With the writer, as far as life has yet lasted, have lingered some precious memories. The memories of her birthplace made sweet and hallowed by the remembrance of one who was all tenderness and gentleness, and who spent much time with her, working and walking in the pretty garden, and occasionally in the orchard beyond the garden. Sometimes as we walked by the house the old-fashioned latticed window would be thrown open, and a beautiful face, adorned with long ringlets, would smile down upon us; and she remembers what a pretty frame for this beautiful picture the vines, the jessamine and honeysuckles made. There was, too, a pretty lawn, in the centre of which grew a tree with wide-spreading branches, where seats and a table were always ready to receive gathered flowers and weary little girls, who here loved to climb upon father's knee and fall happily asleep. But oh, the mystery of it. How strange it was that wherever she might fall asleep she always awakened in the same place. This took her a long time to understand. She was quite a bit old before she understood how she always awoke in her own bed. But the garden, what a subject of wonder it was with its old-fashioned flowers, chief among which were its wonderful moss roses which grew to such perfection there, and the mignonette so fragrantly sweet; nor can the writer see these roses or inhale the fragrance of mignonette to this day without being instantly transported back to dear old Enfield Highway of half a century and more ago. This little girl was fortunate—or was it unfortunate?—in having so much of the time of this tender and loving father. She learned long afterwards that it was because of his failing health he had to live in the garden in summer and in his room in the winter, because he could breathe nowhere else; and thus the two least competent ones were relegated to the garden and inactivity, the last baby in the family and its failing head. A few yards down the old highway was an inn with a large space in front where coaches stopped and from whence they started. To this place came travelling shows of all kinds, acrobats, and lovely ladies who rode the most beautiful horses, and who wore most gorgeous gold and silver gowns, and once there came a big van, which bore a learned pig, and a lady who dressed herself in snakes—that is, she wore them in lieu of necklace, bracelets, girdles, sashes, etc. But that awful pig was the cause of much suffering both mentally and physically to this little girl, though it proved to be a very small addition to the small stock of memories that alone were all that were left to her for many years of a beloved parent. But this pig, a pig indeed who could tell all our secrets and one that could answer questions, as this little girl found out to her great consternation, for on this wonderful pig being asked by his master which was the little girl in that company who stole the sugar out of her mother's sugar-pot? this dreadfully wise pig went round the whole company and finally stopped right in front of this little girl, who in the terror of a guilty conscience rushed out of the covered van, tumbled down the steps, and flew home to tell her mother and confess all. But, alas! in her great hurry to reach the house, she fell on the gravelled walk and grazed both hands and knees. She remembers, too, with what tender pity her father hastened towards her, and picking her up, carried her crying to the house, and how gently and patiently he bathed the wounds, and smoothed the grazed skin and bound up the limbs, and nursed her in his arms, while she told the dreadful tale of that pig, and bade her be comforted, and actually laughed about that stolen sugar and kissed her more than ever. She remembered, too, one Sunday when company was expected to dinner, she, with her sister, had been prettily dressed in white Swiss muslin and pretty blue sashes, and the brother in complete Scotch kilt suit, and they being sent out to walk in the garden while their mother also made her toilet. The brother, fired with a love of martial glory, and desiring to improve their dresses with a more warlike appearance, secured from some unknown source a sooty pot, and dipping his fingers first in water, and then rubbing them on the sooty bottom of the saucepan, artistically covered those pure white dresses with innumerable black spots, having done which he hung the pot around his neck for a drum, with a string, and having found two sticks, he beat a tattoo on this unique musical instrument, and we sisters fell in line and marched round the garden, till nearing the house, our father saw us, whereupon he laughed immoderately, and calling up to our mother to look out of the back chamber window, awaited results. They came quickly; with a scream and an exclamation she flew down the stairs, and would have inflicted condign punishment had not father met her at the door, and folding her in his arms, he carried her back to her room and kissed her into good humor again, nor would he allow her to change our clothes until she had promised him neither to scold or whip us, and she kept her word. But the story was too good to keep, and we heard both the guests and our parents laughing heartily at the performance. At another time, when some gentlemen