human beings or animals. She told me that God had given to every person a voice in the interior of their hearts, and that this voice was called Conscience; that it had spoken to me the other day, when I had been obstinate in spelling my lesson, and had made me feel that I had done wrong. She then said, that God had invited all His creatures to speak to Him, and to tell Him their wants, and that this was called Prayer; and to thank Him for all His goodness, and that this was called Thanksgiving; and that we should never begin nor end the day without both the one and the other. She said, also, that when she saw I was going to be naughty, she should give me, five minutes to sit still and recollect myself, before she proceeded to punish my disobedience.

From that time, on Sundays she always taught me one of the Commandments, a clause of the Lord's Prayer, or one of the texts from the Sermon on the Mount, and explained it to me; as also a question or two in Dr. Priestley's Scripture Catechism. She made me read to her one of Mrs. Barbauld's Prose Hymns for Children; and sometimes she would make me sit still with her, after the manner of Friends. I was going to say this instruction struck deeply into my heart; but it would be more correct were I to say, that though at times it returned with power, there were long seasons when it was not the least influential.

Meanwhile these impressions were crossed by many very opposite ones. My father and mother constantly desired me to bear pain like a Philosopher or a Stoic. I remember my mother telling me of the little Spartan boy, who,

having stolen a fox, let it gnaw him to the heart without his betraying pain; and she asked me when I should be able to do the same. One day some cotton which was on my hand having caught fire, my mother bade me bring it slowly to her. She was at the opposite end of a long room; and I was told to walk slowly, lest the flame should catch my dress; and not to mind the pain, but to be like the boys of Sparta. I did so; but the scar remained on my hand many, many years. I also recollect with shame, that my endeavours to be a philosopher were not grounded on any love of philosophy; but partly on an inordinate tendency to self-esteem, which made me like to see my own doings in a grandiose point of view; and partly from the feeling of humiliation in seeing my own character as poor and commonplace and conquered by circumstances. They were also founded on my tender love to my dear and honoured mother; whose noble character had in reality that magnanimity which I thus attempted to copy. My father, too, equally wished me to be a philosopher; and liked to instruct me in the rudiments of science. I had a pretty little monkey named Jack, a dog, a cat, a rabbit, and other animals. It was my delight to hear my father explain the Linnæan Orders; and to have him show me the teeth and claws of my various pets, classifying them, from the Primates Jack to the Brutum Sus.

I well remember one day when George Bott, the Friends' Dentist, came to examine my teeth. I agreed to have my front teeth drawn before my mother came in from her walk, that I might puzzle her as to my classification, as I

should want the four teeth in the upper jaw, the distinctive mark of the Primates. I sat still and had them all out, that it might be over when she arrived. George Bott said I was "the best little girl he had ever seen;" and took from his pockets a paper of comfits as my reward. But I drew up, and said, "Do you think Regulus, and Epictetus, and Seneca, would take a reward for bearing pain; or the little Spartan boys?" He laughed heartily; and, my mother just then coming in, he said, "Thy little girl is too much of a philosopher to be rewarded for bearing pain, but still I hope she is enough of a child to like these comfits, as a mark of love and kindness;" to which I acceded with great delight.

A few more words relative to this period; the remembrance of which, though clear, is almost like a shadow. It is of my Aunt Mary Galton, my father's sister; whom we used to call my Aunt Polly. I used to delight in going to Dudson when she was there. She would often bid me place my little stool beside her at tea, and tell me long and interesting fairy tales; and still oftener Scripture histories, illustrative of the pictures on the Dutch tiles, which then formed the common ornament of chimneypieces. I used to listen with delight to the history of Noah or of Abraham, of Joseph and his Brethren, of Caleb and Joshua, of David and Jonathan; and well do I recall the contrast, even then, between the inflation and exulting pride with which I heard the stories of the Grecian heroes and philosophers and the sweet and soothing feelings of rest with which I listened to those of the holy men of old. The one seemed like the glare and strength

of the noon-day sun; the other like the sweet and refreshing calm of evening.

My Aunt Polly about this time became greatly changed. I believe, from various little evidences which have since reached me, that she then became truly converted to God. Outwardly she assumed the strictest garb of a Friend, and exchanged her silk for a camlet gown; she no longer related fairy tales; but told me more of Scripture, and that more sweetly; she pointed out to me the wisdom and goodness of God in all the fruits and flowers of the garden, and in all else that she thought my childish mind could apprehend. She soon became ill, and was sent, for her health, to the Hotwells, Bristol; from which place she never returned.

of us.

Before she went, she came to take leave

"I am going," I think she said, "never to come back." I replied, “Oh, let me go with you!" to which she answered, solemnly looking up, "If thou wouldst be where I hope to be, thou must trust where I desire to trust." Her words made an indelible impression upon me. Though I did not understand them, I believed that something awful and solemn was associated with their meaning, but I dared not ask anybody to explain it. When, some months afterwards, I heard of her death, these words rose up before me; and, for a season, seemed ever present with me.

There were still a few other seeds scattered at this time in my mind, which I shall mention, because they struck deep root in my tastes and character. The books in which

I delighted were not only eagerly read, but each of my

favourites amongst them seemed as it were to amalgamate with my existence, however diverse they might be one from the other. There was Berquin's “L'Ami des Enfans.” His vivid scenes and quick feeling delighted me; but some passages I never could read. The account of the child lamenting over its mother's grave, I have never been able to read to this day. I often wondered how that child could have lived after its mother's death; and I very often prayed that I might never outlive my mother. This book, I think, fostered in my mind a love of stimulus and excitement of feeling. My English books were Mrs. Barbauld's "Little Charles," and Brook's "Natural History ;” the latter of which inspired me with a great desire for the acquisition of outward knowledge. It was my happiness every evening to place my little chair close by my mother's table, and to listen whilst she told me histories: particularly I remember her telling me of Mount Hecla and Mount Vesuvius, of the Pyramids, the hanging gardens of Babylon, and the Wall of China; and if the Bonne gave a good account of me through the day, after tea my mother would bring out Buffon, and show me pictures of animals, and read me an account of them. I was very fond, too, of tending animals, and showing kindness to them, and I shall never forget the pleasure I had in feeding the birds which frequented our shrubbery, and in learning their natural history; nor the delight I felt in the periodical visits of some tame dromedaries and brown bears, which I fed with oatcake and treacle.

I was very fond of "Sandford and Merton ;" and this book, with my mother's instructions grounded upon it,