving.  He read the little paper through with a smile, laid down his razor, took a pencil from his waistcoat, & wrote, on the back of our precious petition, as follows:

"If you four little girls were together to lie,
"I fear you'd resemble the pigs in their stye.
"Such groaning! such grunting!! such sprawling about!!!
"I could not allow such confusion and rout!!!!!
"So this is my judgment; -- 'tis wisdom, you'll own,
"Two beds for four girls are fare better than one!"

We were dreadfully disappointed, but there was no help for it; & the fun of bundling ourselves, all together, in the big bed, was a dream doomed to remain a dream, & very wisely so, as the project, had it been carried out, would doubtless have led to kicks & quarrels.

We tried the dodge of a "petition" for the furtherance of another project, & with similar result.

I had, after long entreatings, succeed in getting mamma to let me sleep by myself in the garret-room next the head of the stairs, looking out on the garden.  I took immense pleasure in having this room all to myself, & used to get out, through the window, upon the leads, behind the parapet; the view was very pretty & extensive; Sundry Tower showing on the hills to the right, & the Duke of Beaufort's woods

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showing across many fields & well-known walks to the left.  I had invested half a crown, at Weston, in a little spy-glass, that we tried to believe made things look clearer; & I sometimes let Marian & Elizabeth come out on "my leads" & have the satisfaction of peering through "my spy-glass."  Unluckily, the elders got wind of our visits to the leads, thanks to a characteristic enterprise of "Miss Marian;" "Monkey Polly" as papa had named her for her endless teazings & original undertakings.  At first, when I admitted the two to my sky parlour, we all sat perfectly still & quiet, reading, after we had done staring through the little spy-glass.  But one unlucky day, Miss Marian bethought her of extending her movements; & was preparing to walk along the whole length of the leads, when one of the servants came into my room, looked out of the window & reported our being on the leads & the adventurous doings of Miss Marian.  We had had an uncomfortable consciousness of doing what would be forbidden if known; & consequently were more vexed than surprised when we were summarily ordered in & forbidden to put our feet on the leads in future.  But it was so very nice to be up there, all by ourselves, with only the sky overhead & the beautiful view all around us, that we could not resign ourselves to be debarred from the pleasure without an effort to obtain its continuance.  So we made a petition, & signed it, promising to sit perfectly still & not lean over the parapet.  As before, I carried in our petition & handed it to papa, as he sat shaving at his washhand-stand, which stood in the window opposite the door of the bedroom.  As on the farmer occasion, Papa took his pencil, turned the petition, & wrote his answer on the back of the little sheet of paper:130

"Anna, Bessy, & Polly!
Your request is mere folly.
The leads are too high
For those who can't fly!
If I let you go there,
I suppose your next prayer
Would be for a hop
To the chimney top!
So I charge you three misses
Not to show your phizzes
On the parapet-wall,
Or the chimney so tall;
But to stay on the earth,
The place of your birth.
So writes your Papa!
"Amen!" says Mamma!!
"Even so!" says Aunt Ba!!!"

I don't remember our ever again attempting a "petition."

Aunt Blackwell was a sister of a Mr. Holden, who lived in the house next to ours.  As they were "Broadmead people," there was not much social intercourse between the heads of the two families, though the children often played together, or rather, the Holden children used to come to our parties & were sometimes invited to play in with us in "the front garden," across the street.  I don't think they even gave parties.  I used to go in, sometimes, of an evening, to read some of their books, & they constantly borrowed ours; our children's library, that had been begun with the proceeds of the gold watch-case picked up by Marian on the sands of the little bay beyond Knightstone (now built over) having been

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constantly added to, until it had come to be known & regarded as remarkable.  How we used to pore over those stories of an evening; "Father Clemont," "Sandford & Merton," Miss Edgeworth's stories, Mrs. Sherwood's, Mrs. Bar-
bauld's, & quantities whose very names are now forgotten, 
that we read, over & over again, with unfailing delight. 
Adam Holdem once lent me one of his best hooks, a 
large edition of "Robinson Crusoe", in two or three volumes, 
that he [?] immensely. I took the greatest care of
it, had [?] paper covers to the volumes, & hardly dared 
turn the leaves, so anxious was I that no harem should
come to it; but alas, as I was deep in its perusal, one 
evening, just after tea, the baby of the period (probably
Ellen) who was on Mamma's lap, close by, made a 
sudden grab at the book, as it lay on the table, & tore
off a great piece from the bottom of the page. I have 
never forgotten the [?] of that moment!
All my money would not have [?] to buy a 
new copy of the precious book; & all the bitter tears
I shed over the torn page could not make it whole
again. Momma, to tide over the accident, cut a nar-
row band of thin paper, exactly to the shape of the 
tear, & having laid the torn edges together, pasted the
band of paper upon them. A second band was laid 
on the other side; & the page was thus restored to its
entirety. It was very neatly & ingeniously done; & when 
the surrounding was hopefully dry, she took me & the 
book to Mrs. Holdem, explained how the accident had 
occurred & assured her of the sorrow & regret it had 
caused me. Mrs. Holdem kindly accepted the mending to be 
"quite an ornament". Adam Holdem also took it very 
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amiably, but it was long before I got over my remorseful regret for the injury done to a favourite book.  Adam H. was one of the very whitest faced boys I ever saw, & his face was a mass of freckles.  Whenever Maria was with us, we had the three younger Holden children with us every day; Maria Holden was a charming little creature, her father's idol; Jemima was just the reverse, much such a little ill-tempered nuisance as Maria Blackwell.  The rest of them were grown-up young men, probably dating from a previous marriage.  We had nothing to do with them.  When Maria Holden died, the poor father's grief nearly turned his head, & the people of Bridge St., & those of Broadmead, were equally shocked & scandalized by his denunciations of the cruelty & injustice of the Almighty in taking Maria, when He might just as well have taken Jemima instead!

Before Maria H. died, I had a child's party - K. & S. had just walked down from Worcester, & were to spend a few days with us, being quartered, at night, at Aunt Mary's.  Uncle Charley was there also; Aunt & Uncle Browne, all the Goddards, & a lot of others, had tea in the front parlour; we children had our tea in the "best bedroom," given up to us for the occasion.  We had tea in a set of little tea things, with tray, teapot, tea kettle, &c.; a new acquisition of which I was very proud.  When it came to filling the tea pot again, Cousin Sam insisted on taking the tea kettle from Harriet Bryan, who was detailed to look after us, & pouring the water into the tea pot himself.  The little teapot was 

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soon filled; but Master Sam went on pouring, flooding the tray & the table & exciting the shrieks & objurgations of all the young ones, & of Harriet, to all of which he remained deaf, pouring the dreadful hot water over everything, down to the floor.  The hubbub brought a rush of the elders up, to see what was the matter; Uncle Charley & Mr. Goddard got the kettle out of Sam's hands & gave him a scolding.  The water was wiped up; &, quiet being restored, & Sam having promised "not to do it again," we finished our tea with great satisfaction.  I can't imagine what could have been the occasion of that party; it must have been something special, as, at nine o'clock, there was to be a grand affair of fire-works, let off in the front garden, under the auspices of Uncle Charley & Mr. Goddard, with Kenyon (who looked down on us "little ones") to help.  Unluckily, the fireworks would not go off well, but hung fire.  All the elders had had come up to us, from downstairs, to see the sight from our windows.  The Roman Candles did the best; I see the shining moons going up, one after the other, to our great delight; but the other pieces did more sputtering than fire.

An old friend of Mamma's, a certain Mr. Winter Harris, held the office of Town Clerk.  He embezzled the public funds, & would have been in terrible trouble, disgraced & transported, if Papa, always imprudently generous, had not lent him 400 pounds, to make good the deficit; & moreover, instead of taking a proper receipt, in regular legal form, with date for payment, &c., he had contented himself with a mere "IOU," of no legal value.  Harris, of course, promised to pay promptly; but he never repaid a penny; & 134

when, after her poor Papa's death, Mamma applied to him, over + over again, for the repayment of the aid so generously given + which had saved him from utter + irremediable ruin, he never even answered her letters. But while we remained in Bristol, Harris kept up a show of gratitude; +, one day, he got an invitation, from some friend of his, for Papa to take all his family to Something Hall, the friend's place in the country, to see the new-fangled great strawberries that had just been invented, with leave to gather + eat any quantity of the same. So a couple of flies were had, + the whole family went off, with the exception of poor me, who, having committed some great misdemeanour (I think it was obstinately refusing to drink some tea into which sugar had been put by mistake; - we children had been so harrowed by the statements about West Indian slavery that we had given up taking sugar in our tea, by way of protest - ) was left at home for punishment. I dare say the others may remember that excursion; for they were all filled with amazement + delight at the size of the strawberries + the quantity they had eaten. 

Every summer we had a "strawberry feast", going off to the Ashton strawberry-gardens; an immense plantation of that fruit, with tents, + arbours, where parties sat + devoured quart after quart of the lovely fragrant fruit, with powdered sugar, + cream, if called for, but the fruit was so luscious that sugar was not needed. It was the beautiful original strawberry, not large, pale on one side, red on the other, 


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that scented the whole house; far superior to the "improved" varieties that have take its place. I came across some of that old kind a few years ago; + was able to certify myself that this superiority is real, + that my memory had served me faithfully. 

I remember the Counterslip Sugarhouse being burned down, but can't fix the date of the fire. We were then living in Wilson St., + I can see the whole household, children, servants, mamma, aunts, all huddled against the railings at the top of "Bridge St. Back", a slip of street above the river, leading down to Bristol Bridge, feeling the heat of the railings, + watching the great feathers of flame, + the volumes of sparks, rushing up into the sky. I supposed it must have been as a temporary substitute for the burned building that papa took the Lewin's Mead Sugarhouse; after which he took the Nelson St. premises, +, by way of economizing house-rent, gave up Wilson St., + moved into the two-dwelling houses which formed part of those premises; an unfortunate move, as far as hygiene is concerned, for Nelson St. is in the very heart of one of the dirtiest + unhealthiest parts of the town; but, as previously remarked; people thought little of such considerations in those days. A few weeks' stay by the sea, in the summer, was looked upon as squaring up all accounts on the score of health. And we must have taken the Olveston place soon after we moved into Nelson St.

I see Mr. Lowell (we ought to have called him "Uncle Lowell", he having married Mamma's only sister, Aunt Sarah, but we did not) coming into the Nelson St. front parlour (rarely used) + Mam-136

ma meeting him at the door as he came in; a tall, portly man, with a round face, white hair, + easy, comfortable manner, quite a man of the world. He had come down from London, on business, + probably dined at our house, but this I don't remember. He took Mamma's hand, + kissed her, exclaiming with a smile, '"Well, Hannah! the same lovely creature as ever!" and Mamma's laughing as she brought him into the room. When he was gone, I anxiously enquired, "Mamma, was Mr. Lowell in earnest when he called you 'a lovely creature'?" Never having chanced to consider her from that point of view, I had an uneasy suspicion that he had been quizzing her, + I did not like it. "Oh, he said it as a joke", replied Mamma, who, at that time, was remarkably pretty, + who probably thought her brother-in-law not far from the truth. We were so stupidly brought up, so absurdly held in, + so constantly put out of the way when people came to the house, that we were extremely shy of strangers, + used to slip out of sight, the moment any visitor came in. We no doubt did so on this occasion; for I remember nothing more of Mr. Lowell's visit. (On looking over the mention of Mr. Lowell's visit, I see I have got it wrong. Mamma's reply to my query was "Well, I dare say he meant it!" with a half-pleased, half-ashamed little laugh; in our heavy, commonplace set, nobody ever dreamed of making any little compliment. It was after my insisting that he was not in earnest that she said "It was a joke".