came to dinner to discuss theology and various subjects, it was on Sunday, and as usual in English families the children were brought in with the fruit and nuts at dessert. While the conversation was going on we children were munching nuts, when our father made use of a quotation from the New Testament in which the words "sounding brass and tinkling cymbals" occur. It seems our father got the spirit but not the exact wording of the verse, and the little daughter of gravel-walk notoriety ventured to correct the father's rendering of the verse, when he asked her to give the whole verse, which she did; he then asked her "if she knew any more?" She answered she knew the whole chapter, and repeated it in full, at which peal after peal of laughter rang out at the father's surprise; one of the gentlemen saying something about "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings cometh wisdom, etc." The little girl had been attending an infant school, and had been learning a verse a day, as it happened, of this very chapter. To this school, one day, came a most lovely vision (in this little girl's eyes), a tall beautiful woman in a green silk dress, with lovely curls hanging down her lovely face. Her entrance in the school created a great sensation, and the little girl remembered how the old lady who kept the school curtsied to the beautiful visitor, who, after speaking a few moments with the old dame, left the school leading the little girl by the hand; and how proud the child was to be brought home by this beautiful woman rather than by the maid who usually came for her. In the memory of this little girl too there was a wonderful orchard at the end of the back garden, which seemed to her small feet endless. There were big clappers of wood which were used to frighten the birds away from the fruit. The orchard was literally the place of forbidden fruit to the little folks, who were not allowed there save in company of older people. One afternoon we were all taken to the inn to see the London coach come in on which a large dining-table was which had been sent down from London by our father, and lo and behold, when the table was cleared of its wrappings, what should be with it but a large plum-cake for us children, which father had intended for a surprise. And it was a surprise, indeed. Mother's ejaculation of "Dear, dear, what a man!" brought tears of joy to all our eyes. This little girl never could understand some things, and one was that when we were all out with our nurse that strangers would stop us and ask whose children we were, and after expressing their admiration of the beauty of her sister and brother, would pat her head and only say "She is a nice little thing ". But one memorable day we moved, and all our belongings were in the front garden; the little girl was much surprised to find herself cheek by jowl with a nice old man in marble, who had always lived away up above her reach; but now she could pat him and smooth him over with her hand, and make out some of the letters on the pedestal, which was engraved on all sides. The name she knew, for it was the name of her half-brother, and read Thomas Paine.

These memories and just a few more such were all she was ever to have personally of a loving and devoted father. There is a remembrance of standing before a large house and seeing men unload a lot of furniture, and then the cry coming from someone that "Julian is lost!" and after that all is confusion and worry, but he is found again after awhile. But next day we hear that our father is sick, and we feel that we are for two or three days being kept out of the way, till one night we are awakened for the first time in our lives, and someone carried the little girl to a large room where there were several people, strangers, and where she was held over the bed to kiss what was said to be her father, though she knew it could not be her father, for he always kissed back, and this person did not. Later there was a funeral in the house, and someone lifted this little girl up to see all the people that were walking in the road following a hearse and carriages; and we had no good father any more, only a sad and ever-weeping mother. A very little while and then we go to a very nice house for a few days,* and then to a place called Ham Common, a sort of vegetarian school where everyone works, and the children go to school, and where there is no sugar, no salt, nothing but bread with raisins in it, and fruit and uncooked vegetables, no milk, eggs, or meat. Our brother goes to a different place where he has been before, a place called "Harmony Hall", which was founded and under the direction of Robert Owen. This was well enough, but in a very short time our sister Hypatia, who had a very delicate constitution, had to be taken away to Charing Cross Hospital, there to be nursed and built up with the most generous diet known to the skilful physicians, in order to save her life. And there she remained for a long period. It was not long before mother and the little girl left Ham Common and went right to a home of our own, where soon we were gathered together and began to be happy again, but never so happy as we had been at Enfield; no, never again so happy after we had lost that dear father.