Highwaymen in Peckham

“Some Memories from 1822 to 1868”

by

Mary Woolley

Edited and introduced by Jessica Cahill

February 2013

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter One: Mary’s family background - St Swithin’s Lane – Peckham - Highwaymen

Chapter Two: Mary’s parents’ marriage - Fire at the Custom House - Mary born - Hanover House - Night terrors and a beetle

Chapter Three: Smugglers

Chapter Four: Mary’s childhood – Reading – Gypsies - Running away - General naughtiness

Chapter Five: Move to Harpur Street – Cholera – Omnibuses - A Walpole

Chapter Six: The case of the missing hair - Move to Cheshunt and back to St Swithin’s Lane – Engagement - A near riot

Chapter Seven: Death of Mary’s father - Theft and court case – Paris - Move to Tulse Hill - Marriage

Chapter Eight: Married life in Harpur St - Stewart, Bertie, Louie, Duncan, Alice, Grace, Katie and Margaret born - Move to Peckham then Clapton - Scarlet fever, whooping cough, peritonitis, etc

Chapter Nine: Move to Upper Homerton - Frank, Basil, Honoria and Janet born - The Croydon wet nurse - Move to Grove House - Typhus and the drains

Chapter Ten: Charles unwell - Charlie born - Louie unwell - A dreadful secret

Chapter Eleven: Return and unsatisfactoriness of Stewart (son) – Cannibals - Move to Woodford - Journey through the Alps for Charles’s health

Correspondence

Introduction

“Our Stage Coach travelled up from Peckham Rye [to] the Mansion House every morning – returning in the evening. It went by the Old Kent Road to the City, and the guard always carried pistols as there was still a fear of highwaymen attacking them in this very lonely road. Now I imagine, there is not one yard of space uncovered by bricks and mortar.”

I was first lent this unpublished book of Mary Woolley’s memoirs by my cousin, neither of us having any idea who Mary was or whether she was a relative. The first couple of pages are rather dry family background, but then she hits her stride. The local history is fascinating, but also the writing is terrific – by turns gripping, hilarious and heart-rending. Domestic trivia, historical events and family tragedies are all here. I felt straight away that it deserved a wider audience.

My mother consulted the family tree and told me that Mary was my great great grandmother’s first cousin. She was born Mary Pearce in Peckham (then Surrey, now London) in 1822 and died in Guildford in 1910. Her father was a lawyer, her husband a wine merchant. In 1912 she had 43 descendants living, having had a total of 15 children – 11 named in the family tree and 4 unnamed, presumably died in infancy.

I do not know much more about Mary’s life. The memoir stops frustratingly in the middle of events. She alludes to future misfortunes but we never hear what they are. She was writing for her children’s benefit, and her version of events is slightly official at times, for instance when she writes that her parents objected to her marrying Charles Woolley, but does not tell us why. Sometimes she assumes more knowledge of people and events than we have.

Mary clearly enjoyed a good story and her version of history is quite colourful. Some of her stories are rather second hand and may or may not be accurate, but as a respectable Christian lady, she no doubt believed what she wrote to be true. In some places she puts great literary effort into her writing; in others she just rambles through events as they occurred. The only research I have done was to locate houses where she lived, so as to add pictures to this website, but the few official records I have seen, such as birth and marriage registers and census information, confirm the main points.

There is also no guarantee that whoever was responsible for typing the memoirs in the 1910s did not edit them, but it does look as though the typist was quite careful about reproducing spacing, underlines etc. One of Mary’s grandsons was the archaeologist Leonard Woolley, so perhaps the family understood the importance of preserving the past. I have copied the typescript exactly, including anything which looked like a mistake – so please do not email me about spelling mistakes! The only change I have made is to add more paragraph breaks, as some of Mary’s paragraphs ran to several pages, and to divide the memoir into chapters. The chapter headings are my own, as is the title “Highwaymen in Peckham”.

The copy I have is typed and bound, and I spent some time trying to find the original manuscript. I discovered three typed copies in my family, all of which appear to date from around 1914 or after (Southwark Local History Library helped me to date them from the stationer’s label on the bindings), but I drew a blank as to the original. If this still exists, it could be with any one of Mary’s probably numerous direct descendants. The fact that my family, not direct descendants, have several copies suggests quite a few were made and distributed to her relatives.

Researching this project has been fascinating, particularly wandering round London with a camera looking at what has changed in nearly 200 years and what has stayed the same. The site of the stately Hanover House is now shops along Rye Lane in Peckham (pawnbroker, mobile phone shop etc), and if you stand in the car park behind Burger King, you are probably standing in the garden. When I visited St Swithin’s Lane, I was startled to find that the Rothschilds are still in their offices there, but now in a glass skyscraper. I found two of Mary’s homes – 19 Clapton Square and Grove House – still standing, but now divided into flats. It was slightly chilling to realise that I could trace Mary’s husband through the electoral records, but not her as of course she did not have the vote and to discover that when I found her father’s tomb, I had also found that of my own great great great grandfather.

I don’t feel particularly nostalgic for what has gone. I’m quite happy to have the vote and not have died of typhoid as an infant. But it’s fascinating to observe the constant flow of history through the city, and how the past is constantly being pulled down and built over, yet traces remain.

Please visit www.highwaymeninpeckham.co.uk, for relevant pictures (old and new), family trees and notes. If you have any information to share, please feel free to leave a comment on the site.

Jessica Cahill, Crystal Palace, February 2013

Chapter One

Mary’s family background - St Swithin’s Lane – Peckham - Highwaymen

Sunday, July 29th, 1895

Dapdune Crescent,

Guildford.

“I was born in the County of Surrey” – So John Evelyn of Wootton began his Diary 300 years since, and it suits me equally as the commencement of the account which my Children ask me to write of my life, and our family history. My birthday dates September 24th 1822, and took place at Peckham Park, in a semi-detached house recently erected in this, then small and quiet village – yet of sufficient importance to have its own Annual Fair.

Before I begin the history of my life and its surroundings it may be well that I clearly state who I was, and to whom I belonged. My father, Stewart Peter Pearce was the 6th son of William Pearce – a lawyer of some eminence, of 10, St. Swithin’s Lane, London, and of Mary Walker his wife. It was known that my father was a great nephew of Dr. Zachary Pearce, Bishop of Rochester, and he thought, naturally, he was of the family of Pearce to which we belong, but curiously enough, we learnt he belonged to my Grandmother’s family, the Walkers of whom I know little.

In Lyson’s Environs of London, I have lately traced the Bishop’s family to their house in Ealing, W. of London, and find the names are identical with those of my father’s family whose history is told on their tombstone in Bunhill Fields – all Dr. William or Dr. John Pearce, but these were dissenters, whereas of course the Bishop’s branch was Anglican.

All the Walkers were dissenters, as was my grandfather William Pearce, so I establish a theory that some of the Bishop’s large family left the Church of England, and one married Mary Walker, by this we all trace our descent to the Bishop on both sides. My grandfather and his wife died in membership with the dissenting body of Independents, but all their family returned to the English Church. My grandfather’s family consisted of eight sons and one daughter.

William born 1782 died at Madeira in 1803 of decline

John Meriscoe born 1783 died Clapton 1871

Stewart born 1783 died young

Charles Thomas born 1787 died at Grove Hill, Surrey, 1847

Stewart Peter born 1790 died at 10, St. Swithin’s Lane, Dec 22nd 1840

Henry died young

Mary died from effect of a fall – aged one year

George born 1794 died at Sheffield 1875

And another son died young

Of these, William was educated with his three younger brothers at the Merchant Taylor’s School in Suffolk Lane, City, and intended to enter his father’s office as a lawyer, became an invalid, and was sent to Madeira, dying there at 21. The next son, John Meriscoe, who should have gone up to the University for Holy Orders, was then required for his father’s successor, and became a lawyer of much eminence. The third, Charles Thomas, originally was brought up in Child’s Banking House, where his acquaintance with foreign languages, secured a high position, he left them to go on the Stock Exchange about the year 1816 or 1818, and was connected in partnership with Mr. Whitmore who married a daughter of Lord Ashburton (a Baring) with the Lawrences, and Mr. Philip Cazenove. My Uncle was much respected and was three times Chairman of the Stock Exchange Committee.

My father, Stewart Peter had gone to school at Uxbridge in Bucks, and intended to go to Sea, but his eldest brother saw more opportunity of advancement for him, by taking him into the office of his father and self, so it was settled, but the life was uncongenial to him, and he disliked the drudgery of the profession, loving open air amusements and country life. His health also failed as he advanced in life, and he avoided all public attendance on business.

Mary, the only daughter died in consequence of a fall, her nurse, who had been long in the family of my grandfather Pearce, in 10, St Swithin’s Lane, always denied that any accident had occurred, but she gradually became insane, and used to sit at my grandmother’s door saying “Poor thing, no Mary left, no baby.” At last they placed the poor dear under proper care till her death.

George Pearce was also educated at Uxbridge school, and then went into “Lloyds” as a Ship Broker.

In 1812 my Uncle John Meriscoe Pearce became acquainted with a family named Barton, also living, as was then usual, in a large old house in London, in Tower Street.

The Bartons were a very old family of the County of Cheshire, where they had some property, of the Class of Yeoman farmers or as they would now say, “gentleman farmer”. Records of this family, filling the same station, have been traced from the 16th Century. Gradually it became usual among well to do Yeomen, to send younger sons to push their fortune in London, and accordingly Samuel Barton of ----- sent his son John to London where an Uncle was well placed in Kensington’s Bank. An opening for John Barton was found in the house of John Sherer of Mark Lane, a Wine Merchant. In those days there were but few in this business, only wealthy people could afford good wine, and the necessary Capital for such trade was large. Mr. Sherer, my great grandfather was partly of foreign extraction, he had sailed as Purser in a great East Indian vessel, when the trade with the East Indies was in its first successful days, all the produce novel, and largely bought up by the upper classes in England. Mr. Sherer made a large fortune, and permanently established himself in London as a Wine Merchant.

Mrs. Sherer’s mother was Mdlle. Regnier, her brothers had left France on the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, in 1685, one, I think taught either dancing or the violin in London, the other became the Pastor of the French Hugenot Church in London. Miss Regnier had married a Mr. Fayting. After his death she married again a Mr. Hickie, her daughter Ann Fayting was at a school near London, where also was a sister of Mr. Sherer, my great grandfather. During his visit to his sister he met Miss Fayting, and at length induced her to run away with him to be married, she being 16 years old. I gather she did not find her after life a bed of roses, for Mr. Sherer was a hasty hot-tempered man, who had the gout often, still he was generous and upright.

Mr. Regnier the Pastor, had been devoted to his niece, but never forgave her hasty marriage. He refused ever to see her, each year he called in Mark Lane and asked if she were alive, and if another child had been added to the family. At his death, he cut her off “with a shilling” but had divided his property among her children. I have a mourning ring which Mrs. Fayting had at his death aged 78 in 1784.

Mr. and Mrs. Sherer had a large family –

John - who was father to Mrs. Greenwood.

Louise - married John Barton - my grandfather.

George - married. I did not know them.

Mary - married Mr. Bean, a doctor in Camberwell, and had ten children.

Ann - “Aunt Ann” died 1855.

Another son Henry and a daughter much younger than the five I knew, of whom I know no good.

As I said, John Barton came from Cheshire and was introduced to Mr. Sherer who took him into his office, a London Wine Merchant. At that time my great grandfather Mr. Sherer lived at Norbiton Park, near Kingston in Surrey. I think it still stands, and I have a letter from him to Mr. Joseph Barton complimenting him on his kindness to his nephew in giving him so fair a start in life, and hoping “he would repay his good Uncle’s liberality.” After a time John Barton became intimate with his employer’s family, and soon attached himself to the eldest daughter Louisa. She must have been pretty, but judging from some stories handed down, of her extreme simplicity, she would be very different from girls of our day.