Mr. Lowell had had other views for 

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his son, + was extremely averse to the idea of his marrying Cousin Elizabeth. These two always quarrelled, like cat + dog, when they were together; but they made up their quarrells, at last, + married, to their mutual grief + misery. I fancy the fault was mostly hers; but they got on well enough for some years. It was after they went to Palermo that the separation began. Mr. Lowell had finished by giving a reluctant consent to their marriage, or rather acceptation of the fait accompli, + they went to London, where Sam was given a share in his father's great fruit-importing house. They lived in Pudding Lane, + thought themselves particularly lucky in having got a house "with such a nice opening in front", the "opening" being a densely crowded old churchyard! But there were trees, + they thought it delightful to look out on the "nice open churchyard!" They had several children, all of whom died in infancy. Just after we left, old Mr. Lowell sent his son to Palermo, to act as Agent for the house in shipping oranges, lemons, figs, + raisins, to them in London. They must have had some more children while living there, as Elizabeth, when she returned to England, had a family. It was not until some years after the scandal had occurred, that I learned the sequel of their doings in Palermo. It seems that Sam Lowell had to go to England on business, + was detained longer than he expected. When he returned, he was astounded to find that his place of business appeared to have vanished! but he presently discovered his name, with that of his head clerk, on the opposite side of the street. Elizabeth had taken possession of this clerk, moved the establishment across the way, + set up with this fellow as partner + deputy-husband. She had138

also taken the opportunity of Sam's absence, to enter the Catholic Church. The affair was so barefacedly bad, in all respects, that Same, backed by the Earl of Shaftesbury (whose anti-Catholic zeal led him to furnish Sam with the funds for obtaining a divorce) immediately sued his wife + the ex-clerk. The affair made a considerable noise; Elizabeth, I believe, did not attempt any denial or explanation, or attenuation; she braved it out, saying everything she could against her husband, in court. Of course, Same gained, they were divorced, + she then came back to England, with several children, + took a house in Cave St., Bristol, either the one Aunt Mary once occupied, or close by it. When Elizabeth learned that I was come back to England, she wrote to me, expressing her wish to renew intercourse; but I took no notice of her letter, desiring to have nothing to do with her. As to Sam, I have never heard what became of him.

My pen has run ahead of events; I ought to have gone on with Elizabeth's history before her marriage. And in order to do that, I mist go back to Uncle William's pleasant place, at Theale, a village near Wells, where he lived for many years, leaving it at last to live in Olveston, I can't imagine why, or how he came to discover that very uninteresting + ugly village. I think Uncle Lane had lived at Theale from the time of his marriage. His wife was a daughter of Dr. Davis, a Dissenting minister at Wells; I almost think the Chapel he preached in, every Sunday, in Wells, must have been the one formerly preached in by his father-in-law. The Theale house was a gentleman's place. Fronting the

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road was a low, thatched, creeper-covered old building, looking cottage-like, but gay + pleasant, with old windows of small panes. The carriage-entrance was to the right of this part of the house, as you came in. A broad gravelled drive took you round the house to the handsomer new part, with a portico at the hall-door; the drive went round a pear-shaped grass-plat; a bed of tall shrubbery closed the ground to the left, as you stood under the portico; in front, the orchard, + fields, + the Cheddar Hills in the distance; the the right, more shrubbery, a wall, + beyond it the kitchen-garden, stabling, +c, out of sight. The house was handsome, but scantily furnished, + rather cold-looking. The parlours looked on the little pear-shaped lawn; the breakfast room, + the splendid great old-fashioned kitchen, pantries, store-room, +c., were in the old part, fronting the road. All the year round, a glowing peat-fire burned on the great open hearth in the kitchen, giving to the house a peculiar smell that I used to be very fond of. The tyrant of the house was a married servant, Sally, who had lived + reigned there for ages; the most honest, faithful, capable, + devoted creature, but a frightful tyrant, ruling poor Elizabeth with a rod of iron, + making Uncle Lane, see, decide, + do, exactly according to her say-so. She was a capital cook. What lovely brown bread + perfect butter she turned out every week! What nice dishes she always sent to table; + how perfectly she cooked the large mushrooms that abounded in the region + were Uncle Lane's favourite dainty! She was so fabulously neat + clean that you might have eaten off the kitchen floor; + everything about her was in its place as though it grew there.140

Her husband was the male factotum of the establishment, gardner, groom, valet, +c. Her sister, Hetty, much younger, + a sworn crony of Elizabeth's was house + parlour maid. I was only twice there. The first time was when our Elizabeth was about two years old; the whitest little round bundle of a child to be found anywhere. I think Same must have been the (inevitable) baby of the epoch. We were all there, with a couple of servants; I fancy we stayed there some weeks. Cousin Elizabeth was delighted to have us there, as Hetty was usually her sole companion. I remember our going (children + servants) to a beautiful country-seat in the neighborhood, a Capt. Somebody's, with whose housekeeper Sally was on friendly terms. We brought back great quantities of flowers, after having tea + cake in the housekeeper's room. We were to have gone to see the famous Cheddar Cliffs + grottoes, Cheddar Caves, I think they were called; but we did not go. In the principal parlour was an ostrich-egg, Chinese screens, + that fine china jar of delicious pot-pourri that we were always sniffing at, + that Uncle Lane finally gave to Mamma. In the hall was an upright clock, also a large barometer. A bedroom in the old part, over the breakfast room, was supposed to be haunted, + no one liked to go up or down the handsome broad stairs alone, at night. Sally had a dreadful little son, a horrid squalling boy of 3 or 4; a pest, spoiled by his mother. I remember nothing of our going there, or coming away. After the ridiculous episode of Elizabeth's being sent to Aunt Ann's ridiculous

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 boarding-school, from which she was taken, thanks to her mother's angry objections (perfectly founded), she was sent to a fashionable "finishing school" in Wells, expensive, but considered excellent, where her vanity flourished, + she laid in an extensive stock of airs + graces, + made several rather grand acquaintances. She also became dreadfully affected. She had a most beautiful voice, one that would have made her fortune on the stage. She went, naturally + without effort, up to E above the lines. The singing master at her school (Mr. Bishop, since Knighted, but then only beginning his career, which has been a brilliant one) was  most urgent to have her trained for a public singer; but the narrow prejudices of our set precluded the adoption of the plan; + her exquisite voice was simply thrown away. Among other acquaintances she formed at her school, + which she was not allowed to keep up, Uncle Lane narrow-mindedly thinking them too grand + fashionable, was a charming + very honourable family named Irving, people of fortune + position. The son fell in love with Elizabeth, who also fell in love with him. When she left the school, where she had been very intimate with his sisters, he rode over to Theale to make Uncle Lane's acquaintance + offer himself as a suitor. I think he had previously brought his sisters to call on her. The match would have been a most excellent one in every respect, + poor Elizabeth would probably have turned out very differently, with such a husband + such a family. Unhappily, the mother of another family of her school-fellows had set her heart on getting young142

Irving for one of her daughters; + she contrived to send someone to see Uncle Lane, to stuff him with falsehoods about the young man + his intentions, + to set him against all further intercourse. The treacherous plan was but too successful; + when Mr. Irving went there on purpose to offer himself, Uncle Lane met him with the grossest insults, upbraided him with coming with dishonourable intentions, refused to listen to his visitor's statements, + rudely ordered him to "begone, if he would not be turned out". A more preposterous piece of ill-mannered folly was never perpetrated; + poor Elizabeth, who was much in love with young Irving, thus lost a most excellent alliance, offering every prospect of happiness + prosperity. Uncle William found out the trick when too late; + had plenty of reason to regret the stupid blindness with which he had ruined his daughter's prospects. Elizabeth was a very handsome, showy girl, much admired.

The second time I visited Theale, I was alone. I must have been about twelve, Elizabeth, sixteen. She took dreadful airs of superiority on this account, + vexed me by introducing + speaking of me as "my little cousin". She had been long begging to have me make her a visit, + this was at length, after much entreaty + many refusals, conceded. Uncle Lane came to Bristol in his old gig, as usual, to fetch me; + we broke the journey, as he always did, by taking     on the way, he being a favourite of the Lax ladies + always spending a night there, on his way to + from Bristol. A heavy rain set in, + kept us there two or three days, which was a woful inflic-

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tion for me, as I wanted to get to Theale, + I had to sleep with gaunt Caroline Lax, who pushed so constantly against me in her sleep that she forced me out of bed, so that I spent these disagreeable nights in climbing over her + getting into bed on the side she had quitted, when she at once began pushing her way across the bed again, till she had again pushed me out of bed, + I had to climb over her again, in the opposite direction. It was long before I got over the nightmare impression caused me by that curious + very uncomfortable experience. [21 June, '82] Mrs. Uniacke, nee Lax, the mistress of the house, was very kind, + let me help her with the tea; I put in the sugar + cream, + handed the cups, + was praised for being useful, which was some little relief to the monotony of those soaking days. At last, to my great joy, the sun glistened on the wet box-borders, the dripping shrubbery, + the soaking gravel-paths. Uncle Lane had his gig made ready, + went away from a very hospitable house, where the cake was plentiful, but from which I was intensely desirous to get away.

When we reached Theale, Elizabeth, in a pink gingham frock, + as blooming as a milk-maid, received me with great satisfaction. What we did with ourselves through the day, I have forgotten; but the evenings were delightful, as Elizabeth possessed three volumes of a 4-volume edition of The Arabian Nights, which I had never read, + which she used to lend me when she sat down to the piano to sing for Uncle Lane, as she did every evening after tea. I used to settle myself near her, with the delightful book which transported me to fairyland + kept me there until she had finished playing, when she shut up the piano + the144

book, + we went to bed. She + the servants firmly believed there was a ghost in the house, + we always made a frightened rush past the door of the room from which it was declared to issue. All the servants fully believed in it, + Hester always protested she had seen it. When I was there, I slept with Elizabeth; when she had no visitor to keep her company, Hester always slept with her. Neither of them would have slept alone for any consideration. My visit was pleasant enough in the beginning. We had a drive now and then in the gig; + on Sundays we went in that ancient vehicle to Wells, where Uncle Lane was pastor to an obscure congregation, his ministrations being confined, apparently, to the preaching of two very dull sermons each Sunday. We used to dine, between the sermons, at the house of one of his deacons, who had a plump + hospitable wife very liberal in  her helpings to everything on the table. Uncle W. paid them a fixed yearly sum for this reception. We detested the Sundays; though going in to Wells + dining there was a break in the monotony of Theale life. Elizabeth + I were very fond of going into the orchard + devouring the fine apples, until Uncle W. took it into his head to make us useful in gathering + picking up the apples for the cider-making. The grass was generally wet; the fogs were beginning to be felt; the one male factotum of the establishment climbed the great trees + sent the apples down in showers. Uncle W. would not let us go into the house until the last cold slippery apple had been picked out of the dripping grass + thrown into the great baskets to be car-

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ried to the cider-mill. It was very hard + weary work; I was indignant at being thus forced to work so hard, + at having to stand with wet feet + a draggled frock all day long, until it was too dark to go on longer. I let Uncle W. see that I did not like it: + Elizabeth, who was as angry + vexed as I was, + had expatiated to me on the cruelty + abomination from which we were suffering, most shabbily turned against me to please her father, +, on my remonstrating with her on this doublefacedness, astounded me by saying, in an injured tone, "I think, Anna, that you have treated Papa very badly". This additional vexation filled my cup to overflowing. I wrote to Mamma, telling her I was persecuted + miserable, + entreated so vehemently to be taken away, that my visit was cut short at once, to my great relief + satisfaction. How I was taken home, I don't remember; but I think Papa, who was fond of driving, probably hired a gig + came for me himself.

