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about the distance I have mentioned from us, to the left. It was a picturesque cottage residence, on a hill side, embosomed amongst the trees. Behind it rose a gently-sloping hill, richly wooded; in front was a lawn of emerald verdure, enclosed by shrubbery, from which the ground gently declined, until it blended with the valley of Wrington. On our left were the Mendip Hills, and the Quantock range (famous because of the wanderings of Coleridge, Lloyd, Southey, and Wordsworth among them : it was among the Quantock Hills that the “ Ancient Mariner" was composed) rose in the blue distance. The houses of the little village of Wrington lay beneath us, and its pretty tower formed a conspicuous object in the landscape.
As we descended the hill, my mother told me of Locke; and when we reached the village, and quitted the tilted cart, she led me towards the church, still speaking of the great man. The sharp air of the morning had made me hungry; so we went into a cottage near the churchyard — indeed, it was in the pathway leading to it — and got a draught of milk, and piece of brown bread and butter; and after I had despatched these creature comforts, I was informed that I had taken my morning meal in the very room in which John Locke was born. The great philosopher was buried in the adjoining church.
Same Subject, concluded. E. H. Ross. BARLEY Wood was but a short distance from Wrington, and we determined to walk it. At 8 o'clock, we quitted the village, and when we had nearly reached Mrs. More's house, my two sisters, who had been watching us from the lawn, came dashing down the lane to meet us, their curls streaming in the wind, and their cheeks glowing with exercise.
They were in raptures with Mrs. More, and in five minutes told me all that had occurred during the week. neared the gate, they would have dragged me triumphantly into the " presence;
" but my half awe for learned people camne over me, and grasping my mother's hand, I entered the shrubbery door and walked up the lawn.
We had scarcely reached the house, when an elderly lady approached and welcomed us. She was plainly dressed, and presented nothing extraordinary in her appearance. This was Mrs. Hannah More's sister Martha; she invited us to follow her to the garden, "where,” she said, “we should find Hannah."
At the back of the cottage was a flower-garden, arranged with exquisite taste, and surrounded with a privet hedge; which hedge, by the way, exhibited one of the absurd fashions of the time, -- a fashion not even yet altogether exploded in some of the retired and rural districts of England, -I mean, that of clipping the foliage into fantastic shapes of birds, vases, &c. With this exception, Mrs. More's flower-garden was faultless in arrangement. Near one of these deformed vegetative barriers, we encountered the object of our search.
Hannah More did not perceive us as we approached, for her back was towards my mother and myself, as we walked up the garden pathway, and she was busily employed, too, in trimming one of the before-mentioned vegetable specimens of ornithology. She was dressed in a black silk gown, with a remarkably high waist, according to the fashion of the day -- so high, indeed, that it seemed to be just beneath her armpits: this gave an appearance of unusual length to her figure, and afforded a striking contrast to the hour-glass contractions of the present time. Both fashions strike me as being equally ungraceful, and the latter absolutely dangerous; for a few days since, as a lady bowed to me on the Common, I trembled lest she should snap off at her waist-band. Mrs. More's shoulders were covered with a thick shawl, deeply edged with black lace, for she was an invalid, — and her feet were protected by substantial shoes, worsted stockings, and pattens. On her head she wore what was called a high mob cap, with ample bordering of lace, nicely plaited, and tied in a monstrous bow under the chin. On lier hands she had black cotton gloves, with long sleeves, the tips of the fingers having been cut off. As soon as she heard our voices, she turned round, and held out her right hand (in her left was a pair of garden scissors) to welcome us.