The young couple were placed in Mark Lane 66, where business was carried on – a fine old City mansion – married in 1793, and my mother was their first child, born April 15th 1794. In 1795 on the 30th May, was born Mary, who subsequently was married to John Meriscoe Pearce, and in June 1797 a son was born, and lost the life of the poor young mother.

My grandfather thus left with three little children was helped much by “Aunt Ann” Sherer and the children were much at old Mr. Sherer’s for country air, though London was not then crowded as now. Mr. Sherer had left Norbiton Park, and was living at Ewell in Surrey, near Epsom. When my mother was about 7 it was advised she should go to school and the children were all at Ewell previously. A fire broke out in the house at night, and the weather was so severe, all water was frozen. With difficulty, all in the house were got out, but the house and contents were burnt. The only thing saved was a bedstead with two great dolls, belonging to my mother and Aunt, which an Irishman seized up and carried out saying, "but the cruel craytures have left their dear children to burn". The Laundry was at the top of the house, and the mangle crashed down to the basement. All the plate too was melted into a mass, in the plate chests. No lives were lost, my mother rejoiced in an entirely new outfit for school.

In 1803 my mother being nine years old, her father John Barton married a second time. His wife was a Miss Sarah Lowe step daughter of a Mr. Edward Butcher who was a Unitarian Preacher, she had 8 or 9 children – I knew only seven – Edmund, Eliza, Jonathan, Emma, Joshua, Philip Henry and Lucinda.

Edmund was with his father and eventually married a Sophia Russell.

Eliza married Thomas Wickstead 1830 one of the first water work Engineers.

Jonathan, in the Courier Newspaper Office, married in 1838 Mary Berkeley.

Emma married John Wicksteed, elder brother of Thomas Wicksteed, was sub Editor to the “Spectator” and clever.

Joshua went to America and died there.

Philip Henry married twice – died some years ago.

Lucinda or Lucy as we called her was my great friend – died about 1854 to 1860.

Their mother, Mrs. Barton was an indolent, but pleasant kindly woman – of whom I saw much as a child – her connection among Unitarians brought my mother into knowledge of families holding such views – Aitkens – Mrs. Barbauld, Coghus, Wicksteeds, Priestleys, Worthingtons and others. As my grand-mother Louisa Sherer, had been one of an old-fashioned Church of England family. This second marriage of my grandfather’s gave them great dissatisfaction – all the children of the first family, though Baptised into the Church of England being brought up in an unorthodox Communion – attending Mr. Aspland’s Chapel in Hackney, Middlesex, where my grandfather had removed from Mark Lane.

My mother and Aunt were at school sometime at a Miss Davis in Tryon’s Place, Hackney. Then my mother went to a Miss Spencer’s in Hackney, and her sister to Wem in Cheshire where a relative of Mrs. Barton had a school. At 16 my mother came home to live and being a most capable girl, quick and intelligent, she had no very easy life, much demand being made on her, by the large family of step brothers and sisters – as well as the many domestic duties common in these days. She was never very friendly with Mrs. Barton, but my Aunt Mary was fond of her, as was their brother John.

When my mother left school her home was again in London. Mr. Barton having returned to the city from Hackney, then a pleasant country suburb – full of large houses with lovely gardens and fine trees – few shops. He took a house in Tower Street, E.C. where his business as Wine Merchant was carried on. In 1813 as I said before, some casual events had introduced John Meriscoe Pearce to Mrs. Barton, and he was soon intimate with the family, was a man nearly 30 – clever, stern looking, and highly educated. He met my Aunt soon afterwards, Mary Barton, then 16, who was very pretty – a blue-eyed, pink and white complexioned girl, with brown hair – merry as a child, but shy with strangers, and as ignorant on all points as can be imagined of a school girl in those days, who had avoided learning when possible.

My Uncle at once fell in love – and they were to have married when she was 17 – but she had the measles badly and so the union took place in 1813.

The young couple settled into the old house in St. Swithin’s Lane, belonging to my grandfather William Pearce, to which he had brought his bride, Mary Walker in 1780. In this fine old mansion all his family had been born – and some of the happiest memories of my childhood are connected with it. The back of the house looked upon the garden and Hall of the Salters Co., and on the other side, it had windows to New Court, the offices of the wealthy firm of the Rothschilds.

The Lord Mayor had used this house many years earlier, during the repair of the Mansion House, but when my Uncle married, the fine old entrance Hall had been enclosed and wainscotted to make a large Clerks Office, and a small office also was taken off on the other side. So the wide flight of stairs to the first floor was approached by a small square entrance only, with glass doors. There were two fine rooms, dining and drawing rooms, the latter extended all along the front of the house, four windows looking into the narrow old lane, in which two vehicles could not pass. At the end was a fire-place and mantel of carved statuary marble in the forms of heraldic shields – the marble was surmounted by a similarly carved looking glass, the frame at the bottom, fitting into the marble chimney-piece, small shelves for ornaments were in various parts of the gilt frame. As I write, this old glass is close to me, it became ours when we went to South Fields in 1877.

The dining room in St. Swithin’s Lane had two windows to the Lane and two towards Salters’ Hall, and on this floor also was a good sitting room – once my father’s office – out of it, one of the old fashioned light closets, with windows to New Court. Above this floor, up the wide low staircase, was a large landing – a morning room, and four bedrooms, curiously shut off, wasting much room up at the top, several large attics. I describe this house because it is so clear in my recollections, and now there are perhaps none of these old City Houses standing – No. 10 was sold in 1882, and pulled down immediately – under the ordinary cellarage there were others found.

On my Uncle's marriage in 1813 his father and mother left London for a very pretty property they had taken at Peckham Rye, Surrey. It was about five miles from London Stone - perfectly in the country. At Camberwell three miles from London a large fair was held often – and at Peckham, the village about a mile from the Rye, there was an Annual Fair, which tradition asserted had been honored by the presence of the “Merrie Monarch.” My grandfather’s house was small – but surrounded by fields, and had three separate gardens and a piece of wilderness. The windows opened to the lawn. It was one storey high, a good entrance hall, sitting rooms on each side, and bedrooms over – but all too low. Later on, a large drawing-room was added and more bedrooms. My Uncles Charles and George had their rooms here, though the former had a room also in Swithin’s Lane. Our Stage Coach travelled up from Peckham Rye and the Mansion House every morning - returning in the evening. It went by the Old Kent Road to the City, and the guard always carried pistols as there was still a fear of highwaymen attacking them in this very lonely road. Now I imagine, there is not one yard of space uncovered by bricks and mortar.

Chapter Two

Mary’s parents’ marriage - Fire at the Custom House - Mary born - Hanover House - Night terrors and a beetle

As my father Stewart Pearce was a lawyer and a younger son, he could not live at Peckham Rye, being in the office, and therefore remained with his brother John, and his young wife. Naturally it happened that my Uncles became very popular in the Barton Household in Tower Street, and in course of time my father was attracted by the bright cheerful eldest daughter Louisa, who afterwards became his wife. As neither of these daughters had any fortune, and there was so large a second family, it was not a satisfaction to old Mr. and Mrs. Pearce that another son would marry the eldest daughter as he was not in so independent a position as his brother John. I believe they all liked my mother, indeed I remember Mrs. Pearce being fond of her long afterwards, but she was lively, fond of pleasure, and quick in speech, sometimes therefore jarring on more old-fashioned prejudices. They had a long engagement, and at last married in 1817 when my father was 28, she 23.

During the time they were engaged, happened the great Fire at the Custom House, which was burnt to the ground - caused by the carelessness of the governess with a candle at night, when not sober. From my grandfather's house in Tower Street, all was visible, and the whole family were on the flat roof, watching the awful scene. Two servants were burnt, their shrieks for help at the windows being awful. My father had a chair on the edge of the roof in Tower Street, suddenly someone dragged him forward, and the chair fell down, the lead gutters having melted from the intense heat.

In 1817 my parents married – the ceremony took place at the Old Church of St. Swithin’s – London Stone, Cannon Street. The Rev. Henry Watkins, Rector officiated. Some progress had been made now as to “Bridal form.” My grand-parents had driven down to Epping Forest in a post-chaise, spending the day at the old Inn, returning to St. Swithin’s Lane in the evening. The principal bridesmaid accompanied the happy pair. Uncle John Pearce was to have taken his bride away for a few days, but as there was a dance held in the evening of the wedding day, Aunt John absolutely refused to go, until like Sir Charles Grandison and his Harriet, she had enjoyed her share of this amusement.

My father and mother posted down to the Sussex Hotel at Tunbridge Wells, to enjoy the Pantiles and the lovely Kent country for their June holiday – weather however, was bad. A house was taken for the young couple in Bury Court, St Mary Avenue, E.C. but we must not pity them for living in such a place. In those days many very wealthy people lived in the city, at that time a place where ladies could walk about leisurely and go to market, and the streets, though many of them were narrower, and some present ones did not exist, still crowds were not known, and excepting a few Hackney coaches there were but waggons or carts passing. Omnibuses and cabs unknown.

My aunt and mother walked well, and made no difficulty in walking from the city to Peckham Rye a four mile walk, early in the day, to walk home at night with their husbands who were always desirous to visit their father and mother. Aunt John had no children, so was able to go out more. On the 10th April 1818 my eldest brother Stewart was born, and in June 1819 the second son William Barton. He was a beautiful and too precocious a child, could walk and even say some words at ten months old, but on 15th April 1820 he was excited by my father showing him a new toy, and died suddenly in a convulsion.

In January 5th 1821, a third son, William was born, and either just before that time, or early in 1821, my father removed his family from London to a small house in Peckham Park, close to the village of Peckham about three quarters of a mile from my grandfather, Uncle George Pearce had lived for some time with my parents in Bury Court, and now married, about 1822 or 23, Elizabeth Pellatt, and they also took a small, pretty house in the Rye Lane Peckham. And as Uncle Charles lived now with his parents, there were collected all the family except Uncle John.

Our house in Peckham Park, was semi-detached, with a garden, and there on the 24th September 1822, I was born. In the adjoining house, there was a family named Cannon, about my parents’ ages, who had then two children, Stephen and Fanny co-eval with my brother Stewart and myself. He was on the Stock Exchange and the friendship begun then, had lasted to this date, now centred between me, Mrs. Allcard and Mrs. Charlesley.

I must go back for a little to my other grandfather, who in the interval since my mother’s marriage had gone through much trouble. His large family and the state of business at that time had seriously lessened his means. I think he must have been a very affectionate, but not strong-minded man. Indeed this last, was not characteristic of his family as far as I knew then, and his eldest son, Uncle John Barton had given him much uneasiness. He had again removed his family to Hackney, when Mrs. Barton was surrounded by Unitarian and musical friends – he used to ride into London every morning to his office, returning in the evening.

Further misfortunes followed him resulting from the failure of Kensington’s Bank, in which he had a large sum as balance, when the failure took place. My grandfather met every engagement to the extent of this balance but then had to put all into the hands of his few remaining creditors. The sum was not large, but in those days 70 years since, the present gigantic failures were unknown. When a meeting was held to arrange his affairs, Mr. Barton as was then usual in a Bankruptcy case, laid his gold watch and his purse on the table before the Chairman. This gentleman took them up saying, “Let me return your property Sir, adding our testimony to that of all your friends, that only the errors or faults of others, could have brought you to this painful position.”