I think Theale must have been a pleasant rural village; very poor; with good country air, + an all-pervading smell of peat, the only fuel used in the region, which looks, to my mind's eye, as though it must be marshy. There was a very old man, a day-labourer, living in a little thatched cottage, whose hands had been so entirely covered with great warts that he could not work; his hands were unmanageable from the stiffness of these excresences. Uncle W. had the reputation of being "a charmer of warts", + people came to him from far + wide, to beg him to cure their warts, which he did, by stroking them nine times with a wedding ring. Absurd as it may seem, I witnessed the curing of146

several hands in this way, by him. He said he could not account for it, but that somehow the warts always disappeared in a few days after he had stroked them. He completely cured the poor old labourer, who was able to resume his working, + who always seemed extremely grateful to him for the cure. I had two or three nasty little warts on my hands; one, especially, just at the end of a finger, that was always getting half torn off + very troublesome; Uncle W. cured them all by stroking them. Elizabeth's life was anything than suitable for a gay, pretty young girl, bent on getting married; she saw no one but the servants + had no amusements whatever excepting her occasional visits to us. Had she been better trained + homed she might have turned out better. As it was, her subsequent conduct was so scandalously bad that, when she came back to England, after Uncle W's death, Howy + I declined to renew acquaintance with her; we really could not do otherwise. I have had neither communication with, nor news of, her or her husband since then; I have no idea whether they are alive or dead. It is certainly curious that we should, in the first place, have had so very few relatives, +, in the second place, have had so little to do with the few we possessed. 

Aug. 22. Several weeks have elapsed since I was able to add to this gossipy scrawl. I've been ill; + I've had the very pleasant visit from Elizabeth + Gracie of which I wrote you. I now, for the first time, continue this narrative in the cottage which I am so delighted to have as a quiet +

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peaceful little retreat from the worries + torments of my life in the other house. I am writing at the little table which was formerly on duty in my cabin on the beach at Wimille; I prize it as a memento of a phase of my kaleidoscopic life which was extremely pleasant to me for the short time it lasted. This little table, like the few pieces of furniture I have had made by the village-carpenter for this sunny, airy, charming room, is of deal, now painted dark brown, like the rest of them, + looks very pretty. Before I came back from Nice, I had a message, through the involuntary writing, telling me that my coming stay in Triel "would be as different from my previous life in this place as was that previous Triel life from the life that preceded it". And this prediction has undoubtedly been fulfilled by the obtaining of this little property, which has changed my life here entirely, + will, I trust, through the getting of the other 2 houses + what I expect to find in their foundations, change the whole aspect of my position here + of the work I came to Triel to do. But to return to my reminiscences. 

The first house in which Aunt Mary set up independently, as the keeper of a school for little boys (at Papa's expense + risk, of course!) was in Cave St.; I think No.11; a dull street, opening out of Portland Square, close to Wilson St., modest, with a small garden behind, +, in that garden, a splendid white jessamine covering the back of the house + filling it with perfume, + a great climbing white-rose tree, the most lovely snow-white roses I ever saw, exquisite, + in enormous profusion. From that house, she moved into a very much handsomer148

one in Brunswick Square, where she took boarders, two prim ladies, in addition to her school. She was just beginning to get her head above water, when we left for America; + she + Aunt Lucy determined to come too. What an unwise break-up of the whole family! What a throwing-away of furniture + general belongings, amassed slowly + with such effort, + sold off for a song! How well I remember the Nelson St. back parlour, set out with the handsome silver, + lots of other things, with the prices marked for each lot, + all the "friends" + connexions coming to paw them over, trying hard to buy them for less than the prices marked, which were greatly under their value. Both Papa + Mamma were not a little surprised + disgusted at this vulgar selfishness on the part of people whom they had so long looked on as "friends"; + this proof of their want of justice + kindness was not without its influence in strengthening their determination to go away. All the rooms in the house were thus turned into salesrooms; for everything worth keeping was sacrificed to the need of turning all saleable things into cash. The beautiful front-parlour furniture was sacrificed like everything else; but I cannot recall what had become of the very handsome furniture of the Wilson St. "best bedroom". It never went to Nelson St.; where the visitor's room was fitted up with other furniture; I remember an ancient bedstead, there, the posts of which, of mahogany black with age, were covered with beautiful carvings, as were those of Mamma's bedroom. We gave up Olveston for the great move. Uncle Blackwell

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married his second wide about that time, + brought her to Bristol, + we had them at Olveston, on their wedding-jaunt. We all went over to Chepstow in a little sailing-boat, much to my terror; we went thence to see some lovely scenery on the river Wye, + I think we went to see the famous ruins of Tintern Abbey. (We were to have gone, but had not time for going to Tintern Abbey.) On our return, Uncle Blackwell perpetrated a rhyming account of the excursion, + presented the same to me. After that, Marian + I were sent with them to London, after which we accompanied them for a visit to them in Worcester. They lived in a pleasant cottage-sort of a place, with a garden, standing in the grounds of a handsome house, inhabited by the owner of the whole, in whose grounds we were allowed to walk. The visit was not specially agreeable, though they were both very kind; Papa was too busy with the preparations for going away to come for use as he was to do; + our stay dragged on till we were tired, + longing to get off. I only remember Cousin Sam in nankeen (Kenyon was in Bristol with Papa), a lovely honeysuckle that covered half the cottage, + the very nice stewed beef + plain cake on  making which Aunt Blackwell No.2 prided herself, not without reason. She was tall, with a frightful squint; anything than handsome; but particularly kind, though very prim + slow in manner. She had been the leading dressmaker + milliner of Worcester + had put by some money. She took me in hand, + opened my eyes generally with regard to attire, giving me an idea of dress which was very useful to me, taught me how to make bonnets + caps, + did me much good in the department150

of clothes + the wearing of them.

May 3, '84! Much vexed, 2 days ago, on suddenly remembering your coming birthday, to see that I was too late for my meditated finishing + sending off the jottings for your birthday. To return to our "muttons".

Uncle Blackwell + his new wife, whom his sons never took to, though she was very kind to them, came to Bristol for their wedding-tour; thence they went on to London, + as Papa + Mamma thought that Marian + I were too big to leave England without having seen the metropolis, + Cousin Elizabeth begged to have us for a little visit, we accompanied them to London, on the top of the coach, as cheaper + better for seeing the country. M + I had just had black silk veils allowed us; we were excessively proud of them, thinking it made us look "womanly"; a disagreeable man on the top of the coach, who had a cold, spit violently just as the wind was blowing hard, + the wind carried the horror into my veil, the disgust thereby occasioned never having entirely left me! What horrid creatures there are in the world! And what vile little adventures!!!

We stayed a fortnight in London; Cousin Sam joined us, + we "did" the leading "lions", not very intelligently, I fancy, for we only took away with us very vague + evanescent impressions. I suppose we were in lodgings, through the menagerie part of our stay; + I fancy the newly-wedded couple went somewhere, on a visit of pleasure or of business, for the few days we then spent with Sam + Elizabeth Lowell. 

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They were very kind, but we did not much enjoy the visit, their ways of going on + talking being so different to those to which we were accustomed, so that we had a constant sense of being in a sinful sort of atmosphere, with whiffs of prospective brimstone every now + then. Elizabeth, only just twenty, had thought it incumbent on her to take to caps, as being matronly, + were dreadful things mounted on wires + carrying gay ribands, which she thought the perfection of elegance. She had a young baby + a wet-nurse called "Cow". We were all so absurdly brought up, so held in, so thoroughly accustomed to rush off + hide ourselves if any visitor came to the house, that we were always choking with timidity + mauvaise houte if ever caught by a stranger. We were always so shabbily dressed that we were always painfully conscious of not looking like other people + of not knowing what to do with our hands + our arms. To these awkwardnesses was added the embarrassment caused us by having been strictly enjoined by Papa, before leaving Bristol, not to say a word to anyone of our approaching exodus, + to say nothing, or turn it off as well as we could, if anyone alluded, in our presence, to the existence of any such intention, or questioned us in regard to any rumour of the same. As Sam L. had heard that such a project existed, he very naturally questioned us about it; the necessity imposed on us of dodging his inquiries added perceptibly to the uneasiness of our sensations. Besides, instead of having had a neat travelling-dress + some pretty dress for wearing indoors, we had been given nothing whatever but a plain, ugly little pelisse of black silk, which had to do duty for all toilet purposes152

from the time we got away from home till we got back again. So we felt shabby + unlike other girls, + accordingly, when Mr. Lowell senior came with his second wife to call on Mamma's two young daughters + invite us to dinner, we obstinately refused to go down to the drawing-room, + they had to go away without seeing us! As to going to their handsome house to dine, carts + horses would not have dragged us into doing it!!! What must they have thought of girls of 16 + 14 proving to be such ridiculous little savages? We had also been compelled, before obtaining the parental permission to go to London, to give our solemn promise not to go to a theatre; so, when Sam L. came in, one day, to announce triumphantly that he had tickets for Drury Lane, to see the last appearance of the leading tragedian of the day (I suppose Kean) in Hamlet, he could not believe his ears when we declined to go. We were obliged to plead the absurd interdiction + the impossibility of breaking our word. So he + Eliz. went without us, having given huge delight to two of their friends by giving them the precious tickets we were debarred from using, + which it had been all but impossible to get, as it was the great actor's last appearance before leaving the stage.

"Poor children!" was Mamma's not very wise exclamation, "I really wish you had ventured to go!" when, on our return, we recounted the incident. Being honest creatures, we were rather scandalized at this, as a dereliction from principle; it is certain that the mere

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thought of breaking our word had not entered either Marian's mind or mine.

From London we went with Uncle + Aunt B. to Worcester, + stayed there very much too long, Papa being too busy to come for us. We became extremely weary of the enforced visit, which was very dull. Cousin Sam was often pugnacious, had joined a debating society, + often insisted on practising his speeches on M + me, whether we would or no. My pleasantest remembrance of that visit is our dining with "Uncle James Stokes" + "Aunt Powell", brother + sister of Grandmamma Blackwell. "Aunt Powell" was tall, rather stately, + well dressed; an old widow, without weeds, wearing delicate gray silk + delicate white muslin; quiet, but very kind. "Uncle James Stokes", over 70, so small that he had to be set on a stool upon the chair from which, a napkin tied under his chin, + a great carving knife + fork in his hands, he carved the magnificent great joint of roast veal, the savoury fumes of which I see to smell as I recall the scene, + which, with the exception of the salad, is all that I can remember of this middle-day dinner, which, from the splendour + excellence of the roast, doubtless included many other nice things. "Uncle James Powell" (?) was the very merriest grig I ever saw in the whole course of my life. He had just about three long gray hairs on his head, a round beardless face, absolutely toothless mouth, beaming blue eyes; incessantly laughing, telling funny stories, making funny remarks, shaking from top to toe with merriment. Very hospitable, dispensing the lovely roast veal with immense satisfaction + delight. He had been in France,154

+ prided himself greatly on his skill in making a French salad. I can see him diving his implements into the salad-bowl, full of beautiful lettuce, crisp, yellow, fresh, juicy, mixing the salt + pepper, the vinegar + the oil, talking + laughing all the time, + telling us what a triumph the salad was going to be! Marian + I, who had never seen lettuce or any other salad otherwise than in a state of Nature, who had never tasted salad oil in our lives, + regarded everything oily with horror (thinking of castor oil) were on thorns, during this preparation! It was, to our minds, impossible to decline what our host regarded as the triumph of the repast; but the agonies we suffered in getting it down, + our terror lest we should fail, despite our efforts, in keeping it down, was a social trial whose difficulties I have never forgotten!!!