This celebrated -woman was then past seventy years of age, and very feeble in health; but her face had a surprisingly vivacious expression. I have seen many portraits of her, but never one which conveyed an accurate idea of the original. Pickersgill's, prefixed to the English edition of her works, is the best; but that is too flashy in detail for its somewhat staid and sober subject. Her features were small, and furrowed with the lines of age; but her complexion was remarkably clear, - almost pure red and white, — owing, no doubt, to her long residence in the country. Her forehead was nearly concealed at the sides by an abundance of false hair, which was disposed in the shape of two huge bundles or bunches of long, spiral curls; but in the centre, where these appendages met, or rather whence they diverged, there was visible an ample cerebric development. The nose had evidently, at one time, been short and thick, but it was now thin and slightly hooked. The mouth was but slightly retracted, and the lips wonderfully plump for so old
Her chin was double and dimpled. But the most striking part of her countenance was the expression of her eyes, which were coal-black, deep-set, and very brilliant. None of their fire seemed quenched, and in earlier days they must have been very expressive; indeed, they were so when I saw her, despite the drawback of a faded set of features, to match them. Altogether, she was in appearance very plain, very prim, and very precise. After the usual civilities and courtesies had been exchanged, we
adjourned to the house, and were ushered into a neat little parlor, the windows of which commanded a fine view of the delightful vale of Wrington. Here a breakfast, consisting of tea, coffee, rashers of bacon and eggs, and rich clotted Somersetshire cream, was laid; and Hannah More, her sister Martha, my mother, sisters, and myself, together with a very plain, stiff-looking body, a Miss Frowd, sat down to it.
Breakfast having been despatched, the domestics were summoned to family devotions — a custom rigidly observed by Mrs. More every morning and evening. There were eight servants a large number, it may seem, for two or three maiden ladies to keep; but it must be remembered that almost from morning until night there was a continual influx of company at Barley Wood. Mrs. More conducted the service, which consisted of a portion of the liturgy; and after this had been read, we all knelt down, and the venerable lady offered up a short extemporaneous prayer, in the course of which she mentioned every individual present by their given names, aptly introducing, where it was necessary, texts of Scripture applicable to their condition or circumstances. Her enunciation was slow, solemn, and very distinct; and it was a fine and impressive sight to see that pious woman, whose fame had literally gone out into the ends of the earth, bowing before the mercy-seat, and humbly soliciting, for the meanest one in her household, those blessings which make rich and add no sorrow.
Attached to the residence was a large room, in which it was her custom, every morning, to receive the recipients of her bounty, and where she occupied many hours in the manufacture of articles for the use of the poor, and for charitable purposes. To this place we accompanied her, and there remained some time, witnessing her labor of love; and a pleasant thing it was to witness the quiet way in which she did good. There was no ostentatious parade; the poor came to her, as to a friend, for assistance or advice, and never went away unrelieved. The number of garments she gave away, that morning, was really surprising. To most of the articles was pinned a scrap of paper, on which a text of Scripture was written in her own hand-writing; sometimes a tract was added ; and in no case, where it was really needed, did any one leave the room without an order on the housekeeper for a supply of food.
During the time my mother was closeted with Hannah More, I rambled, with my sisters, about the house and garden; and I well remember my being attracted to the front gate by the arrival of a carriage, from which two gentlemen and a lady alighted, and inquired for the lady of the mansion. One of the strangers was a personage far advanced in years, and of a very venerable appearance. He was evidently in ill health, and coughed dreadfully. As he walked up the broad gravel path, he dropped his stick, and I ran to pick it up for him. When I had done so, he took me by the hand, patted me on the head, and asked me my name. The lady who was with him, called my little sisters to her, and they soon got friendly, as they rested on a rustic seat. She was also in years, and dressed quite in the old style. I have a distinct remembrance of her light, flaxen hair, which she wore in large curls; and of her faint but pleasant smile, as she took some sweetmeats from her pocket, and gave us children
some, which quite won our hearts. The third stranger was a middle-aged gentleman, of harsh and rugged features. His hair was dark, and his eyes of a light gray color. , When he spoke, it was with a broad Scotch accent, and a harsh, disagreeable sounding voice, quite different from the winning tones of the old gentleman and lady I have just described. I did not know who either of them was, and soon left them, to proceed with my play.
The dinner hour, at Barley Wood, was four o'clock; and, as a special favor, we children were allowed to dine in the same room with the great people, a little table being set for us in one corner. I must mention, however, that, prior to dinner, whilst taking a turn with my mother and sisters