But the troubles were too hard for my grandfather. One summer’s evening in 1822 his second son, Jonathan was going home to Hackney, after dining in Swithin’s Lane with his sister, Mrs. John Pearce when he saw a crowd assembled, and a saddle horse held by a man. Pushing his way through the crowd, recognising the horse, he saw his father, Mr. Barton, senseless on the ground. His heart had failed, and he slipped dead from his horse. At that time Jonathan was 15. And the eldest son John had been obliged hastily to leave the Stock Exchange, and had sailed for South America, hence the tragedy I have related.

My Uncle John Barton remained in South America until January 1841. Mrs. Barton and her own family of seven children took a house in Brock’s Walk, Homerton, then a country village, and my Uncle John Pearce acted towards them all, in the kindest and most liberal manner. The eldest son Edmund, carried on his father’s business and married a Miss Sophie Russell in about 1826 or 1828 – but never prospered – indolence being the family failing. In 1835 or 36 having entirely lost his friends, he went out to Adelaide N.S.W., with his wife and four boys. They all, I recollect slept at my father’s house in 16, Harper Street, Bloomsbury, on the last night before they sailed from England.

The eldest boy, Russell Barton still lives in Sydney and is a man of large means – he has had twelve children, of whom my son Basil has married one. Mr. Pearce took Jonathan Barton to live with them and treated him as a son – the eldest daughters, Eliza and Emma spent much of their time with their half-sisters – Eliza taught music well – Emma drawing.

Eventually in 1829 and in 1832 they married the brothers Thomas and John Wickstead. Joshua went to America and must have died there. Henry was musical and never successful. Lucy died young. I shall only occasionally mention the Bartons as they came in touch with me, they are now all passed from my knowledge.

I said that my parents left London, and lived in Peckham Park until the end of 1823, when I was a year and a quarter old. Stewart had grown up a clever child, the absolute idol of old Mr. and Mrs. Pearce. I remember a large portrait of my grandmother, with Stewart leaning against her knee, a blue eyed, fair-haired boy in a grey-blue tight-fitting suit with a falling collar, but he was spoilt, being the eldest of the family and nearly three years between him and William. He was little more than 3 ½ years old when he went to a day school kept by the Misses Thomas in Peckham. Just after I was born, my mother took as a cook, our good old servant Jane Hornbuckle. She came from a high family, just for a rest, to recruit her health, but stayed for two years, when she married, George Salmon a butcher. We were just like her own children, and she was a good and valued servant to my parents, though of a hasty temper. Years afterwards, she became my husband’s housekeeper in Mark Lane, and to her death we always looked on her as a friend.

Another old servant was “Betsy Bowyer”, she was housemaid to my mother and married George Bowyer a ship’s carpenter, she became a widow, and we often had her to work for us, whilst able to do so, and helped her at the end. Then my father had my old nurse, Mrs. Fisher, who lived with his parents for years. Her daughters, Rebecca Sproston and Susan Hill, were servants from their youth with some member of the family, and we always regarded them as belonging to us whilst they lived. There are few families now, who can speak of such long standing and devoted service as was rendered by servants 50 to 100 years since, and but few persons now can therefore, have the happiness of providing for those in their old age who have so well served in their earlier years.

Towards the end of 1823 or January 1824, we removed from Peckham Park into an old-fashioned house in Peckham, at the end of the Rye Lane, on the way to my grandfather’s at Peckham Rye. This word “Rye” may be a corruption of “Rise” as the road gradually ascended to the hills beyond the common. Years afterwards I lived at Dalston Rise – Hanover House was built by Sir John Vanbrugh, in the latter part of the 17th century.

It was of red brick with clamps of brick or stone work upon the four corners, the walls were so solid that though large on the outside in the rooms was not great space. It stood in a garden and had a high gate of wood and iron work over the road, a stone flagged path to the door, at the top of several low, broad stone steps, with balustrades of stone, the hall door was arched round in brick and stone, and led into a wide hall, on each side, pillars to the roof and at the end a few steps down to the garden door, and a broad staircase in three sets of stairs, of dark mahogany, with long narrow windows to the garden. On each side of the hall, were two rooms, one large and a smaller one to the back. I recollect that the two rooms on the right were made into a large dining room. There were two windows to the front in each large room, on the first floor, five windows, on the upper floor six, but not so large as below, the centre of this top floor window was a deep niche in the solid thickness of the walls, in which hung an alarm bell, on each side of this a small window to closet rooms, and two windows in each nursery at the sides.

My parents’ bedroom had two dressing rooms, my mother’s to the front over the hall, my father’s a nice room over the spare bedroom and dressing room. The first flight of stairs was very wide and handsome – on the landing, between the bedrooms was a large linen and store-room. The upper flight of stairs were also in three sets like the first ones – but very narrow. Upstairs was a good landing, nurseries and servants’ rooms, and those little closets were for coals, shoes or nursery supplies. The stone steps from hall to garden were also low and broad – on either side was stone work, ending in a solid slab, and our delight was to see who could be the best “Statue” on these bases, standing longest without movement.

Of course I now write from after memories of this dear old house, which now, as I write, is as vividly present to me as it was 70 years ago. It was pulled down about 1835 I think, and shops erected on the site of house and stable yard at the side. There was in the garden, at the end of the broad grand from garden door, a large summer house, such as was called, “Queen Annes” containing as much stone and brick as would now build two or three modern cottages. In the coach yard were all the buildings then needed for a family – Brew house – Bake house – Laundry etc., there were on one side of the house made the third, and a wall to the lane completed it.

About the year 1825 when my brother John was a year old, my health failed suddenly, and no cause was found for it. Being the only girl in the family I was much regarded, and great anxiety was felt. After a while, medicine being of no use, and I was daily pining away, our old servant Betsy Bower, told my mother one day, that if she would go quietly into one of the little closet rooms, "When," she said, "Nurse had put Miss Mary to bed, you will find out why she is ill."

My mother took the advice, and heard this wicked Nurse threatening me with the most awful visitations from black men with coffins, and other such horrors, if I moved or cried, until she came back. It was her habit to do this each night, and then steal out, leaving me paralysed with terror. Of course Betsy was with my mother, and then to the great discomfort of the Nurse, they appeared on the scene, all was changed. My father instantly sent the woman away, and Betsy took charge of me - but great mischief had been done - nothing could dispel my agonised fears as the night came on, and I thought of the trees outside my nursery, in which these horrors were concealed. Eventually as I became worse, it was advised to send me away from home, and for some time, old Mrs Pearce took me away to Ramsgate, far from trees, and in a perfectly new surrounding, when by degrees the past faded.

In May 1825 my sister Louie was born, always a delicate child but very sweet looking. This year was noted as being one of great financial troubles, and many large fortunes were lost. Among those who suffered most were the West India proprietors but as their losses were connected with emancipating the Negroes, it will be better explained in histories of the times. My mother was not in very good health all this year, and did not think Peckham suited her, it must have been damp, and I have a distinct recollection of water standing in the cellarage of Hanover House. I said my Uncle George Pearce had married a Miss Pellatt in 1822 and lived in a pretty house in the Rye Lane, only a few hundred yards from our house. Aunt George had no children, and I became her great favourite. In our nursery I was certainly not popular, from always playing with boys I was more of one than was good, always in mischief and very wilful and audacious, so that Aunt George was at liberty to carry me off to her house as she pleased, and I loved her dearly, she did not spoil me as others did, but I obeyed her.

In 1826 my mother being very unwell – our house was let for a few months and we all went to Dover. I think mother had been there with Aunt Sherer the Autumn previously. I was then four years old, but perfectly remember the house at Dover over the Marine Library – the Marine Parade was then the only set of houses by the sea. Many visitors came to stay. I remember one night being woken by a scream, and saw my Aunt John Pearce, and Mary Woolley, a friend from Peckham standing on chairs. At the door my parents and George Pearce all gathered to learn the cause of the uproar, which proved to be caused by the advent of a mouse or a black beetle - I forget which.

In the adjoining house, our balconies meeting, was a family named Henry. The father had been a man of high position in the West Indies, but had lost much. They described the condition of the Negroes on their plantations as being quite happy, and Mrs Henry said, she used to lend the women her own jewellery and dresses to wear at their own grand parties - they all looked upon Mr Henry as their father and best friend - of course all depended upon the disposition of the master and owner.

Chapter Three

Smugglers

Another of my memories is of the smuggling then carried out immensely on all our coasts, but especially there [Dover], as French goods were so heavily taxed. People of every grade were connected with it, those who were in authority to check it were equally involved. Dover was intersected by very narrow alleys through which it was dangerous to pursue the smugglers with their goods. Trap doors were constant down which the heavily laden smuggler suddenly dropped out of sight, to escape through houses far away, or the pursuers fell into these places, suddenly opened under their feet. Dover was honey-combed with passages above and under ground, and troops of pack horses stood ready saddled outside the town whenever a good cargo was run. Often was heard the shouts of the parties of Preventive Men and smugglers.

One night I remember being woke and running into the nursery, roused by pistol and firing. My nurse and the other servants were at the windows, and I saw a dark mass on the parade in front. It was a stretcher, with a wounded man, and he groaned dreadfully, then died. I was hurried off to bed, when discovered, but the recollection of this struggle was never forgotten. Afterwards I learnt that Lieut. Pecke, who commanded the Preventive Men was wounded, and fell on the beach - his white trousers formed a mark in the dim light for the smugglers, who, as they left in their boat fired repeatedly at the prostrate man. Upwards of twenty bullets were in his body and limbs, but not one fatal.

Speaking of smugglers reminds me of my mother’s act of involuntary smuggling – at least unwittingly.

Among the thousands of persons who now annually cross the strip of water dividing our little Island from the Continent of Europe, but few of that vast host of travellers find pleasure in the short voyage. Some possibly do enjoy the freedom and fresh air, and relief from the railway carriage which is afforded on the deck of the Calais-Douvre, or other of the fine vessels which transport them so quickly to a foreign port. But to the majority the sea has few attractions even with favourable wind and bright sunshine. Most fall victims to the almost inevitable sea-sickness, and only rejoice when once more on firm ground, pursuing their journey in the carriage, rather than on the shifting ocean. I wonder if among us, who can now take their breakfast in London, and lunch in Calais or Boulogne, thanks to the mighty power of steam – there are many living yet, who can recall what this short journey was to their forbears, in the latter years of George the 3rd’s reign. True the misery of sea-sickness cannot be wholly avoided, but usually such of this suffering is alleviated by careful attendants in a luxurious steam vessel – at all events, it is of short duration. Let me tell you the story of this passage in the year of Grace 1817.

My parents had married in the month of June in that year, and were living, as most did whose occupation was professional, in the city of London. People in those days mostly were dwellers in towns unless they possessed property in Land, and lived upon it. Holidays were infrequent, as we may learn from Mrs. Gilpin’s address to her Spouse – watering places were but just coming into existence. Brighton or as it was then called Brighthelmstine had been visited by the Prince Regent who chose to be bathed in the sea. Dover and Margate were still little more than fishing villages – in all these places a few houses had sprung up close to the shore, and well to do people posted in their own carriages to Brighton, or in the one Stage Coach, to Margate, adventurous holiday-makers, travelled occasionally in the “Hoy” or sailing Boat.

As a rule the world staid at home, and enjoyed the simple pleasure of visits to their friends who had houses in the Country or town. As I said, my father and mother had settled into their new London house in June, and in the course of the Autumn my grandfather had a Cause brought to him for legal Advice which was connected with some French residents at St. Omer belonging to the College at that place. As the Cause proceeded under consideration, it became necessary to send a qualified lawyer to St. Omer, for the purpose of making due inquiry from parties involved, and as my father spoke French, as well as read it, he was selected to act for the Firm, and at once to proceed to France. To him, no greater pleasure could have been proposed he loved the sea, and but for family trouble, would have been in the Navy – he absolutely hated office life, so that the excursion was full of delight to him. My mother, whose acquaintance with marine matters was limited to a passage in the said Margate Hoy, the sea was a thing to shun – but she was young, and just married, and could not endure being left alone, while her husband made this long voyage. Moreover, she was ambitious, and knew that in the year 1817 “to have been in France” would secure to her a proud preeminence at her friends’ Tea parties.