When, at length, Papa managed to come for us to take us back to what was soon to cease being our "home", we found the preparations for our flitting far advanced. Olveston was given up; the Nelson St. rooms were half dismantled; + the last fortnight of our stay was passed in lodgings at the Hot Wells, near the basin in which lay the vile, stinking, dirty little "Cosmo" in which berths for our caravan had been engaged. Papa had thought of sailing from [Have?]; then, of sailing from London or Liverpool; consideration of lessened cost decided him, at last, to go from Bristol + in the dreadful little tub aforesaid. 

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It is difficult, without admitting the action of something in the nature of fatality, to comprehend how so monstrous a piece of folly as this uprooting could ever have been planned, + perpetrated by a sensible man. Papa was held in such high + universal esteem, was regarded as such a useful, honourable, valuable citizen, that the leaking-out of his intention to quit England was deprecated throughout the town. It was known that, through the failure of two of the great sugar-importers (or, probably, commission agents), Bevan + Co., + another whose name had escaped me, he had been a very heavy loser (I have since heard Papa say that the amounts this lost were close on [70,000 pounds]); + it was naturally inferred that pecuniary difficulties had induced this move. A sort of private-public=meeting was therefore convened by some of the leading business men of the town, who met in the Exchange, + drew up a set of Resolutions, which were unanimously voted + of which a copy was at once transmitted to Papa. These Resolutions stated that the undersigned had heard with the deepest regret that it was Mr. Blackwell's intention to remove, with his family, to the United States; that they regarded the loss of such a citizen as a public calamity to the town; that it was impossible to attribute such an intention to any other motive than to the heavy pecuniary losses which Mr. B. was believed to have undergone through recent events not under his control; + that they consequently pledged themselves, individually + collectively, to furnish him with any amount of capital he should consent to name, as a loan, 156

for any number of years, at one + a half per cent, in order to avoid the threatened loss to the town of so highly respected + useful a member of the community.

I do not think that I saw the document; but I was present when Mamma + Aunt Mary were discussing the offer in the Nelson St. parlour, + regretting the refusal which Papa's pride had caused him instantly to return the overture, which was a most rare + splendid testimony to the great respect he had inspired in the minds of the leading people of the town, as honourable to him to whom it was addressed as to those from whom it emanated, + that he might have accepted without the slightest feeling of reluctance or humiliation. It is useless to regret the past; but it is impossible not to see what a very different life would have been his own + that of all of us, had he accepted the capital so honourably offered. Bristol was then, in fact, "the second city of the Empire", + its leading interest was the sugar-trade. All those who were engaged in it, at that time, made magnificent fortunes; had Papa remained, he could hardly have managed to do anything else. The Miles family became millionaires, bought Redland Court when its ancestral owner, Sir Henry Vaughan, went to the dogs, + reside there still, having long represented the town in Parliament. All the others made splendid fortunes; the career of the elder Finzel, who began life in England as sugar-boiler under Papa, at Counterslip, was a romance of money-making: - that his sons foolishly threw away

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the enormous fortune made by their father detracts nothing from the fact that the business, + the very premises, that Papa so unwisely abandoned just when the proffered help would have enabled him to enlarge + solidify hi business to any extent, made old Finzel a millionaire; + proves nothing against the certainty that, by thus refusing help which he would have been one of the first to join in rendering to another, he voluntarily cut himself off from the certainty of a splendid fortune + the securing of a large, useful, + honourable career. He had already been spoken of for Mayor; he would undoubtedly have been elected, had he remained. And with a local standing such as he had only to will to have acquired, he might, had he wished it, have been in Parliament before long. Unhappily, the same unwise desire of standing alone, the same horror of owing anything to others, that prompted his first fatal decision to leave the old + wealthy firm of Harwood + Co., of which he would soon have become the junior partner + free to win in the firm any place he might have chosen to occupy (for the head of the firm was growing old, + the son was his fast + affectionate friend) determined him to reject the proffered capital, to sacrifice his excellent standing + all its great advantages, to throw away the considerable amount of property put into the furniture + belongings so pitiably sacrificed, + to plunge, with his numerous young family, into the world of loss, ruin, anxiety, + misery which shortened his own life + has so nearly destroyed the peace + usefulness of ours, harassed as we have all been by finding ourselves left to battle with the158

world, without money, connexions, or any of the aids the lack of which makes life little else but a wearing + wasting struggle. With one of most generous of temperaments, a most retentive + well-stored memory which had enabled him, by reading, to largely compensate for the want of training + instruction in his youth (so that he was really an authority on almost any subject broached in conversation), a high sense of honour + of principle, his life was ruined by two weaknesses; one of these was the pride that insisted on standing alone, instead of fortifying his financial weakness, on beginning life without capital or connexions of his own, by an alliance with those who had abundance of both; - the second was the singular blending of a boldness, almost amounting to audacity + imprudence, in pursuing his own plans + designs (which his great business-talent enabled him to do with signal success as long as the current of affairs went with him) with an utter inability to brace himself up against unexpected difficulties, to which he succumbed on the instant, instead of nerving himself to meet them, from a conviction that it is just when difficulties arise that one must put forth all one's strength, pluck, + ingenuity to meet them.

One of the strangest things about the life of our excellent, most generous + affectionate Father, whose coldness of manner + austerity of ideas I see, on looking back, had begun rapidly to soften in the latter years of his life, was the unaccountable + unfortunate influence exercised on his

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mind + on his action, by Mr. Howells. That influence was, undoubtedly, the one which, at the last, turned the scale + led to our expatriation + all the hardships + disappointments of our lives. The perpetual worry inflicted on him by Grandpapa's perversity + cantankerousness - the death of Grandmamma, whom he was extremely fond of - the removal of Dr. Leifchild to London, all these things, undoubtedly, loosened the hold of Bristol on his mind; - but it was the absurdly glowing descriptions sent him concerning the New World, by Howells, + his persistent urging of him to bring his family to a country where he declared that there was room for everyone + a certainty of every sort of success, that finally turned the scale in favour of the move. Mr. Leifchild had a great + sincere affection for papa; he abhorred Bristol which he called "a dirty, vulgar place", + "filthy hole", which it was + is, though the surrounding country is so lovely as to compensate for the shortcomings of the town itself. He did his utmost to induce papa to come to London, which would have been unwise, Bristol being the centre + circumference of the sugar-trade, to which, of course, Papa's activities + interests were necessarily wedded. He used to urge his bringing his children away from "Bristol vulgarity", to "the polish of London". To which I remember Papa's replying, "But, my dear friend, you must remember that you can't bring up a large family on polish!" Which is very true; but had he persevered instead of allowing himself to be discouraged + to run away from difficulties instead of meeting + vanquishing them with the ample aid that was ready to his hand, he might perfectly well have brought up the large family160

in England, without sacrificing "the polish" of life, as inflicted by our violent uprooting.

What on earth could have taken Uncle Lane from so pleasant + respectable a residence as his place at Theale to the altogether inferior house at Olveston. I do not remember. I fancy he desired a change + also to be nearer to us. I have a vague notion that he tried Harfield, did not like it, + meandered about in the neighborhood of Bristol, until he fixed on just about the ugliest, least interesting village of the region. His going there coincided with our unwholesome move from Wilson St. to the dirt + bad air of Nelson St.; + as he discovered the house we took, then vacant, + did his utmost to get us there, we took it, + liked it on account of its beautiful fruit. We must have taken it just after Elizabeth's marriage, for she was never there after we had set up our tent in the ugly little place.

The Quaker lady who had married her coachman, John Beard, the owner of the place, but rarely paid us any attention; I think the one time I dined there, with Papa + Mamma, must have been the only occasion of the kind; - we may have taken tea there, once or twice, but I don't remember. Mrs. Beard's special parlour, very pleasant, had a great bow-window, forming nearly one side of the room, opening out upon her own small, but lovely, special flower-garden. As there was no house, no wall, anywhere near, I supposed it must have been shrubbery that hemmed it in, + gave it the cosy feeling of solitude + privacy that was an additional charm.

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It was a mosaic of colour + redolent of sweetness.

Haymaking season was always eagerly anticipated by all of us. Every child had his, or her, wooden rake, + we went haymaking, wherever we might be. As we turned over the hay diligently + thoroughly, we were always welcome. We had a splendid time, haymaking, in the Beards' meadows; + greatly enjoyed the home-made brown bread + the new cheese, sent out for the hay-makers in the middle of the day. Before going to Olveston, on sunny afternoons, when we went out for a long walk or stay out of doors, we carried our little rakes + turned into the first promising hay-field, setting to work at once, without, so far as I can remember, anything like a request to be allowed to toss the hay; though, as Aunt Barbara or Mamma, or one or more nursemaids, had us in charge, it is possible that permission may have been civilly asked on our behalf.

A very lovely walk, which, from doing it too often, we hardly rated at its true value, was in the large private property, generously thrown open to the public, called Tyndall's Park, owned by the family of which Professor Tyndall, now so eminent in Natural Science, is a member. I specially remember one afternoon there, with Mamma, when the lilacs, laburnums, white + pink may, + all the other lovely creatures that come out in their floral glory at the same time, were in their fullest splendour. We went to this Park sometimes across College Green, up Park St., + so on to the entrance, sometimes from Redland, taking the road which goes to the left, as you emerge from the noble avenue of elms leading down from what was "Mother Pugsley's Field", according to the point from which162

we set out. Being private property, Tyndall's Park may have probably escaped the building-over which has already covered so many of our old haunts with houses. It is too bad that the famous "Well" in Mother Pugsley's field - two springs of totally different water, streaming out, close together, into a pair of little stone basins, with lips, the water constantly falling into reservoirs beneath, + carried to houses in the neighborhood by pipes) should be absorbed in the garden of one of the houses. This "Well" was an ancient landmark, + ought to have been kept public. One of the streams was drawn upon, from far + wide, as of perfect purity + softness for making tea, for which purpose it was supposed to be of unique excellence; the other stream was in equal demand as an eye-water. Both were constantly drawn upon by people with pail + pitchers, from every part of the town. 

"The Brook" was one of our favourite places; how many hours we have spent there, trying to catch the minnows in tin or other cups we took with us for that purpose! I do not think any minnow allowed itself to be taken. The banks were fringed with alders + various growths that frequently showed flowers; it was crossed by a single plank, the crossing of which always gave us something of a sense of adventure + danger, as it would have been very easy to slip off, which would have given the faller a thorough dousing, though the water was hardly deep enough for drowning. I think "the Brook" came from a mill in the vicinity, + I think Ashley Barn must be a rising ground overlooking this


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little stream.

Our walks on this side of the town were altogether more rural, varied, + agreeable than those to which we were restricted in the Counterslip days. Then, we had only the black streets of that side of the town, with, as termini, "Sea-banks (the nature of which I cannot imagine) but where we clambered among, + over, great quantities of planks, that seemed to be more or less in the river, + where I think we must have been in danger of drowning; - the comparatively open ground beyond the "New Cut", on the banks of a canal; +, when bound for a longer outing, round the town, by the Docks and "Basins", to the Hotwells.