Until after the fall of Napoleon, France was closed to the English as early in the Century the Emperor had ordered the detention of all our Country people, then in France, many of whom were kept there in prison for seven or eight years. Our friends Mr. Cazenove and his eldest son were among these. Of course, there were many of these poor “detenus” as they were called, who never saw home again. To return from this digression.

The young couple had enjoyed the journey by Stage Coach from London, the road to Dover through Sevenoaks, Rochester and Minster being most picturesque, and the woods and hedges lovely in the tints of early Autumn. There was really charm in travel in those days, and being rarely had, increased the delights. Now, it has become our every day experience of which we are often weary.

Steam boats had been experimented on for several years, and the passage from Holyhead to Dublin accomplished by one, but as yet, only sailing vessels crossed the Channel to France from Dover, and the length of the voyage depended on wind and tide, as well as the quality of the boats and skill of Captain and crew. As the Mails, and Government Dispatches were sent, the boats were usually good – but to the landsman, the sea is a trying experience, and though my father loved it, my mother who had endured some of its horrors in a Margate Hoy, did not fail to realise the miseries of the ordinary Mal de Mer, though cheered by the prospect of soon being in France.

Few persons can now realise what was the exquisite pleasure and excitement then, which was felt on first landing “Abroad” – books, pictures, photos, and descriptions now render all more or less familiar, but upwards of 80 years ago, few comparatively even imagined the absolute novelty, involved in landing for the first time at a French Port. The crowds of sailors, and country people, vociferating in a strange language. The difference in the small boats, the variety of dress, and the then, striking costume of the women, added to the entire novelty in the style of buildings in the town – all officials in uniform, and apparently all quarrelling, for so their foreign excitement and action appeared to be, were most bewildering to the English stranger. My father spoke the language however, and produced his Foreign Office passport, and Credentials to the proper authorities, who promptly cleared his luggage, and directed him to the best hotel. A huge rambling place, not yet recovered from the effects of the terrible Revolution and Wars, and apparently destitute of all the comfort even then enjoyed at the best English Inns.

No doubt in one respect our neighbours in France were ahead of our Country – namely the cooking, which was utterly unknown here, even among the highest classes of society, and it must have been a wonderful experience to ordinary persons, accustomed only to the plain, simple cooking of joints of meat and poultry, invariable then at home, to be introduced to the delicate ragouts, fricassees and other gastronomic novelties of a first rate French Cuisine. The luxury of the table was not equalled by the comforts of the toilette afforded in the great bare room then prepared for guests, and my mother always said she was nearly smothered in the French down bed, under which she had slipped, and could not raise herself, until assisted. Now we know the French beds are models of enjoyment.

As time was precious, it was decided to prosecute the journey to St. Omer, by a chaise a porte which doubtless was preferred by my father to the slow, crowded, and cramped “Diligence” which lingered at every stopping place. The “Chaise” was an antiquated vehicle, possibly had been the grand coach of some of the unfortunates whose belongings had been ruthlessly seized in the revolutionary years, whilst the owners forfeited lives as well as property. The little old postillion, in cocked hat, scarlet coat trimmed with gold (tarnished) and jack boots up to his thighs, was a droll object, and the rope harness of his stable horses, to whom he talked incessantly as friends, would not have suited our English posting horses.

St Omer was reached but too soon, and the French authorities received my parents with the utmost hospitality and courtesy. Whilst my father carried his object through in the Courts of Law, my mother was shown all worthy of notice in the old City, and having greatly appreciated their first visit to so famous a foreign town, the return became needful as legal matters were pressing.

But October soon evidenced its less favourable aspect, rain, wind and storms set in, so that on arriving in Calais the prospect of the voyage across the Channel as it then was, occasioned much trepidation.

On going on board the Packet Boat early the following morning, things looked worse. Fortunately there was only two other female passengers, so there was a hope that my mother would be more comfortable in the cabin than with a large number. The word comfort could not be used at all we should say, when we contrast the accommodation offered in those old Sailing vessels, with the gorgeous magnificence and sumptuous decorations which are now expected in our Steam ships. A few steep stairs let down into a small cabin in mid ship for women. Scarcely room to move or stand, if there were occupants for the four or six narrow berths which were placed over each other on the sides of the cabin, no hooks for outside garments, no well arranged lavatory, no clean, wholesome looking blankets or bedding, and yet many a great Lady had endure this entire absence of all that was needful, when perhaps she was suffering to a pitiable extent. I think our Ancestors of the female sex were brave to dare crossing the Channel in earlier times. In still earlier days, what must have been this sea voyage to the Queens and Noble Ladies who since the Conquest had been obliged to encounter the terrors of the sea route from the Continent in vessels which bore the same proportion as to comfort when compared to the Packet of 1819 as did that vessel with a Steamer to America in 1900.

It was with much difficulty the travellers had reached the deck of the vessel, the drenching rain and gusts of wind rendering their foothold precarious in getting on board. My father with difficulty could support his poor wife, who was terrified by the turmoil of wind and waves, and the noise of the sailors and crowd of men about her. The Captain however, recognised my father as his passenger of a few days previous, and coming forward kindly advised him “to take” Madame at once into the cabin, where she would be sheltered from the rain, for, as he confided to my father, “It blows rather hard, and Madame will be safer and more comfortable in her berth.” But seeing my father could scarcely keep his footing, the Captain summoned a sailor, who was the forerunner of the Stewards of our day, bestowing his attention equally on both sexes of the passengers, a Stewardess was an unknown luxury.

By the aid of this functionary, my mother was safely assisted down the steep stairs into the dark little hole called the Ladies Cabin “par excellence” in which there was no light save from a dim lamp in one corner, and scarcely room to move. However, there were but two French women in possession, and one of these who spoke a little English, came at once to my mother’s aid, showing great interest in the dripping condition of “Madame’s” garments and helped to remove her wet cloak. The Steward then told my father he must leave Madame, and himself be escorted to the large Cabin for the male passengers, at this time the ship was loosing from her moorings and rolling painfully, so there was no use in delaying his departure with the Steward, though my mother implored not to be left.

The kind, bright French women entreated her to be calm – assured here she would be quite safe, that she and her friend constantly make the voyage, and that if only Madame would lie down in a berth and go to sleep she would find herself in Dover “de suite”. She then proceeded to make her as comfortable as was in her power, removing her bonnet and wraps, taking off the damp dress and hanging it to dry, ready for the landing, and carefully enveloping her in blankets, disposing the pillows skilfully. But the poor passenger could not be soothed, the roar of the sea, the straining of the ship, the creaking of cordage, the stamping of Sailors over head on the deck, shouting and vociferating as the ship pitched forward in the waves, so absolutely distracted her, she could but call for her husband and entreat the French woman to go and fetch him, very soon, however, a change came, the horror of the surroundings was merged into another form of agony, the sea claimed its victim, and all minor ills were obliterated in the utter abandonment of Mal de Mer.

From the slight information my mother could give of those hours of suffering the French woman continued her kindly ministrations, doing all that was possible for the sufferer. At length the weary day was passing and a slight abatement of wind and rain allowed the unhappy traveller to sleep. After a while she was roused by hearing much chattering between her fellow voyagers, but she was too utterly exhausted to pay much attention, when she was startled by finding one of them close to her berth, and saw her companion fastening the door of the Cabin. Another then seized her, and she tried to move, but a heavy hand restrained her, and she found her voice had failed. The French woman who had treated her so kindly, held her fast, and at once told her, she had need of her services, and must submit to what had to be done; that no harm would come to her, if only she acted according to their will. Too alarmed and feeble to speak my mother had no choice save to submit.

The berth coverings were removed, from parcels which these women had carried in pockets under their thick woollen skirts, was produced an immense quantity of exquisite French lace, from Valenciennes, Mechlin and other places, which was to be safely conveyed to London without aid of the Customs. With the utmost deftness of hand, the women unfolded their packets of lace, and proceeded to wind them smoothly round my poor mother's body, arms and legs, who was utterly helpless from alarm and exhaustion, yards upon yards of lace were thus packed out of sight, round and round her legs was more of this delicate and costly fabric placed, and a great pair of stockings were drawn over her feet and legs so as to entirely conceal all. Then they lifted their unwilling accomplice on to a seat, and proceeded to wrap her up in her own garments, over which they fastened a great heavy shawl, so that she was reduced to the condition of a large bundle.

By this time the vessel was in calmer waters, and as the French women knew, Dover was sighted, one of the conspirators insisted on my mother eating a biscuit and gave her some stimulant which restored her a little, the other then left the Cabin and made her way to the deck. As she supposed my father had recovered before this, and was endeavouring to make his way to the Ladies Cabin. She arrested his farther progress by saying she came at the request of “Cette Chere brave Madame” to tell him she was better, but hardly capable of standing or moving alone, “So Monsieur,” added this amiable French woman, “we have done all we could for her, and as we also are going to the same Hotel, we shall assist her farther by taking her with us on shore, as we have no luggage, you can then clear all yours at the Custom House without delay, and we shall see Madame into her room before you come, as she could not walk without our help.” My father expressed himself gratefully to this kind friend, who returned to the Cabin. And shortly the landing was effected. The crowd on deck in the dim light of the lanterns and oil lamps was very bewildering, and my father could not extricate himself to reach the female passengers, he saw the French woman carefully leading, almost carrying my mother, and one called to him saying all was well. With difficulty my mother's helpless figure was hauled on to the wharf, and then by the powerful aid of her two attendants, dragged and carried to the Hotel near by.

The landlord who was waiting to receive his guests at once summoned a Chamber Maid to convey this poor Lady, who, as the French woman said, had almost died, to a room. In a second, the wraps and clothing were torn off my mother, in an incredibly short time, the invaluable lace she had unwittingly landed free of duty, was unrolled, and quickly placed in the capacious pockets of the women's gowns who having laid their unwilling assistant on her bed, left the apartment, wishing her "bon repos" and laughingly thanked her. What her state was, when joined soon after by my father, and what was his furious wrath and indignation, I cannot describe. The woman had in Dover their accomplices as most of the inhabitants were connected with the smuggling trade, and in a few minutes after leaving the Hotel, would have been freed from their dangerous and valuable cargo.

I have related in this, my mother’s only venture in Continental travelling, it was her first and last. At the time the adventure tried her much, and she was always charged with having thus cleverly baffled H.M’s Custom House Officers.

P.S. For many years after the episode narrated, smuggling continued until the abolition of heavy duties on foreign commodities, rendered it no longer profitable to risk life or liberty for gain.

Chapter Four

Mary’s childhood – Reading – Gypsies - Running away - General naughtiness

My father was much with us at Dover, and devoted his time to teaching my brother William, 18 months my senior, and between five and six years old, to read. William was the happiest and most merry of boys, but neither then, nor ever after, was he fond of learning. At last my father lost patience under the repeated failures, and one day exclaimed, “I believe Willy, your little sister could tell me this word.” I was playing near him, and said at once, “It is cat, Papa, I know all the words.” Having listened to Willy’s lessons, my father then took me as his pupil, and I read at once. I am not sure if it was good, as I became so devoted to reading, that it was no easy matter in these days when books meant money, to supply me with them. When four years old, I recollect having two or three paper-covered books, such as would now cost 3d. or less, colored pictures of the Kings and Queens of England with rhymes under each – then I had four small square books, bound in red leather, two on the Old and two on the New Testament, with Woodcuts. As time went on I had a few more books, for it was found that I was only out of trouble, when buried in a book.

Early in 1827 when the Fair was held at Peckham our three servants were allowed to take William and me to see the wonderful shows, and buy gilt gingerbread, great figures of people and animals made of gingerbread, covered with gilding. Somehow the servants forgot me, and I strayed away. When it was time to go, to their horror, I was missing. The fair was searched through, and as we were so well known, it was soon every one's affair that "little Miss Mary was lost". Jane Salmon ran home to Hanover House, to see if I had gone back to my mother, another to Uncle George's lest I should have walked away to my Aunt. But no one had seen me. By this time our village constable and the shop keepers were all excited and no one knew what to do.

At last some person who had been in the Fair said they noticed a little girl, who was dressed nicely, following a Gipsy woman on towards the Old Kent Road, and who was picking up colored straws. At that time the Gipsies were dreaded, numbers lived about in the woods where Norwood and Sydenham now stand in their bricks and mortar, and children were supposed to be kidnapped by them and robbed of their clothes. All the people with our servants therefore hastened in the direction named, and about two miles from Peckham a child was descried in the then lonely road, and a Gipsy in the distance. Directly the woman saw the little group of people she fled with such rapidity that no one could overtake her, and I was captured by our James, and carried home, to be alternately petted and scolded, no doubt.

In the summer of this year my sister Jane was born on the 16th June, my mother had been very unwell all winter. I remember the christening which took place as usual, then, in the drawing room of the house, and I can see myself now, standing then drest for the occasion, at the window of our nursery, to watch the arrival of the guests. Her godfather was a Mr. James Cook, and when the carriage drew up at the gate we saw a great round ball on a high stand, lifted out with difficulty followed by a second rather different in color. Our amazement was extreme, and when we had to go down for the christening my only thought was of the wonderful things taken out of Mr. Cook’s carriage, and when I saw them actually in the drawing room, I was perfectly engrossed by these novelties. Later on, the mysterious creatures proved to be a very large pair of Globes, designed as Jane’s christening gift, and a fertile source of interest they proved to be to me, when ill-taught governesses tried to work out problems on them. I always, of course, associated these globes with their donor, a man who had risen from a very low position, and somehow (by a marriage with the second Aunt George’s sister principally) had made a fortune, and his way into society, but he was universally disliked by all our family, and his purse-proud tone and manners, prevented his being respected. He lost a fortune in “Truman Cook & Co” later, but regained it.

During the course of 1827 and 1828, I often went to stay in Swithin’s Lane with Aunt John. She always took me to Church with her, and on one occasion when only five years old, or rather less, I recollect going with her to Newgate to hear the great benefactress of the prisons, address the convicts there. I can perfectly remember the sweet yet grave and dignified “Friend” as she came in, and noticed me. When the door opened to admit the female prisoners, I was greatly alarmed by their course, rough appearance, but Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, took me from my Aunt, and placing me on her knee, called some of the women forward to shake my hand. I was soon soothed by her gentle voice, and she kept me on her knee during the whole service.

Sometimes, young as I was, I have been with my Aunt and Lady Bigland who was my godmother, to St. Paul’s Cathedral to hear Evensong when we sat in the stalls. Lady Bigland was the wife of Sir Ralph Bigland then Garter Principal King at Arms, and who lived in the Herald’s College near St. Paul’s. At my christening my godmother had given me a coral necklace and sleeve bands of the same, which Sir Ralph called a most foolish gift, so on his next visit, he brought a pair of very heavy silver Gravy spoons engraved M.P. on the back, of these I was very proud, and use them still. He was a very curious old man, had been one of the Prince Regent’s set, but would not allow his wife to go to Court when the Prince became George IV. On the accession of William and Adelaide, Sir Ralph offered to have her presented, but she refused, saying he ought to have relied on her discretion before. He was a great bon vivant. On one occasion when dining at Hanover House, there was a dish of delicious cheesecakes, a specialty of our cook. He took one – then drew the dish to him, and eat the centres of every cheesecake, then laying a sovereign on the dish, he said to our man. “Take this down to Jane Hornbuckle, and say she must make some more when I next dine with her master.” Poor old man, he had a suffering deathbed. When I went as a child to say goodbye to him, the bed shook with his agony.

I have a clear recollection of old London Bridge in the last years of its existence, the present Bridge was opened by William IV and his Queen Adelaide in 1830, just after his accession. A disserted puzzle was given to me at the time, representing the ceremony. The old Bridge was very low over the water, and no vessels save barges or pleasure boats could have gone under its arches. Steam boats were unknown and few large sailing vessels came up the Thames above Greenwich. My father used to take me for a walk on old London Bridge, and there were little shops and houses on it in the recesses on each side of the footpath. I remember he used to buy for me always, a kind of sliding picture, which was pulled up and down by a string, so that it showed two designs, also gingerbread nuts, and gilt gingerbread were sold in one of these little shops.

I omitted saying that in December 1826 Uncle Charles Pearce married a Miss Chadwick. The service was at St. Giles, Camberwell afterwards burnt down, we children were in a pew in the gallery – Emma Bean and her sisters in the next one, and to the disgust of our Nurse, I would shake hands with Emma.

When my mother could leave home, we had a very pretty cottage for the summer holidays at Caversham near Reading, a sweet country spot on the Thames. There occurred the disgraceful episode of the eating up all Dame Wheeler’s damsons of which Willy and I were invited to take a few; and the horrible dose, which our mother administered to neutralize the possible damage. It is still in my memory, that the night nursery being very small, Willy and I had our mattresses on the floor as the weather was so hot, and slept near the windows. I hated this, as earwigs crawled in from the ivy outside on to our beds. After a little time Grandmother Pearce had been very ill, so my father asked her to stay with us, she hardly liked the journey, however, she drove down to Reading where my father met her. She got better every day, and stayed some time.

One day we all went over to Summer Hill for a picnic Grandmama took my mother, Louie, the baby and Nurse, in her carriage, I and my brothers, with Jane Salmon, went in the boat with my father and Freebody the boatman. We were to catch fish for our dinner, which we did.

We all climbed the hill, the carriage party had come by the road, a hole was dug, lined with bricks, and Mrs. Salmon had a frying pan, in which were cooked all the delicious gudgeons and perch we had caught. We had a good dinner, and then went off to play, leaving our parents and grandmamma. She only had a chair, every other person sat on the grass, the heat was intense, and gradually she became sleepy, as did my father. Grandmamma roused occasionally and each time she moved, pushed back her chair a little, so as not to appear asleep. At last the leg of the chair suddenly was pushed into a deep hole, which the grass concealed, and with a loud cry, grandmamma and chair, formed a heap on the grass. Of course, my father woke, and called out and mother screamed, servants and children hurried up, and grandmamma did not speak. My father lifted her up, and found her silence was caused only by such a convulsion of laughter at her mishap, that she could not articulate, so all was well.

(I forgot to say my Grandfather died in 1824, he was very fond of me).

The garden was large, and I remember we had a see-saw boat on the grass. It is singular how the pleasures of that summer made such an impression on my mind. I can see the cottage now, but the place is covered with houses, I hear. One circumstance I relate, the holidays were near, and we were looking for the return of our eldest brother Stewart who was at school at Uxbridge, at Dr. Beasley’s. Dr. Beasley had been a school fellow of my father’s and was devoted to him and to Stewart. One day he suddenly appeared at Caversham and told my parents he was in great distress, Stewart had failed to tell the truth, and Dr. Beasley hesitated to make it known as Stewart was so esteemed and highly thought of. Dr. Beasley came to tell my father and said it could be condoned, as the holidays were so near. “I cannot flog your son Mr. Pearce, and disgrace him before the school”. My father said, “If the boy were your own son, what course would you pursue?” “I should flog him at once”, said the Dr. “Then flog my son”, was my father’s answer, and it was done. Ah, if only such firmness had been subsequently practised with my dear, clever brother, what sad failure and misery might have been spared him, and all – indeed, how different a career might have been secured to him, what blessings to others.

In 1828 my mother had another illness and was away from Peckham for some time. Her sisters Eliza and Emma Barton sometimes came to stay and sleep with us, and very often I used to go to Brooksly’s Walk, Homerton, a Country village, to old Mrs. Barton’s. My tricks and escapades in climbing trees, or mounting the copings at the corners of our house, or getting on the top of the old Summer house, rendered me a torment in the nursery. I met with all sorts of accidents, but nothing kept me quiet or reduced me to order, excepting a new book.

At last a governess came, a Miss Gibbs, but her reign was short. A poor creature who declined all food at meal times, but paid nightly visits to Jane Hornbuckle’s larder. She soon left. A Miss Pike succeeded, who in the distance appears to me as even more feeble than Miss Gibbs. William and I regarded her as a mark for all our tricks, but Willie, though full of fun was never rude to her. One day she ordered us to sit still in the dining room after some escapades, and went to fetch books for a punishment lesson. I, finding this dull, began to spring across the room from my chair to a sofa opposite, and as the chair slipped back, I was thrown on to the sharp edge of the sofa, and it cut deeply into my head, across the eyebrow; it was a serious blow, and the scar still remains. Mr. Bean was sent for and sewed up the wide cut, but I was ill, and for many years, suffered much from severe headache, to relieve which, leeches were often applied. Miss Pike left very soon, and William also went to Uxbridge to Dr. Beasley’s with Stewart. A Miss Schmidt was recommended to Mamma by our old friend Mr. Keyser, an amiable girl of 18, without any capabilities of being a governess, my father cultivated in her some taste for reading, and she could hear our lessons, that was all.

I often went to my Uncle George’s who lived quite near us, and to whose wife, Elizabeth (Pellatt) I was devoted. When at their house, I was always happy, and no doubt fairly good, though my Aunt, much as she loved me, was exacting as to my obedience and conduct. She took me with her to visit the poor, and to the Sunday School, and I usually sat in their pew at Church. After 11 years of married life, she had a son, of whom I was as fond and proud as though he were my brother. He was very lovely, but after some months, was attacked by a terrible eruption from head to foot, which was a great distress. When he was about a year old in 1829, he had whooping cough, and this eruption entirely disappeared, but it was fatal, and he died in a fortnight. I can remember his poor mother taking me to see him asleep.

In 1829 my father was ill and the whole family went to Margate for some months, letting Hanover House to a Dr. Lewis. In those days, but few people thought change of air essential as now all do, and it was considered almost derogatory to let a private dwelling house, however, my mother determined on so doing.

We had a house on the Fort at Margate, and my Grandmother came to stay with us. My father was better, and spent much time in boating and fishing, which he loved. At the end of the Autumn my father was more ill, and it was thought best to put him under the care of a London physician, as well as of Dr. Bean. As my Uncle and Aunt John were spending the winter at Hampstead where they had a house during the summer, we all went to 10, St. Swithin’s Lane, as more convenient for medical attendances.

Throughout this long trial, my dear father maintained his sweet temper and cheerfulness, and even when he knew he must bear the trial during all his life, did not complain. We went back to Hanover House in the early spring of 1830, and were at home all the summer. I was much with Aunt George, and on the 29th August her little daughter Elizabeth was born. My Aunt was very ill, on the 3rd September I remember seeing my mother send from our dinner table the bones of a sucking pig, to give the baby. I felt quite aghast at such a thing, but they said it saved the baby. Nothing could save the dear mother, she died on the 3rd September. When I was told of it, I was quite distracted, and was so ill that for days I was delirious. The morning of the funeral I became conscious, and hearing the tramp of many horses feet, crept out of my little bed to the window, and saw the long funeral procession of those days passing by. I was again ill, but remember Uncle George coming up in the evening to see me, and praying for us all at my bedside.