The open terrace about the fine old church of St. Mary Radcliffe, was also an occasional place of trotting for the many pairs of little feet turned out, twice a day, for exercise. The "Ben Palmer" grocer's shop was just under the pinnacles + buttresses of the old [fane?]; + we generally contrived to have some errand there, as they always gave us a large paper of almonds + raisins, or figs, or something of the kind; just as we always contrived to have to go in to Mr. Bancroft's, if we went through College Green, as we were equally sure of a similar benefaction.

"The Philosophical Institute" (of which Papa was a member, + which I think he had had something to do with the setting on foot) was at the foot of Park St., just out of College Green; he presented the Institute with the greater part of the curiosities from India + Madagascar, + I think also from New Zealand, brought home by Uncle Charley; - among other things, the head of a New Zealander, wonderfully tatooed, which164

the chief of the country insisted on presenting to him, much to his disgust, but which, from prudence, he was obliged to accept. The chief pointed to a crowd, + told him to select the individual whose head he would prefer to have; as Uncle Charley was reluctant to do this, he chose the victim himself, sent his people to catch + kill him, + forthwith had his head prepared + baked in the pleasant style of his country, + presented it to the English officer who would have risked unpleasant consequences if he had declined to accept the compliment. The horrid thing is doubtless still preserved in the Museum of the Institute.

The occasional parties given by our parents were rigidly confined to the people who frequented Bridge St. Chapel; a few of the people of Broad Mead were sometimes invited, but no others. The utter horror infused into our minds of the Church, its services, liturgy, festivals, +c., is most curious to look back upon. I must have been twelve or thirteen before I ever crossed the threshold of a Church, excepting the plain little church at Bourton. Cousin Elizabeth, who fully believed the "Church" to be "the only religion for a Gentleman" (as Uncle Charley was fond of saying) or for a lady, hated Bridge St., Broadmead, + all other Dissenting Bethels, would have given anything to get her father to go into the Church, + one Sunday, as she + I came away from Bridge St. before the elders (who stayed for "Communion"), she persuaded me to come with her into (name forgotten) 

Grandma (Hannah Lane) Blackwell says that at family prayers, both before + after her marriage, Uncle Charley used to kneel by her + try to catch her eye if she looked up for a moment: when he would make grimaces to try to make her laugh. K.B.B.


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the Church under which is a passage from Clare St. into Nelson St. I felt dreadfully guilty + alarmed, but curiosity got the better of my terrors, + in we went. It was Christmas-tide; the old church was beautifully decorated with holly + other evergreens; as we went in, everyone was standing, the organ was pealing, + a gorgeous beadle came up to us + ceremoniously gave us seats. Elizabeth got hold of a Prayer-book, looked out the places, + showed herself to be quite at home in the mysteries of the service, which seemed to me equally grand, imposing, + incomprehensible. When the service was over, we went home; Eliz. in a state of admiration for "church" + intense contempt for "chapel"; I, feeling that I had done a very noteworthy thing, but not sure whether I had not been tempting both Providence + the Devil. However, I made a clean breast of it to Mamma, as soon as she came in; + was let off with a little mild blame, + an injunction "not to do it again".

I wonder, dear old Harry, if you remember the horrid reading of chapters, + getting down on knees, of "Family Prayers"! How I detested it all! I think the infliction was made before breakfast. All the Dissenters did it. Some extemporized the prayers, others read them, mostly from a dreadful compilation by a Mr. (or Dr.) Jay. Uncle Charley, when with us, of course put up civilly with the infliction, but we knew he did not like it, which consoled us under our repugnance. What he not only did not like, but came out in open disapprobation of, was the sudden turning of a social party into a prayer-meeting, if, about half past nine or so, a minister happened to come in,166

+, after making a small bit of speech or exhortation, uttered the magic words "Let us pray!" on which everybody turned to the wall, all round the room, either standing, or plumping down on their knees, according to the degree of flexibility possessed by their nether limbs. I remember only one party at Mr. Leifchild's, at least, only one at which I was allowed to be. He had a large garden, consisting of lawn + flower-beds; I remember the, to me, wonderful profusion of lilies of the valley. I, who had vainly been devoting pocket-money (we had two-pence a week), effort, + ingenuity, to the endeavor to persuade half a dozen of these lilies to blossom, in the little bed in front of the back-parlour window, under the variegated holly with which Mamma had filled it, was perfectly astounded to see these precious little plants, that had seemed to me to be such great rarities, blossoming away, like weeds, by the score + the hundred! All the children of the gathering spent the visit mostly in the garden, very quietly, as, it being the minister's house + party, they did not feel exactly free to scamper about the place as they would have liked to do. I fancy we had cake, gooseberry-fool, + tea + coffee; but I do not remember going into the house. What I mainly remember is the sudden appearance of our hose, followed by Mrs. Leifchild + the elder guests, his taking up a solemn stand in the middle of the grass-plat, + the utterance, after a few words of pious admonition, of the well-known damper "Let us pray!" This being the wind-up of every such affair, everybody got into devout "position", according to rule, +, on the finishing-up, with the usual ministerial

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blessing, put on shawls, cloaks, hats + bonnets, + took themselves off + homewards. Uncle Charley, who had been flirting with all the unmarried ladies, + was in full enjoyment of the fun with a pretty widow (name forgotten) who made a desperate attack on him, taking him for a bachelor, - daughter of Mrs. Ingram (one of the pillars of Bridge Street + our tea-dealer) (what lovely tea we always had from her shop, just behind the Chapel, "81 black + 101-green; our perennial mixture!), was much put out by this summary stoppage of their little game. He took it politely, but set forth to Papa, as we went home, how inconsistent he thought such a sudden lugging-in of things sacred on the toes of things profane, + how he agreed with Solomon that there was "a time for everything", + that a lively party was not the "time" for "pulling people up on their haunches, for preachments + praying". And the next time he saw Mr. Leifchild (whom he greatly liked, in general, + who liked him), he gave him the benefit of the same train of reflexions, which Mr. Leifchild combatted, amiably, from his point of view. It is curious how living those early years, + scenes, + the actors therein, seem to me, after the lapse of a good bit over half a century! While the scenes, incidents of the odious years passed in America seem to have faded out of my memory past the power of recalling! As those years were filled with physical illness, anxiety, uphill work + worry, I rejoice in the fading-out of the reminiscences of that period of my life. Not that I take any special pleasure in the vivid remembrance of the things of my childhood; for, with the exception of the visits to Weston, Salt-house, + Bourton, the glimpses of flowers, + certain lovely bits of scenery, I utterly detest everything connected with my168

constrained, held in, undeveloped girlhood!

I often wonder, as I jot down these glimpses, how much of them you may remember, Harry dear. I find it impossible to class "the children" in connexion therewith. I doubt if you were ever in Bourton; it seems to me that Sam was the last of the lot before the smash that drove poor Aunt + Uncle Browne from their handsome, hospitable home, to the two dull rooms in Corn St. I doubt if you can remember anything of Weston, though I think you must have been there. Of Clifton + Duraham Downs, of St. Vincent's Rocks, of Brandon Hill, perhaps of "The Brook" + the rambles on that side of the town, + of Olveston, you doubtless have a set of memories of your own. I wonder if you remember the splendid pyrus japonica on the front of the Olveston Cottage, + the renowned "Black Rose" at the bottom of the back garden? And the enormous gooseberries, the size of a hen's egg, on the wall of the orchard, + the one fig that came to perfection along-side of the great gooseberry plant, trained against that sheltered wall? And your falling into the brook that runs through the garden (or Ellen, I forget which) in gathering the water-cress that lined that mighty stream?

Do you remember our admirable old cook, who kept the house in Nelson St., cooking for Papa, + for Kenyon + young Palmer, who remained there until we left, "Old Margaret" of admirably

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savoury memory! What a perfection of a servant she was! Papa had finished by buying the little yellow carriage + gray poney that the musical carriage-builder used to drive the various amateur preachers down to Clevedon in; he called the horse "Bessie Gray" in honour of "Little Shy"[* i.e. Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell*] of whom he was particularly fond; he went to town every morning, coming out at night, along that solitary seven-mile lane, after Aimesbury, in which it is a marvel he was never attacked. More than one crime has been perpetrated in that lonely lane, which had not a single dwelling of any kind through its whole length. And he never possessed any arm; he would have been absolutely without any available defense, had he been set upon by scoundrels, as it is a wonder he was not. Twice a week, Marian, Elizabeth, + I, went in with him, to take lessons of the masters who were supposed to instruct us; but of whom the only one to be called a trainer was excellent Mr. Hartnell, Principal of a highly-reputed Boys' School, in the Fort, at the top of St. Michael's Hill. If I had but been in his hands, instead of those of the trumpery creatures paid to do what they were incapable of doing, it would have been a very different affair! Our drawing-master, in his way, was skilful +painstaking + had the great merit of showing us, on another paper, just what we ought to do, without ever touching, with pencil or paint, our performances, which were, therefore, entirely our own. It was on coming in, one morning, all four crammed into the little carriage (from which the back seat had been taken off for lightness, the little horse not being equal to any very heavy load), that we were horrified by learning, from the keeper of the toll-170

gate at the top of Stokes' Croft, on the Gloucester Road, by which we entered the town from "Olston", that the famous riots, provoked by the popular hatred of the Recorder, Sir Charles Wetherell, were in full swing, that great alarm prevailed, + that Papa would do well to reach Nelson St. by a circuitous route, + get us under cover as quickly as possible. We girls were horribly frightened. I forget how we reached the house; but I remember the strange appearance of the streets, entirely deserted, shops  + shutters shut, nobody visible. As soon as we were housed, Papa went off to the Guildhall to help consult on the measures to be taken. The rioters were threatening to break into Bridewell, the jail, close by the Nelson St. house, + were in possession of all the adjoining streets. I forget the incidents of the affair; but I remember that Papa took a leading part in saving the town, + that he + Mr. Godwin extinguished, with their own hands, the fire which the miscreants had commenced for burning down the grand old Cathedral, for which Papa was publicly thanked when the riot was quelled. 