When I was better I was accustomed to go to his house every Sunday to pour out his coffee and breakfast with him, then nurse my little cousin, and go to the Sunday School and Church with him, usually he dined with us. He was very fond of me, and I have some verses he wrote me on this subject many years afterwards. My cousin grew up, but was always delicate. I have said she married a Mr. Owen (afterwards a clergyman) and died in America. We think children very independent and audacious in this day, but my memory convicts me of much the same. I said my Uncle Charles, after his marriage still always wished us often to be at his house where my Grandmother lived, but no doubt Aunt Charles might not be so disposed.

On one occasion in July 1830, the third child was to be christened, my cousin Merisco, all the family were to dine, and I and my two brothers were to be present at the ceremony in the drawing room, and then come into the dessert, the room being filled up by the elders. After the christening I was on my way to the nursery to see the baby, when, passing my Aunt’s room, I heard her say to Aunt John, “It is tiresome that Charles will have Stewart’s children come into dessert when the table is full. He always asks them, and another time would have been better than crowding everyone.” Aunt John made some reply, agreeing in the fact, that our presence was a decided inconvenience.

I was in a storm of wrath on hearing this, and forgetting the baby, flew downstairs into the garden, where my brothers had gone, and I daresay, very furiously denounced Aunt Charle’s meanness in not wishing us to go into dessert. Stewart and Willie shared my sentiments, and then we discussed plans. We decided to leave the place where we were so treated, and go home to Hanover House, take off our best clothes and get Stewart’s new Kite, then go off to the fields to fly it, and be quite happy. To avoid the dining room windows, we ran down one of the kitchen gardens, through the stable yard, and so out on to the common. It took a few minutes to run down the Rye Lane, go quietly in by the garden door, and carry out our scheme, which we did, meeting no-one. The evening was lovely, and we forgot all our sins.

But retribution came with the dessert, chairs for us were squeezed in at the corners of the table, and Uncle Charles sent our footman to fetch the children. He returned shortly, saying there was no sign of us anywhere in fields or gardens. Uncle Charles went into the hall, shouting for us to come down, but no response. All present were uncomfortable and at last my father took his man James, and walked home to our house. On summoning our cook, Jane Hornbuckle, she could tell them nothing, nor could the Nurse, but on searching the house, all our best clothes were found carefully laid aside, and the usual ones gone. Then began a search all over Peckham, and at last someone said that three children were in a distant field, flying a kite. Hither came the pursuers, and the unhappy culprits were seized, and driven home to bed in dire disgrace. I am quite sure I should have braved it out, and defended myself. My brothers were less violent, and certainly the story I had to tell of the cause of our misdoing, offered a slight excuse, however, we were punished severely. It was no doubt, a very uncomfortable story which my father had to tell to Uncle Charles, and both thought the wiser plan would be to say little about it, but we had to go up to the Rye, and make our apologies to my Aunt and Grandmamma for running away so rudely. Uncle Charles was very kind to us about it, and we never told my Aunt of the dialogue which had resulted in such misdemeanours on our part. I don’t think children of this day would have more resented what they felt to be an insult.

My mother so disliked the hard, sarcastic manner of my Uncles and they did not quite approve of her love of society, or expensive ways in dress and house, that we often heard this feeling expressed to my father’s relatives, and in after years, none of the family, excepting myself, were happy in staying at our Uncle’s house. I think I was far more of a Pearce than the others, and my Uncles were such generous and clever men, I loved them spite of their harsh ways at times. The same spirit came out again in my own children, specially when dear Margaret left home on Whit Sunday 1863 to follow her brother Stewart to China, but in her case, it was more the result of overwrought emotional feelings – in mine, pure mischief and wilfulness.

All our friends said I was a thorough tomboy, and should become unbearable, but when I had more occupation, and was better taught, I subsided. My dear father was always so good to me, probably he remembered his own youth had seen some escapades and rebellion against direction and control – so he was pitiful. Neither Louie nor Jane in any way followed my bad example fortunately, three such children would have been impossible. Louie was always then, my mother’s favourite, her delicacy no doubt was partly the cause, and our father was devoted to his “Jenny Lover” as he always called Jane. She was a pretty child, and I was not, but my father liked my quickness and sharp answers, which mother considered very impertinent. However, when I recollect her youthful tricks, setting fire to the farm in Cheshire etc., and her speeches, she would excuse me. When I recollect all, or some, of my own outbreaks, I do not wonder much at the similar naughtiness of children in this day, indeed, I am inclined to think they are the results of a too excitable and vigorous nature, to be preferred to the “dolce far niente” of the present day.

I recollect my Grandmother gave me a fascinating book called “The Young Wanderer’s Cave”, a story of two boys running away and living as Robinson Crusoe. This book I lent to Emma Bean, and persuaded her, that such a life would be far better than our dull routine of Governesses and lessons. So we arranged to go off, and find such a cave, though as our houses were 70 or 80 miles from the sea, it was a doubtful quest. I put up a bundle of clothes, my few pence, and some bread and cheese, coaxed from Jane Hornbuckle on false pretexts. So I waited ready to start at 6 p.m. on a fine summer evening to meet Emma. But as the time of leaving home drew nigh, Emma’s heart failed her, and at last, she broke down and confessed the whole plot to her mother. She was sent off to bed, Mr. Bean called in to consult, and he with Aunt Bean set off to Hanover House to arrest me. I was lurking near the garden door, when captured by a servant, and conveyed to the drawing room to be confronted by my parents, and a very angry Mr. and Mrs. Bean.

Of course, the whole blame was laid on me by them, and no doubt I was proud of it. My punishment followed and Emma and I were parted for a long time.

Punishments were more severe then, and perhaps did more good. On one occasion I would not learn my French Grammar for a Miss Boyle who taught us, so she sent me with my book, to my mother in her bedroom to have the lesson doubled. I took the book with the fresh quantity marked, and then hurled the book over my mother’s head into her cold bath standing in her dressing room. For this offence I was kept for three days in a room, on bread and water. Our footman used to put it down, and always said, “Oh, Miss Mary, do say you will be good, and come out”, but I went on to the end.

I climbed trees – I clambered up the brick clamps which bound the corners of our house, without shoes on, and only just an inch or two for hold of toes and fingers. Once I remember doing this, and when above the top of 1st floor windows, calling to my mother in the room. She looked down the garden, saw no one, and then I spoke close to her above her head. She was terribly alarmed, but very prudently said only, “Go down my dear, I want you.” Had she screamed or frightened me, it might have been serious.

About the end of 1830, perhaps earlier, our governess Miss Schmidt married a Mr. B. Williams Benjamin. It was a good thing for her, though he was much older than she. They lived with great comfort, and had several children, and were always most attentive to my parents.

A cousin of my mother’s, Mary Anne Sherer, came in her place, the eldest of a large family, whose parents I never knew, the father Henry Sherer being somewhat out of harmony with his family. Mary Anne had good principles, and common sense, but was not a very refined or highly educated person; she was young, and no doubt was only chosen for our governess in order to advance her prospects. The winter of 1830 was spent as usual in Hanover House, and the Xmas Holidays brought the ordinary gaiety, but in March 1831, I fancy my mother’s dislike to Peckham, and her idea that her health would improve elsewhere, made my parents decide to leave. No house was found to suit their wants, and in the spring, it was settled as Hanover House was let, that we should go to Tottenham and occupy for the summer a house belonging to my mother’s uncle Mr. Sherer whilst a permanent one was sought for. I did not care for so small a house as this, old-fashioned and inconvenient after Hanover House, but it had very large kitchen gardens, and opened into fields, there was also large stabling and yards.

We used to go often down to Broxbourne about ten miles, where my father enjoyed good fishing, and we liked the holiday, and the fun of dining in the little sanded parlour at Tom Want’s. There was a very fine old church at Tottenham, and a large house, Bruce Castle, which had belonged to a noble family, and the Keep of the still more ancient Castle was still a picturesque ivy-covered ruin.

In July 1831 a house was taken at Stratford, in Essex, a comfortable house enough, but in an ugly part of the Broadway, opposite to the church, built whilst we occupied it. From the drawing room windows only a small piece of lane and trees was seen, but further on there was a lane of 80 yards, with flower borders, shrubbery and trees, with large kitchen gardens on two sides, melon pits, etc., and an avenue of fine elms of 120 yards along the whole length, dividing the garden from the fields beyond. The house had good kitchens in a wing, over which was our schoolroom and dressing rooms, a landing connected these with the staircase of the house. We all liked the place and had a great deal of archery on the lawn, there were pleasant people living near us. Among others on Stratford Green, a pretty wooded part, just off the high road, the Loxleys, Allcards, who always remained our friends. In 1832 our house was to be sold and my father bought it after he had done so, quite unexpectedly another claimant appeared who had a mortgage on it from the owner, who had kept it a secret, and this person foreclosed the mortgage and became the owner, without my father knowing of it, or being able to prevent it. It was a great vexation to us, for it was a convenient, though ugly outskirt of London.

Whilst we were there my Uncle George Pearce, married a second time, a Mrs. Dipnall, with one daughter, now Mrs. Carr. I was furiously angry when I learnt this, and entreated to write and remonstrate with my Uncle, to whom I sent some suitable lines copied from a book. When the family came to dine with the Bride elect, I refused to be dressed or go into the drawing room. Mrs. Dipnall was very plain, and had a squint, but she was a good woman, and I became very fond of her. She was a mother to my little cousin and a good wife.

Chapter Five

Move to Harpur Street – Cholera – Omnibuses - A Walpole

At Christmas 1832 we had to leave Stratford, and we went to London, where my father had taken a large old house, 16. Harper Street, Bloomsbury. It was very commodious, stone staircase, and large rooms; the neighbourhood was no longer a fashionable one, and though the rent was low, the taxes were enormous, and it was a most expensive house to decorate and repair.

My eldest brother Stewart had been articled to my father and Uncle at Swithin’s Lane, but he hated the idea of being a lawyer and the drudgery of reading Law; his whole desire being for the sea. He bought little ships, rigging them beautifully, and always wanting us to have sails and put on proper shrouds to them.

In the spring of 1833, we gave up Mary Anne Sherer as a governess, and a Miss Silberrad was engaged. She had been with the families of a Captain Rice and then of Sir Clayton East at Hall Place, Berks. She came down to Stratford in the evening and on the following morning her father, living in London, destroyed himself. The sad news was brought to her by my father, who at once took her home for a month. I had been very sorry to lose Mary Anne Sherer, but of course, Miss Silberrad was far more accomplished, according to the teaching of those days. When Miss Silberrad had decided to return to us, my mother told me I must try to amuse her, and do all I could to make her recover from the shock this sad event had caused. So I used to read aloud, Southey’s Poems, or Scotts or his Novels, and such books, questioning her on what I read, so as to prevent her thoughts from wandering. This was not an advisable course to adopt, with a clever forward girl of 11 years old, who had been always too much “en evidence”. But my governess, for many months continued our plans, and was most grateful to me. However, by degrees, she began to recover from her nervous shaken state, and found that her pupil had held the reins long enough. I suppose I did not accept this change of government, and consequently Miss Silberrad and I always were in opposition, though she really liked me as far as tuition was concerned. She was a very religious woman too, and was far more attached to my sister Louie, who admired her. Lessons were never any trouble to me. I could learn any amount, but I hated control, and she could not rule a pupil of a stronger will than her own.

I ought to have spoken of the terrible advent of the cholera which occurred in the summer of 1831 and lasted through the winter.