I do not remember whether it was during the Wilson St., or the Nelson St., period that I accomplished my feat of collecting the sum of one guinea in pennies, in aid of a charity. The Countess of Carmarthen, I think it was, published, in the newspapers, her offer to give on half of the sum (several thousand pounds) for found a "Lying-in Hospital", on condition that the other half should be raised, by the public, in gifts of one penny, no larger sum to be given by any one donor. The idea took

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immensely, + committees of ladies were formed all over the country for enlisting individual collectors + gathering up the vast numbers of pennies required to make up the amount for securing the Countess's offer, in which all the more interest was felt from the fact that she was a very beautiful woman, + had figured, as such, in a recent "Keep sake" Annual. Bristol, of course, set up its committees with a zeal + promptitude befitting "the Second City of the Empire"; each committee had its "sub-committees" + these, again, enlisted the "collectors" - Mrs. Ingram (our tea) being very busy in the matter, + the affair was speedily brought to our knowledge, + the idea of helping such a novel + curious business so fired my imagination that I at once determined to collect the sum of one guinea, which I notified  Mrs. Ingram should be brought to her as soon as collected. So I went to work at once, with a little blank-book for the names, to show that no one had paid more than a penny. Papa, Mamma, all the children, the servants, everybody about the house, were speedily inscribed + their pennies deposited in a box. The I went to the various aunts + their households, Grandpapa + Grandmamma, to Aunt + Uncle Browne; the Goddards, + all the people we knew; + as I was still a good way short of the 252 pennies required to make up my guinea, I set to work again, going from house to house in the most respectable of the neighboring streets, rang the bell, + presented my request for pennies, from all in the house, to whoever opened the door. I met with only one refusal; a decent-looking old dame, who flatly refused, saying "My dear, if the Countess wishes to found a hospital, she is, no doubt, quite rich enough to do it herself. People who are not172

Countesses generally need to keep their money for themselves!" - "But, ma'am, it is only one penny that can be given by each person! nobody can give more; + so it is necessary that a great number of people should join to make up the sum, since no one is allowed to give more than a penny!" - "Oh, very well, my dear, if it is only a penny, I give it willingly!" and fishing into her pocket, she procured the coin, which I dropped into my bag, + then wrote her name in the little book. The colloquy took place at the door; I did not venture into anybody's house; + the undertaking was not looked on by any one as an imprudent thing for a young girl to do; why Marian, or one of the nursemaids, did not go with me, I cannot imagine; probably I preferred doing the thing "all alone in my glory". But it was certainly not a very nice thing to let a little girl go about by herself, + in all manner of strange places, in that style, with the risk of encountering disagreeables to which she might have found herself exposed, although, happily, nothing of the sort occurred. 

When my 252 pennies were collected, with the 252 names + addresses duly inscribed in the little book according to the rules laid down for the collection, I informed Mrs. Ingram of the success of my undertaking, + proposed to make over the sum + the book to her. But she was so much pleased with my doings that she declared I must come with her to the house of the Lady-Collector (name forgotten) to whom she was about to turn over her own collection, + pay in my guinea + book in propria persona. She was to take tea at the lady's house, on the 


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occasion, +, at her request, I was invited to come to tea along with her. It was a large handsome house, standing in a garden, in, or just out of, the Barton, to your left hand, as you come down from Northumberland St. to Broad St. I remember that we were very graciously received, that I was much complimented on my doings, regarded as "spirited", that we had tea in a handsome, large room, + that the tea-table was of so brilliantly polished a mahogany that I have retained a gleam of its shininess to this day. At that time, no cloth was ever put on the table for the universal evening meal, "tea"; finger napkins were unknown, the only things used being the little coloured squares called "d'oyleys", served with fruit. Two-pronged forks were still in general use; the more elegant + convenient three-prongs were only coming into use. Silver forks were almost unknown.

Our meals followed a stereotyped order. Hot joint, potatoes (usually mashed), + some other vegetable, cheese + often celery; ale for the grown-ups, toast-water for us children. After the cloth was taken away, decanters of red + white wine put on the table, + sometimes nuts, (of which papa was particularly fond) or other fruit; but this was not regular. Mamma had a wine-glass of sherry; papa a wine-glass of port, changed, during our last years in England, for "claret". Next day, cold meat, potatoes, pickles, a second vegetable, + pudding or pie. Everything that came on table was of excellent quality; sometimes, but rarely, fish, or poultry, took the place of meat. Excepting on high-days + holidays, we never had hot meat + pie or pudding together. We often had a meat-pie, or a meat-pudding, or Yorkshire pudding174

under roast beef; roly-poly, apple-pudding, figgy-pudding, sometimes rice-pudding, were the usual dishes; great plenty, liberal helpings, but very little variety, + but slight attempts at the artistic, unless there was company, when everything was done on a very handsome scale, + each dish most carefully prepared according to the perfect old cookery-book which seemed to be a part of the family. The cooking-arrangements, in the Nelson St. house, were admirable; papa spent a large sum (over £100) in fitting up a steam-apparatus by which everything was cooked with perfect cleanliness + case; the steam was generated in a great water-reservoir heated by the mountainous kitchen-fire which burned, night + day, in the enormous grate. On the left-hand side of the fire was a splendid oven, under the over, a receptacle for warming crockery + keeping food warm. A phenomenal copper tea-kettle spent its existence on one of the many little stands, turning on swivels, that could be brought out from the back of the chimney + fixed above the fire, so that half a dozen cookeries could go on together, besides the steam apparatus at the right of the fire-place, the oven, + the jack for roasting in front of the fire. It was thus easy to cook a great many things at the same time; + as the fire was never let out, from one end of the year to the other, cooking was possible + hot water procurable, at any + every moment. What a prodigious waste of coal was formerly going on all the year round, all over the land! And even now, though there have been efforts made to induce people to be less wasteful, an enormous waste of coal still goes on in England. 

Our usual dinner-hour was one o'clock; two o'clock, if Aunt + Uncle Browne, or Grandpapa + Grandmamma, came to dine with us. Five o'clock, + afterwards six, was the regular tea-time; tea, bread + butter (thin for the grown-ups, thick for the little ones) + the plain bread-cake old Margaret made in such perfection. The very little ones were vittled in the nursery; but as they grew bigger they were gradually admitted to the family-table. Buttered toast, muffins or pikelets, if there were visitors. Supper-oysters, or cold meat, or more often merely bread + cheese + beer - at about 9; but the children were all in bed before that hour.

Breakfast was at eight; cold meat, or ham, + dry toast; beautiful tea. None of us had anything but thick bread + butter or perhaps some toast; the little ones, in the nursery, had milk + water slightly sweetened; + the choice of "bread + treacle", "bread + butter", or "bread + scrape". The tinies had a basin of bread + milk; the baby of the period, arrowroot or lovely stuff made of Norwich biscuits, a delicious "pap" that I should devour with pleasure if I could get at any. 

What an uncomfortable remembrance I have of the horrid reading of chapters + getting down on our knees for prayers, a lot of cold little creatures longing to toast their poor little toes + noses, + to devour their morning prog! The servants had to come also, sitting demurely on chairs near the door. How thoroughly I detested it all, + yet with the latent uneasiness as to whether it was not very wicked in me to hate it!

The Sundays were utterly vile + horrid; more especially under that odious Miss Taylor. The dreadful trudging to + from chapel; the extra holding-in;176

the learning of hymns + chapters, + committing to memory of the absurd Jew-genealogies, + other useless stuff in that omnium-gatherum of mischievous imbecilities, smothering a few glorious truths of paramount value, the Bible of the West! Dear old Harry, how can you look back with such regretful longing to the days of our childhood? I would no more consent to live again in any portion of that, to me, utterly unsympathetic routine, than I would live in a coal-mine!! I have pleasant glimpses of sunsets, flowers, sunbeams through trees, delight in some new book, or, but rarely, some pleasant walk; pleasant glimpses of Weston, Clevedon, + Bourton, + memories of the brown bread + peat fire at Theale; but the entire situation was, for me, so entirely, that of the round creature in the square hole, that I think of those old times simply with repugnance + weariness, + can't imagine how you can do anything else!

Papa was very fond of chess; he + John Harwood often played together. I beat him a few times, but I found chess too serious a business to be amusing, + my enthusiasm for it was only short-lived. Uncle Browne + papa often played together. Aunt Browne played backgammon + draughts. None of the other side of the house ever dreamed of playing any game. Cards were tabooed as being tools of the Devil. 

I have almost no remembrance of the first two little brothers, both very pretty children. Of the lovely little darling, the first little Howard, I cannot write, even at this distance of so much over

177

half a century. No mother ever loved, or could love, a child, more entirely, more intensely, than I loved that most beautiful, most charming little creature, who loved me with all his baby heart + soul, as I loved him. The lapse of a thousand years could not deaden the anguish of the sudden announcement, by mamma, as I lay in my bed, not yet awakened, that "it had pleased God to take our dear little Howard in the night!" of the stealthy visits to the room where the beautiful little body of my pet, my little idol, was awaiting the terrible day when it was to be put into a coffin + carried away out of my sight forever, - of my passionate prayers that the beloved soul might be sent back into its body, as we were constantly told in Chapel Christ had done for Lazarus, + the appalling sense of the discrepance between all that we were told of the goodness of God + his infinite power, the power of prayer, +c, +c. + the crushing misery of the gradual decomposition of the dear little body going on before my eyes, + seeming to prove the falsity of all that was so constantly dinned into us from pulpit + preachment. And the placing of the little body in the tiny coffin - + the screwing down of its little lid. Marian + I held the little coffin between us, on our knew, in a mourning-coach, in which were also Mamma + Aunt Mary, in our black dresses + long veils of black gauze. I don't remember the interment, in the Brunswick burying-ground, I only remember the frantic grief with which I threw myself on the little coffin, which was taken away, at the ground, almost by force. I jotted down the beginning of this grievous remembrance some six weeks ago, when still very ill, + in bed; + it threw me into such a state of sorrowful agitation that the old P.178

frightened + alarmed carried off the book + made me promise not to go on with the agitating remembrance until I could be out of bed. I have had most beautiful messages from the lovely + beloved spirit whose short life appears to have ended the course of his existences in this planet; - one of these, the most important + beautiful, was when I was half way over the border after the terrible shock + sorrow of the departure of my other darling. I am as certain of the reality of these tokens of presence + affection as I am of my existence, certain that the spirit of that most lovely baby is in a sphere much higher than that of this earth, + proportionally happy; + yet I cannot think of him + the crushing sorrow of his loss - my first great sorrow - without being seized with a paroxysm of grief as unreasonable as useless. I am equally certain that my other idol is happy + progressing, delighted to have done with the pains + troubles of this penitentiary, + diligently preparing for his next descent into the temptations of the earthly life by vanquishing which we advance towards our future enfranchisement from the horrible, punitive, puricative alternation of births + deaths; certainly, even if I could, I would not bring him back into the miseries of the earthly life; + nevertheless I cannot surmount the sense of loss, of loneliness, of shadow, which the departure of those two spirits has anchored in my life.

To return to my jottings. Our evenings were generally very quiet. Two candles in silver (or plated) candlesticks, with the (solid) silver snuffers in their silver tray, were placed between 

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them, on the highly-polished mahogany table, rubbed to the lustre of a looking-glass by the parlour-maid of the time. Papa sat with a book or a review ("Quarterly", "Edinburgh", +c) at the right-hand corner of the fire, at the table, in the Nelson St. house, at the left-hand corner in the Wilson St. house; Mamma sat by him, at his left, with her back to the fire, at N. St.; at the right-hand corner, facing the fire, in the W. St. house; usually mending a mass of socks + stockings, or doing some small matter of needle-work. We children sat round the table as we liked, each poring over a story. We were generally as quiet as so many mice, both because it was always dinned into us that "children should be seen but not heard", + also because we were fain, by keeping quiet, to keep off the detested moment of being packed off to bed, which was apt to arrive the minute we unluckily attracted attention to ourselves. On the rare summer evenings when there was no fire (for fires were the rule almost all the year round) the table was moved to the sofa-side of the room; + there would often be great bunches of flowers visible; but the evenings were devoted to reading, from one end of the year to the other. During the short time that the absurd attempt at learning Latin on the "Hamiltonian system" was kept up (one of Mr. Howell's ridiculous inflictions), Papa would occasionally set me to reading a few verses of the Gospel of St. John; the mastery of which, as previously set forth, was supposed to make the student thereof a "Latin scholar", or a French, Spanish, or Italian one, as the case might be. 

One of Papa's favourite writers was Cowper; Mamma rather patronized Young's Night Thoughts.180

Most of the "poetry" that fell to the lot of the children was hymns + psalms; Mrs. Barbauld's were beautiful compositions, but we did not appreciate them, hating the genus "hymn from wearisome grinding of poor little noses on that form of literary grindstone. The mischief of our child-hood was the constant repression + the utter absence of anything that could be called training. There was no system, in our lessons; all was mere mechanical routine or verbal stuffing; no reasoning, no elucidating of principles or correlating of facts; + the very little we learned, being altogether fragmentary, came in at one ear only to go out by the other. There was just as little system, as little training, in our daily lives. It is really wonderful that the lot should have turned out, after all, as well as has been the case; but it is certain that the elder ones might have been very different if we had been wisely trained + directed, + that we should have been able, in that case, to give very much more effectual help, mental + physical, to the younger ones by whom, in the terrible struggle of the years that followed Papa's death, we did the best we "knew how", seeing that we had really been, ourselves, very imperfectly prepared for such a responsibility. 

On looking back upon our childhood, I see how important is every kind of physical development for children. Dancing, walking, gymnastics, swimming, boating, to which may now be added bicycling, + whatever can tend to give firmness of nerve + command of muscle, 

181

should be as familiar as breathing; everything taught should form part of a carefully-arranged system, be taught + learned intelligently, opening + feeding the mind instead of wearying it. And the inculcation of principles should lead each child to become its own Mentor, rendering it possible to replace the old crushing sense of restraint + coercion by the sense of freedom, + the possibility of spontaneity, the child being safe-guarded by the enlightenment of the wise + loving guardianship that alone can effect the results which mere authority not only fails to ensure but usually brings about their opposites.

When Marian + I came back from our short stay in London + our long + weary stay in Worcester, we found the Nelson St. house dismantled; the best of everything had been sold off, + the things that could not well be sold off, + the things that could not well be sold off, packed in great cases, ready for being put on board the horrid little "Cosmo", which lay in a dock at the Hotwells, + appeared to us very big + formidable. The two nursemaids, Miss Major, + the children, were all packed in furnished lodgings, not far from the basin in which the "Cosmo" was awaiting its victims. There was a good deal of jessamine in flower about the windows of our rooms; but I cannot recall any other detail of those last days. Uncle William, greatly saddened at our going, which he, Uncle Browne, + all about us had vainly deplored + deprecated, came to bid us good-bye; he gave to each of us a golden guinea as a parting gift. I suppose that Uncle Blackwell sent us his adieux by letter; for I remember no leave-taking on that side of the house. Poor Uncle Browne was182

overwhelmed with grief; he had lived, most of the time, with us, since the death of his wife. "Your going away will shorten my life!" was his sorrowful declaration; but the die was cast. We had our silly heads completely turned by the wonderful nonsense of Mr. Howell's letters; we were agog for change; + so we went. Poor Uncle Browne's life was completely clouded over by our departure, + he died, in the lodgings in Northumberland (or Cumberland) St., into which he moved when we left; + in which Mamma's curious dream showed his coffin, the presence of the Undertaker whose firm had buried all our connexions for a couple of generations, with all the circumstances + adjuncts of his funeral, at the very time when, as we afterwards learned, the dear, genial, kindly soul did, really, pass away. This dream was recounted by her, when she came down to breakfast, in the Thompson St. house, in New York, a few months after our arrival.

What a chorus of lamentations accompanied our departure! I see poor old William White, one of the "sugar-house men" (who worshipped Papa as did all his work people) crying his poor old eyes out, sobbing, heart-broken, + saying there was now nothing left for him but to die! He had cleaned the knives + forks + shoes, for the household, every evening, from the beginning of Papa's married days, coming regularly after the closing of the sugar-house; he was well paid, + had many little presents, + was a favourite with all the children, whom he looked upon as belonging to him. I think


183

his old wife was already dead. It seems to me that Uncle Charley, who regretted + deplored the transportation, must have been in England at the time, + have expressed his intention to sell out + come to see us: but whether this was expressed verbally or by letter I cannot remember.

I do not recall with any clearness the actual going on board, where we thought we had been wonderfully lucky in securing the stern staterooms (or cabins, I think we called them) + which were, of course, the very worst of all, having ten times more motion than amidships, + the windows, which we had gloried in beforehand, being hatchmented down, whenever the wind blew hard, which it generally did, so that we were really to be pitied, so hideous were those horrid, stinking, filthy holes. The one in which I was quartered with half a dozen others, had an iron pillar in its midst; + this pillar proved, to our utter horror, to be the drain by which the pagoda on the deck communicated with the fishes; - + this hideous pillar leaked, incessantly, despite the patchings + mendings of the ship-carpenter. What a dreadful experience was our 7 weeks + four days of misery in that floating hell!

3 January, 1885!! (mean to finish up, + send, quickly!)

To go back to the old places. We were among the earliest to take up with Clevedon, leaving Weston, to which we had previously been faithful, + which was, in all respects, a far better place to go to. The sands were splendid, the great 4-mile beach, + the lovely Worle Hill, something worth walking over! But the ridiculous Chapel + preachings perverted Papa's mind, + so we went to Clevedon instead of going to Weston. Who remembers the184

desperate attempts to float tubs on the ponds left by the tide, + the frequent duckings experience by the adventurous sailors in these unpropitious "boats"? And the slippery grass on the hill behind Salt-House, which it was a wonder we did not roll down and on to the rocks below! There was literally nothing to see at Clevedon; where as Weston was lively + often had something of interest going on; - plenty of "jaunting-cars", donkeys, raffles, people bathing or promenading. The original "Esplanade" was erected the last time we were there; since then, it has been greatly lengthened, + I saw in a newspaper, lately, that it is being still farther extended.

I remember a gipsy-camp being set up at the entrance to the Uphill road. We went to see them, + Uncle Charley had a talk with "the King of the Gipsies", an old rascal in a ragamuffin cloak. 

We always longed to on to Brean Down, the long promontory that hems in the farthest end of the sands; it is an island when the tide is up; I believe there is now an hotel there, as also on "The Steep Holmes", where the air must be splendid.

The lighthouse on "The Flat Holmes" was a favourite twinkle of ours, at night; all of us tried our hands + incompetence at sketching this island, then a desert, now fortified.

On the other side of Bristol, near the banks of the muddy but picturesque tidal Avon, was the lovely country seat of Sir Henry Lippincott, which, I think, must have been in view from

185

Durdham Down, as I remember my frequent gazings + longings in view of the lovely lawn + its diversifying beds of roses + gum-cistus, + the honeysuckles, clematis, +c, hanging in flowery clouds from the large trees dotted about the turf. I was certainly never there, but see it all with curious plainness. Grandmamma Lane was an intimate friend of "old Lady Lippincott", the owner's mother, who was extremely pious, so the two old women got on very well together + the former was a frequent visitor at the place, staying there sometimes for a fortnight at a time.

Another very handsome + pleasant place, on the Counterslip side of the city, was called, I think, The Firs; it belonged to a Mr. Hare, old friend of the Brown-connexion, + of ours, through mamma. Mr. Hare invented oil-cloth for floors, made a great fortune thereby, + got knighted; whether for the invention, or for some other reason, I can't remember. I went there once, with mamma, to a Dorcas-meeting; the husbands, fathers, +c of the ladies came out to tea, + all wandered about the grounds. The fruit was splendid. On a wall, was one particular cherry-tree, hung with such gorgeous great black, or dark garnet-coloured cherries. I was all alone; + the temptation was terrible. And I took one of the great lovely cherries, which caused me intense remorse after I had eaten it. No doubt, when the guests were invited into the gardens, it was intended that they should gather a fruit or two; but that did not occur to me, + it seemed to me that I had stolen the luscious cherry + done a very wicked thing. I feel rather guilty in recalling the deed + the cherry!186

I remember being taken to the rehearsal of a concert that was coming off, with a family party, under the wing of Aunt + Uncle Browne. Madame Sontag sang; what a wonderful singer! I must have gone to some other rehearsal or musical flare-up; don't remember what. The noise of the orchestra frightened me so much that I suppose I must have been very young. We never set foot in a theatre or other place of amusement. The artistic element was almost entirely lacking in our lives. 

I don't think, dear old Harry, that I can remember anything more of our lives in Old England; so I intend to pack up + send you these two rambling gatherums without farther delay. I have suggested to Marian to add some jottings from her remembrances; but she has a settled horror of our uncomfortable childhood + girlhood + declines my invitation to fill the rest of this m.s. book.

So, with affectionate good wishes for you + yours, this rambling gossip (going on, at times, through more years than I fancied, when I looked over its beginning, yesterday) is now brought to an ending by, dear old Harry, 
Your affectionate schwester
Anna

Triel, January 3, 1885.

187

Since I wiped my pen, last night, with the satisfied conviction that I had jotted down "something of everything" connected with our Bristol days, it has occurred to me that I have not mentioned the fete days of those ancient years: - Christmas, New Year's Day, + the family birthdays.

Of the wonderful pudding that marked the return of the Winter Festivals, little need be said here, for you know all about its excellence. I have never seen Xmas-puddings equal to ours, made after the famous family recipe. What work it was getting ready for the 4 puddings made in our kitchen every season! The whole household picked + stoned for ten days beforehand; the chopping of suet was something tremendous; the grating of bread + of nutmegs, ditto; the mixing of the accumulated materials, formidable! And the putting-up of holly + mistletoe!

All the households dined on Christmas Day at Grandpapa's; Grandmamma had a pudding-recipe which she stuck to, to the last; good, but not equal to ours. Of course, the dinner, like all the Grandparental expenses, came out of Papa's pocket. I only remember one dinner (at Christmas-tide) at Aunt Ann's. It gave her great agonies, but she pulled through nicely. I think she must have had a boiled turkey, as 1st dish; for I remember there was oyster-sauce, about which I dubitated long before venturing to taste it, being afraid of oysters, which I fancied remained living until swallowed. It must have been my first experience of oysters. In her garden was a pear-tree, bearing188

heavenly pears; I mean to get grafts from it if "Pot" should, at length, carry the doom it has so long stuck on my shoulders! Also a magnum bonum plum-tree, great lumps of luscious gold; splendid. Also a Siberian Crab, delicious, though usually bitter. There was a chilly arbour at the top of the long, narrow slip of garden, with a waved path between the two beds, so that you were sometime getting up to it. The arbour was a mass of yews + other sad-coloured foliage, + being lined with ivy, always had a damp, dank, mysterious, churchyard kind of a smell. 

New Year's Day was our field-day! At four a.m. the great clothes-boiler having been scoured to the brightness of gold, filled, + the fire lighted, the regulation four puddings were committed to that "vasty deep" + kept boiling until the three o'clock dinner. One was in a great round basin, the next in a great white pan, with an immense K on it (stood for "kitchen") the shape of a great sugar loaf with the top knocked off; the other two were round, of smaller dimensions. The first was the one devoured on New Year's Day, amply sufficient for all demands, + a good deal left for the two following days, even after the servants had had their fill. The great K-pudding was eaten on Twelfth-Night, at dinner; - the other two were kept some months, but always got finished within the year. On Xmas Day, N. Year, Good Friday, Easter Monday, papa used to go out with the lot of us for a long walk before dinner.