When we were at Tottenham, we all went to a children’s party at a Mr. Vaughan’s, a barrister, who had 12 children, the three elder charmingly pretty girls – indeed all were handsome. After a very merry evening of which Mr. Vaughan was the life, we went home delighted. On coming down to breakfast next morning, Sunday, we were told Mr. Vaughan had died from cholera in the night. It was an awful shock, but many such came afterwards. Though many people died of this scourge whom my parents knew, I do not remember that any of our own immediate connections were taken. The fear of it was very great, and many people increased their risk by complete panic.

In 1832 we had the first visitation I recollect of influenza, somewhat different in detail from the attacks of later years, more of catarrh with fever, and very infectious; whole households were prostrated by it at once, servants could not leave their beds, and it was considered a fortunate thing if a charwoman would come in for a few hours, so as to get nourishments for the sufferers, or make their beds comfortable. From time to time we have had returns of epidemic which we call influenza, but I think its present form, attacking the nerves and even the brain differs much from that in 1833.

At Christmas 1833 we removed to London. I had all the books to pack in cases. My mother, not hearing anyone moving in the bookroom looked in to see what progress I had made, and saw me seated on the top of the high steps, absolutely immersed in an old novel, called “San Sebastiani” which I had found behind other books, and for some time she watched me, I being ignorant of any creature, save in my book. Of course, I was very severely scolded, and a servant was sent to help and keep me to my packing. It was very long ere I was able to go on with my beloved novel which was carefully removed. My sister was so devoted to it, that she read it every year in after days.

It was hard work settling in Harper Street, the rooms were so lofty and large, and so many windows, in those days all the usual upholstery was done at home. Young as I was, little over 11 years, I had to do my share in the needlework. I did not care for our London life, though there were open spaces and good broad streets near us, but we had many more visitors than before. People came less often to London then and were always glad to stay at a friend’s house. My parents were very hospitable, and always liked guests, and we children usually saw all who came in the evening, though we dined early and had tea in our schoolroom.

About the year 1833 or 4 the first omnibus was started by a man named “Shillibeer,” and as up to this date the only mode of going about in London was by Hackney Coaches, always expensive, the omnibus offered great advantages. By degrees others were started and a company formed, and I recollect seeing the long procession of these vehicles, as they paraded the streets on first becoming general. About that time too, a cab was started on two wheels, different from the high cabriolet, for two, with seat at the side for driver. The new ones were low, like a slice of an omnibus opening at the back, if an accident happened to the shafts or wheel, the cab fell backwards on the doors, and the occupants were shut in. I used to enjoy going with my father in the high cabriolets which he always used, with a good horse, it was delightful travelling, and being so high, one saw all the country well, but they were dangerous if the horse stumbled or fell. It involved the passenger in a certainty of being shot out, a very risky process.

I know my father more than once met with this accident, but was never hurt.

We attended at a large Church, St. George the Martyr in Queen Square – very dull – The Rector, Dr. Martyn was of the old school, and his sermons were dry and uninteresting to children. Miss Silberrad, our governess was a strict Churchwoman, and taught us well as regards religious training. We learnt a great many hymns and poetry as my father liked us to repeat it to him. But Sundays were a dull time in those days, and in a London house, so few books were published for Sunday reading, we had begun to tire of Mrs. Sherwood and her style, and Miss Yonge and her school had not arisen. My parents having been brought up among Dissenters though baptised into the Church of England, and having returned to it, were not accustomed to observe its Fasts and Festivals, indeed Easter was but rarely observed, and Good Friday was not a holiday. Usually on that day, we had a carriage and post horses and went down to Uxbridge for the day to see my brothers when at school at Dr. Beasley’s, my father asking their companions to dine with us at the Hotel.

But in 1834 Stewart had gone into my father’s office, and William was with a Mr. Anderson, the Incumbent of a Church at East Dulwich, a friend of Uncle Charles. He was there for 18 months, and only John was at Uxbridge. We often in the summer went down to Hampton, where a friend had a very large old house furnished and we spent the day in the grounds, or at Richmond, where my father fished in the Thames, his health was bad, and he disliked being in London or in the office. In those years we children paid visits to our Uncles at Peckham Rye, and at Hampstead where Uncle John then lived, or to friends at Peckham and Stratford, but as a family we did not go to the Sea in 1834 or 1835.

In the May of 1835 my father was dangerously ill, and in the early Autumn he and my mother went to Dover, posting there and took Louie with them. She was always delicate. One day, being on the pier at Dover, my father saw the Duke of Wellington coming on, and he said to Louie, “Look up Louie, that gentleman is the Duke of Wellington.” “Oh, Papa,” she cried out, “is that the Great Duke of Wellington?” His Grace was near enough to hear the child’s query, and smiling, lifted his hat and bowed to her. Afterwards he always noticed her. He was Governor of Dover Castle and Warden of the Cinque Ports.

In that year our friend Dr. Cannon lost his wife at Gerrards Cross, Bucks, and my mother began to take great interest in his children. Fanny and little Margaret used to come to us in their holidays, and my mother treated them as her own. The eldest son Stephen, was placed on the Stock Exchange, and lived with us in Harper Street, Mr. Cannon coming to our house when in London. We were like one family. After Fanny left off mourning, she and I used to beg for the same dress and to look like sisters. Fanny and her sister were at school at West Brompton.

During 1835 we were usually in Harper Street and our schoolroom life went on. My mother wished me to learn flower painting, and had met at the house of our friend Mr. Fry in Montague Street, Russell Square, Mr. Bartholomew who was the best painter of the day in flowers, perhaps Harding equalled in colouring, but were not so natural. I enjoyed the lessons, and learnt something of colors, but never pursued it, as I preferred figure drawing. Miss Silberrad shared these lessons. She had drawn after the old-fashioned style, working up a surface like flowers on a tea tray, but Bartholomew’s style was to put in shadows first and then flat washing of color. He was an R.A. – Mr. Fry, a lawyer, knew my parents at Stratford, when he and his one child lived with his wife’s sisters; the three Miss Loxleys on the Green. All were great florists. Next to them was Mr. Allcard, a friend, whose glass houses were full of the choicest flowers and shrubs.

In 1834 Mr. Fry married a second Miss Loxley, infringing the new marriage law, as to marrying a wife’s sister. He had to take Miss Loxley to a country Church, where they were married the day the Bill passed in the House of Lords, and I believe from our house. I was always devoted to Mrs. Fry, and she often had me to see her. About the end of 1835 we made more friends, as two Indian Officers, John and William Earle, begged my father to take some interest in their children who were coming home for education. Major J. Earle had married a Miss Lempriere, neice of Dr. Lempriere who compiled the Classic Dictionary, he and his family had been friends of the Pearce family, so knew my parents well. A sister of Major Earle married Dr. Lempriere later. He had died, and I remember Mrs. Lempriere and her sister Mrs. Raine coming to stay in Harper Street that year.

The Earles, did not, I think come over till 1836, Susan, Louis, and John first, Major J. Earle’s family. Afterwards William and Mary Anne, Captain W. Earle’s. Their mother was niece of Vice-Chancellor Shadwell, but her mother had been a half-caste. They were sent to schools for Indian Officer’s girls at Clapham, the boys were all to be trained for the Army. They came to see us in their holidays, my mother looking after their requirements. In the end, John passed for Artillery and went to Woolwich, and William for Infantry, Louis gave up the Army.

In June 1836 my Grandmother Mrs. Pearce, died at 84. She had become very feeble; but her four sons were deeply grieved at her loss. She was a very Christian woman, and clever. She had a young girl who had been entrusted to her care, Georgina Walpole, a daughter of George, second Earl of Orford, but he never acknowledged the marriage, as his brother Horace was so opposed to it. The Lady was called Mrs. Walpole, and her daughter bore her name. It was very curious that Horace Walpole did not allow this marriage, as he afterwards accepted all the family of a younger brother, Edward, under the disadvantage of their mother being only a servant girl in the house where Edward Walpole lodged. Horace Walpole, first Earl of Orford, introduced all three of these girls to society who made splendid marriages, one connected with Royalty.

Miss Walpole was devoted to my Grandmother, and I suppose, ought to have married one of the sons. She was very clever and sarcastic, like Horace Walpole, and resembled him. She was full of fun even when I saw her, quite an old woman I thought.

One day Mrs. Pearce being ill, was attended by the then famous Dr. Arnold. Feeling a little better, she said she should like to have some bacon and cabbage from the servant’s dinner table. It was brought up to her room and on her bed, when Dr. Arnold’s carriage drew up. “Oh,” said Grandmama, “what shall we do, Georgina?” “Put the tray under the bed,” exclaimed Miss Walpole, and did so. On Dr. Arnold’s entrance, he sniffed for a moment. “You’ve some very savoury odour here, Mrs. Pearce,” he said. Georgina roared with laughter, dragged out the tray, and the trio enjoyed the ‘Savoury Mess’ in my Grandmother’s room. Miss Walpole married Mr. Bucke. She had four children. When I first saw her I was about 15. She was a widow, and we were at Uncle Charles’ to meet her. My mother took me up to introduce me to her. Mrs. Bucke was a handsome, brilliant looking old lady, she put up her gold “pince-nez” and exclaimed, “By George!” “The girl has fine teeth.” I was furiously angry. I recollect Augusta Bucke staying with us in London later on, and our misery, as young girls, in having to promenade West End streets with her dressed in the most noticible colors, and country-made garments.

I think it was in 1836 that Mr. Cannon took a house at Brighton, for the summer holidays, 1. Brunswick Terrace, and we were all to spend six weeks with him. He had his four children, Stephen, Fanny, Harry and Margaret, with his orphan nephew and niece, John and Mildred, and servants. Our parents, we six, Miss Silberred, two maids and a man.

We had holidays – a liberal allowance to all the elder ones, to spend on any amusement preferred, and constant excursions with other friends in Brighton. We rode, boated, and walked. It was a good time. One of our grandest picnics was to the ruins of Bamborough Castle, all the Simon’s, the family of the present Sir John Simon, the Surgeon, joining us. The boys made my father scramble with them up the very steep hill on which the castle stood, they dragging him through the bushes and underwood. When the top was reached he fell forward on the grass so utterly exhausted that the boys were terrified, and it took a long time to recover him.

All the spring of 1836 my Grandmother failed more, and died in June of that year at 84. She left me her gold watch.

Chapter Six

The case of the missing hair - Move to Cheshunt and back to St Swithin’s Lane – Engagement - A near riot

For nearly two years my brother Stewart had wearied of the study of the Law, and had caused much care to all, as he was wild to go to sea, besides getting into trouble by his idleness. My mother would not consent, and I was dreadfully grieved, as I so wished him to succeed our father. However, it was useless. A friend of Edward Bean, who had been 1st Officer in an East Indian Ship, was taking out a beautiful small schooner for the opium trade in China. He offered to take Stewart, and all hoped one voyage would cure his fancy for the sea. He was 17, too old for the Navy.

All was thus unsettled at home. Miss Silberred said I was far beyond her control, and wished to leave, so it was arranged for Louie and Jane to go to school at the Miss Jones’ at Stratford, whom we had known when there, old friends of the Loxleys. I was to stay at home, and carry on my education with masters. Now I can see what a delusion and mistake was this scheme. At Michaelmas 1836, my sisters went to school, and Stewart sailed for China in the “Ann” with Captain Pylus.

At the same time my father, mother, and I left London for Dover, where we were to spend a few weeks, in order to try and forget the sorrow of Stewart’s trouble. I never passed through so dull an experience. My poor mother hardly ever spoke, but worked at her Berlin wool work incessantly. The house we were in was on the harbour, to amuse my father with the shipping, far from all the gaiety and fashion of the place. I really had nothing to amuse me, and found it very hard to study in the way my dear father thought proper. Every afternoon we drove out in a post chariot with postilion, always in the country, and it seems to me it always rained. I sometimes went in the “Rumble.” But papa objected to my taking a book, as I ought to look at the country.