189
Our N. Year dinner was always a turbot
boiled; then a turkey roasted & deliciously stuffed, perfuming
The house; then a splendid roast beef; mashed potatoes, 
& the orthodox sauces, & usually cauliflower or broccoli.
Then the sensation! the magnificent pudding with 
wine-sauce; mince pies in two dishes. Then a beautiful
dessert; oranges, medlars, almonds & raisins, & 
filberts, also figs. The table cloth was taken off the 
green baize ditto, Y the fruit was symmetrically placed
all the length of the long, dark, highly polished mahogany
dining table, grandpapa's handiwork. Wine,
& the cruet stand of spirits, occupied their specified
places amidst the fruit. One winter, there were
grapes also; Papa having bought an immense jar
of fleshy Spanish grapes, put up in sawdust, which
injured their flavour.
After dinner, they talked, got
round the fire, & so passed the time until the table
was set for tea, with buttered toast, toasted muffing,
Sally Lunns, & pikelets, & home made bread cake.
Papa's gift to the family was
always a chest of oranges & a drum of figs. We
children gave "Christmas boxes" to one another; but I
never knew of a single little gift given to us by
either parent, grand parents, aunts, or uncles(excepting
Uncle Browne & Uncle Charley)! Never, surely, was a 
family of children less petted than we were!
I had a few children's parties
& we went to a few, but so ridisculously ill dressed
that we were always ashamed to show ourselves.
At these parties, after an abundance of tea, coffee,
& cake, we had all manner of children's games;190

K.B.B. says; Yes Grandma Blackwell (Hannah Lane) knew how to dance very well +, like Aunt Elizabeth, was very light upon her feet. On this side the ocean, both at our 15th St. house and at the N.Y. Infirmary, Grandma insisted on having family dances, and she led them - quadrilles, Sir Roger de Coverly, the Virginia Reel +c At the Infirmary + some of the students sometimes took part. Grandma made everybody dance, whether they knew how or not. They could "hop around to the music", generally played by Aunt  Elizabeth. Kitty remembers Grandma directing Uncle Sam how to dance, and the sheepish, rather deprecating way in which he did it. 

"Snap the tongs", "Puss in the Corner", "Forfeits", "Blind Man's Buff" +c; no dances, dancing being tabooed in our set, as a smoothing of the "broad road" to hell. There were a dozen other games, but I don't remember them. Then a supper of tarts, cakes, +c, + negus.

We used to give each other little presents on birthdays; but we never got any from the grown-ups, excepting Aunt Browne. I have a little note in the dear old soul's handwriting, accompanying the birthday-gift of a handsome red morocco case for needles, cotton, thimble, scissors, bodkin, pins +c. to be kept constantly in my pocket, it being taught as first duty of little girls to be ready with fingers + sewing-tackle, to make or mend, at any moment. 

This time, Harry dear, I think I have really emptied my bag, + I wind up, with a word of remembrance of the last Xmas-dinner at Olveston, with (among plenty of other things) grapes kept on the vines (2 bags) for the great day, + a beautiful nosegay of monthly roses, pyrus japonica, laurustina, +c., +c., out of the garden, for the centre of the table.
Anna.

P.P.S.! I had packed up the books + sent the package to the post-office, which has sent it back to me, saying it must go to the railway + be sent as +colis-postal"; a ridiculous term, seeing that the post has nothing to do with the mode of transmission so named. As, just now, I bethought me of 


191

some omissions, I add, once more, to this long scrawl, the following particulars. 

All the children, one after the other, were very fond of the "bricks" of which Grandpapa had made us a splendid lot, of various forms, for building, + all made magnificent edifices. On reflexion, I think we must have had other "bricks", as we had a book of architectural designs, which we copied with the "bricks".

We had maps of Great Britain on this sheets of wood, the various counties cut out into separate pieces; these were jumbled up, + we were supposed to perfect ourselves in geography by putting them together. I think we had a map of Europe divided in the same way + for the same purpose. 

At Counterslip, there lived a master-carpenter + builder, whose premises adjoined ours. His place ran down to the horrid little inky river, + ended in a sort of dock running out into that filthy stream. The top of this sort of projection had been turned into a little flower-garden by the wife; + I so greatly admired this ingenious homage to Flora, that I frequently pestered mamma to take me in there, to see the flowers. As there was no railing, wall, or other protection (so that, if one had the ill luck to slip over the edge, one would have fallen plump into the river) she did not much like to take me in; but as the man worked for Papa, + the wife was proud of my admiration of her gardening, she did so occasionally. There were quantities of mignonnette, nasturtiums, gillyflowers of all hues, then known, sweet peas, marigolds, + all the common flowers that are so gay, pretty, + fragrant, + that I192

dearly love for "auld lang syne", as being pretty much all that that period has left me as anything agreeable in the way of souvenirs. 

I wonder who among the family-group remembers the battledore + shuttlecock that Papa, at one time, played with us often? And the little boxes of dreadfully bad paints that we used in the production of chefsd'oeuvres? and the little wax dolls, the size of a little finger, that we all, of both sexes, bought so constantly at the great toy-shop in the Barton? and the amulets and little bottles of scent, that the feminines bought at the same shop, + thought so delicious?

Who remembers the great Yorkshire puddings under the vast joints of roast-beef? The raspberry + currant pies? The fragrance of occasional hares, cooked to perfection by "Old Margaret"? and eaten with wine-sauce that we all considered to be something heavenly? And the yearnings of admiration + desire with which all the children looked forward to the dinner-hour, when it had become known through the house that there was to be lamb for dinner, with mint sauce + green peas? And the general worship paid to "young potatoes", when they first began to appear on the table? And the steady affection kept up for "Nag's Head Cake", for which Bristol was famous, + that was sold in a little shop, squeezed into the wall of the market, left hand side as you go in from the entrance nearest Bridge St.? And the delight in "milk-cakes"

193

(now improved into "Sally Lunns") + in pikelets, + buttered toast? The latter, buttered hot, on both sides, so as to be well saturated with butter in a state of oil, must have been as unwholesome an eatable as could well be imagined, but everybody devoured it, thinking it lovely. Dry toast was also regarded as one of the necessary elements of existence.

Who remembers trundling hoops + trying vainly to fly kites, that would not fly, on Mother Pugsley's field? and the "peg-tops" of those days, + the wonder excited by the first "humming top"? And the cork-soled shoes, pattens, clogs, + "snow-boots" of which each child had a pair? And the fleecy-hosiery" gloves (little bags with a thumb) that did not prevent the damp cold of those odious winters from nipping the poor little fingers shut up in them?

It is beginning to snow, for the first time this winter; so I am going to do up my parcel once more, +  march it off to the station; there has been such heavy snow in all the regions round about, that we are no doubt going to pay for our exemption, + so I am off, while the road remains open!194

[A more recent view of Bristol is given in the following letter, written by Aunt Elizabeth to Uncle Sam, Aug. 15, 1885. It is dated "Durdham Down, Clifton, Bristol." A.S.B.]

"As I think you will like a letter from our native place, where Marian, Kitty + I are spending the last week of our holiday, I shall send this, written from the airy heights to which Bristol has now climbed, to you.

From my bedroom window on the 3d floor, I command all the well-known hills we used to roam over - from Kingsdown Parade, and twelve fine elms (all that remain of Redland Avenue) - Redland Park - Tindall's Park - Brandon Hill - Clifton Down, observatory - all below me from east to west - rising out of a mass of houses, stretching uninterruptedly up to and around this great Durdham Down; whilst the ridge of the above points hides the great mass of business + manufacturing Bristol stretching out indefinitely below.

"But I must explain why we came here; for after our trip to Tenby + St. David's Head (of which I have sent notices) and to Milford Haven (of which more anon), we only meant to spend one night in Bristol, to break the long journey home, + give Marian a peep at her native town. We went, however, at sunset to the banks of the Avon, when the tide was high, all the steamboats coming out of Cumberland Basin, Nightingale Valley, + Leigh woods in full fresh greenery - and looking up to the magnificent St. Vincents Rocks. Marian pronounced


195
them more striking than any cliffs on the Riviera. Next
morning Marian seemed loath to leave Bristol, & gladly
accepted my suggestion that we should take a week's
lodgings in the fine air of this Down.
"I must tell you how wonderfully
improved the facilities for getting about Bristol are (for
poor people) by the construction of two lines of tramways
starting east & west from the drawbridge on St. Augustine's
Back. As I sat on top of the tram car waiting
for it  to start, vessels just like the Cosmo were lying
before me; and I looked directly down Nelson St. with
our old home full in view at the bend of the
street with the square grey sugar house peering above them;
the houses have been made very conspicuous by enormous
glass windows, with cream colored shutters. The whole
place is to let, & has a rather dilapidated look, but the
old memories cling about it. Some sugar loaves stood
in one of the doorways, the archways into Wine St. are
as of yore, & a charming old oriel window still stands
above the water basin in the old wall. But my
tram car with four horses started up the Colston road
in front of the Colston Almshouses with Salvation
Army barracks opposite; made sharp bend along
upper Park Road, then up the Whiteladies road, & finally
deposited me within five minutes steep walk up to 
Durham Down. I engaged lodgings in a row of
houses facing the Down, & our party was speedily established
in them, & has ever since been enjoying the
really fine air, & wonderful space, within a two penny
drive of the heart of a big city. Marian is particularly
struck by the place; had told me more than once
that she has seen no place which seems to present
196

such advantages; that if all her family died, she she should come + live here, +c. All which I am very glad of, for I had felt doubtful how far she had enjoyed her summer; + I am almost inclined to think her native air suits her. 

"To-day we walked over the fine suspension bridge, + rested under a  magnificent old oak, which overlooked Nightingale Valley. It was Saturday, + parties of young people with papas or mamas passed by with their lunch-baskets, evidently going to make a holiday in the beautiful woods which looked as fine + fresh as they did fifty years ago. 

"In the afternoon Durdham Down  was gay with the white tents of cricket parties, + any number of bat-ballers, donkey-riders + family groups. One good thing about these highlands is that they are so extensive notwithstanding business encroachments, or rather resident-building, that one is not annoyed by the mess that so often defaces public resorts. Hawthorn trees are scattered about the short turf, + an occasional fine oak. Many of the residences that skirt these downs have lovely rural peeps of wooded glen or bold cliff, + all the gardens flourish luxuriantly.

"If only this wonderful extension of town over these common lands had been properly + economically managed for the benefit of all, Bristol should be without taxes. But alas for the dull perception of human society, at present! Wherever these fine improvements are found, taxes rise, the poor sink into paupers, + the mass of the people are more + more crowded into dense unhuman


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surroundings. When shall we learn that earth, air + water are not fit subjects for selfish speculation! But a truce to Christian Socialism.

"What has most struck me in revisiting our old town is the way in which Marian takes to it; I really think that if not affectionately bound to Frances she would drift back + cast anchor here. 

"I must tell you of the very pleasant week we spent at old Milford, the veritable Milford Haven of Cosmo days. We were in clover at the Lord Nelson Hotel + revelled in the strong ocean breeze which blew straight up the Haven. Unfortunately it blew + rained a gale during most of the time we were there. But two exquisite days showed us how charming the fields + woods rolling down to the green waters could be. Castle Hall Place, where the Hamilton's + Lord Nelson lived, looked lovely across the inlet; + although the deserted docks built by the Anglo-American Co. that did not count the cost, looked rather desolate, + have temporarily injured the place, yet its advantages for a summer resort are so great that it must rise up again."

Dec. 28, 1923. Kitty says that Grandma Blackwell (Hannah Lane) was very pretty - much prettier, Aunt Elizabeth said, than any of her daughters. In after years, Aunt Elizabeth met in society some gentlemen who in their youth had been employed in the sugar house, or its office;and they said that they were always delighted when Grandma had occasion to come down to the sugar house to speak to Grandpa about anything, she was so exquisitely pretty.