To my delight at last, Aunt Eliza Wicksteed came to stay, then our drives were more exciting, as she was not nervous like my mother. One day the postilion said he knew of some very curious ruins, but the road was awful. We went, and found St Radagunda Abbey, in the midst of ploughed fields. It was built by the Conqueror in the 11th Century. The postilion took the carriage through a gate on leaving, and suddenly found we were at the top of an almost straight descent. He could not stop the horses, but shouted to me to “hold fast”, and in a moment, I saw the heads of the horses were on a level with my face. They literally “sat down” and slid all down the precipitious bank of hill. When we reached the bottom, they stood trembling, for the carriage had been on their backs all the way, and the postboy’s wig which he took off to wipe his head, was dripping wet. He said, had he not been obliged to bring a pair of most powerful horses which we had never had, a terrible accident would have followed.

Very few people ever heard of St. Radigunda’s Abbey.

Sometimes we drove to Folkestone, then only consisting of a narrow steep street of cottages, fishermen – they were ostensibly smugglers really. The only good house was the Rectory, where our friend Mr. Pearce was rector. He was not related to us, but had been a schoolfellow of my father’s. The people liked him, and he had to ignore the smuggling, but many a keg of brandy found its way over the wall into his garden, or a parcel of fine tea, or some French lace for Mrs. Pearce. No-one who knew Folkestone then, but must marvel at its growth.

Soon after we went to Dover, a storm came on, and in a day or two, we settled to drive to Deal to see the waves. Whilst standing admiring their vast volume, on the beach, a sailor said, “Look Sir, there’s a tight little craft as had had to beat back into the Downs.” My father asked her name, and the sailor said, “She’s the Ann, Sir, a schooner no bigger than a yacht, for the opium trade.” Then we knew that Stewart was close to us, and I implored Papa to go out to her. Poor mother was distracted, she could not go for she was a coward on the water, and indeed on the land, and the sailors said it was far too rough to venture. However, I would not take a refusal, and Papa wanted to go, so he offered a sovereign to the man, who accepted it. We were wrapt up in oil-skin coats and hats and went. I was in ecstacy, as I had never seen such a sea. Presently we reached the Ann, and got close to the Bowsprit, when the sailors shouted “Ship Ahoy”, and as I looked up, I saw my dear old Stewart, standing in the chains of the Bowsprit. I always wondered my shriek of delight did not make him drop off into the sea. He dropt down into our boat which tossed dreadfully. The Officers came to the bulwarks to greet us. Only ten minutes talk and hugging each other, and then the order to return. It was a painful pleasure, and with very sad hearts, father and I reached Deal beach. All the while we were away, poor mother had been shedding torrents of tears, for Stewart was her eldest and very dear son, so it was hard not to see him. Many a worse heartache came later on through him, but “at evening time” just a ray of light.

At last the stay at Dover ended, and we went back to Harper Street. Some difficulty arose about Masters for me, and I was not very well, therefore I was sent to Miss Jones’ school at Stratford, where my sisters and the Earles were at school, for a half quarter to Christmas. I was to be a “Parlor Boarder”, that is to sit in the drawing room in the evening, and take supper with the Miss Jones and our former governess, Miss Sherer, who was their assistant. I don’t think these distinctions were good for me, though I highly appreciated them then.

A very curious event took place which even now, after all “clairvoyance” was made clear, still remains a puzzle to me. My two sisters had a small bedroom together the upper floor. I slept with three others, in a larger room downstairs, where each had their own bed. One morning as I was dressing, someone rushed in crying, “Oh, Miss Pearce, go up directly to your sisters”. I rushed upstairs, not a little alarmed, and found their room full of mistresses, girls and servants. Both Louie and Janey were in a bad state, crying bitterly, and on seeing Louie, I cried out. All her beautiful long hair, which fell in loose curls, was gone, cut off close to her head, she crying in terror and several accusing Janey of having done it. Not a vestige of hair was to be seen. By degrees the room was cleared, and some account was extracted from the poor little girls. It appeared Louie had gone to Miss Sherer on the previous evening, to borrow a pair of large scissors, to cut off some frayed pieces from the hem of a garment. The scissors were not to be found, and as all enquiries increased, the agitation and excitement of my sisters, all speaking was forbidden. Search was made everywhere for the hair, in vain, and at my request our parents were sent for. They came down and were very distressed, but no clue was obtained, and Louie who was very delicate, was by this time so ill, my mother took her home. The subject was quite “taboed”, and supposed not to be spoken of.

Some time elapsed when the bed furniture of my sisters’ room was to be changed. It was what we call a “Tester bed” four posts and a dome top covered with dimity. On taking off this dimity top, a parcel fell heavily to the floor. It was the hair. Each long lock carefully lad in a white handkerchief, all in order, the scissors placed on them, and the corners of the handkerchief folded closely and neatly over all. The packet was put on the flat piece of the top of the bed at such a distance from the edge, as would seem to be far beyond the reach of a child 11 years old. So it was however, the commotion in the schoolroom was so great at this discovery, but the opinion about the person who did it, remained divided.

We spent Christmas of 1836 at Harper Street, and my sisters went back to Miss Jones. We sadly missed our brother Stewart, the first absentee from home. I did not go back, as my father was not very well, and his brothers advised him to live in the country, and only come to town two or three days in a week. I used to go distances with him to the country to look for houses, usually driving in one of the high cabriolets which I enjoyed. A house was found at Cheshunt in Herts, chosen as being near to the sea so that my father could fish. Mama and I did not like it, as we wanted to go South of London.

I have the picture of the house at the back, which is nice, a garden going down to the fields and looking over the hills. The front was on the village street, red brick, and old-fashioned, built out with modern rooms to the garden. It had a court-yard and stabling at the side. We removed at the end of March 1837, having let our London house to Mr. Berkeley, whose daughter afterwards married my Uncle Jonathan Barton. There were a few nice people about, all elderly I consider, but we had a bright summer, as our own old friends or relations came to see our new place, and we had visitors always. Haymaking parties, etc. Our old friend Mr. Wislinghausen too, came from Cambridge and charmed Aunt Bean and Aunt Ann who were also with us.

In the Autumn my parents, Louie and I, drove across the country of Herts, via St. Albans, to Norcott Court, near Great Berkhamstead to Mrs. Loxley’s our old friend Mr. Fry’s sister-in-law, where I staid some time with Margaret Loxley, whom I knew at Stratford when a child. My parents went on to Broadstairs with Louie very soon after we returned to Cheshunt (1837). My brother Stewart came back from his first voyage. I had not named the accession of our Queen on 20th June of this year, on the death of her uncle, William IV. She was of age in May 1837.

In November of this year, we drove up to London one morning and long before reaching the City, noticed the smell of fire, at the Green Dragon Inn. Stewart, who had been staying in London met us. His appearance was that of a sweep. He soon explained that the Royal Exchange, built by Sir. T. Gresham in 15(?) had been burnt down the night before, and he, with a number of gentlemen had been helping all night in extinguishing the flames. The present building dates from 183(?). Stewart went to sea again early in 1838.

In the course of March a small dance was given by our friends, the Auberts at Cheshunt, and they so pressed my mother to bring me, that spite of my being so young, 15 ½, she did take me. And as I was well dressed, I passed for “being out” and had many partners. In a few days, Mr. Aubert met my father in the stage coach, and complimented him about me, adding that his eldest son, begged to be allowed to visit more intimately at our house. My father was so vexed at such an unlucky result of my dance, that he at once decided I should be sent to school, and though I implored him to change his mind for once, he refused.

Accordingly after Easter, I and my sister who were moved from Miss Jones’ at Stratford, went to school at Wood End House, Hayes, near Uxbridge. Dr. Beasley had bought the place, and established a girls’ school, under the charge of a Mrs. Thomas whose family had lived at Peckham. It was a fine old house, in large grounds. It is now enlarged, and is a Home for dipsomaniacs. My mother and Mrs. Fry took us down to Hayes, in a carriage. I was never so wretched before. Of course, I was again a Parlor Boarder, and we three had a bedroom together. I determined to make no friends, and to learn everything I could, so that my father should let me come home soon. I soon had a following among the little girls, who lived to do anything for me, and there was only one of my own age, a Miss Palmer of Dorney Court, with whom I chose to associate. The teachers liked me, but otherwise I was very unpopular. At Midsummer, a great party was given. My parents drove over, and we were to go back with them after all the performances were over. It was late and our carriage large and heavy, so at the last stage we had four horses, much to my father’s annoyance, and our delight. The gate-keeper at “Theobald’s”, Sir H. King’s place, had to be asked to let us drive through the park. Papa hated its being so talked about.

In June of this year Queen Victoria was crowned. I went to London, and my Uncle, Mr. Wicksteed, of the “Spectator” took me to see all. We saw the procession going and returning from the Coronation at Westminster Abbey, and in the evening we walked all over the West End, to see the grand illuminations. On the following evening, I went for the first time to the Italian Opera House for the Special Performance. It was an awful crush getting in. The House was crowded throughout, and ladies wore their splendid Coronation dresses and plumes. “God Save the Queen” was sung. It was a fine sight.

In November 1837, I had been at a house in the Strand to see the Procession of the Queen going to the Guildhall to dine with the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs of London. Enthusiasm was at its height, and the shouts and glad cries of the masses of people attender Her Majesty along the whole route. We could not get away till after the return of the Queen. I remember it was too late for me to return to Cheshunt, and I had to sleep at 10. St. Swithin’s Lane.

I left Hayes at Christmas, after only nine months studying, and was only 16, but my father was not well, and wished me to be at home. In the spring of 1837 Mr. Cannon had married our old friend Miss Loxley, and they all lived in her house at Stratford Green.

I omitted saying that when I came up from Mrs. Loxley’s Norcott Court, in 1837, I had my first experience of a railway, then the wonder of the age, coming by the L.N.W.R. from Great Berkhamstead. This railway had only been opened that year, at the grand ceremony of opening. Between Manchester and Liverpool a sad accident occurred. Mr. Huskisson, an M.P. and a very able man, had left his seat in the carriage, to speak to the Duke of Wellington. By some mischance, the train moved, and an open door struck Mr. Huskisson to the ground. He died almost immediately. His wife, I think, was in the train.

Early in 1839, March, my father gave up living at Cheshunt as the long coach drive to London and back was too fatiguing for him. He had not found a house to suit, and determined to put our furniture etc., into the three upper floors of his house, 10, St. Swithin’s Lane, for a time. There was ample space for us, as Stewart was at Sea, and William was articled to Mr. Thomas Wicksteed, a civil engineer, and lived at Old Ford in my Aunt Eliza’s care.

In August 1837 I was invited by Uncle and Aunt John to go with them, Aunt and Uncle Charles, and their eldest boys, William and Charlie, to the Isle of Wight. Such an excursion was considered real travelling in those days. We went in Uncle Charles’ carriage, a large landau, the four old people, as we thought them (none over 40 to 50) and we three on the wide low Coach box, a pair of horses with postillion. We set off early on a very hot morning, and reached Guildford to lunch. The elderlies were knocked up, but I was allowed to take my little cousins into the quaint, old High Street, so beautiful then, since so altered though not quite spoilt. We saw Abbot’s Hospital and the Castle and Trinity Church. Afterwards in the cooler part of the day, we drove over the grand Hog’s Back, by the Devil’s Punch Bowl, to Winchester, where we slept at the “George”. I was awakened about 4 a.m. by military music, and saw a detachment of soldiers leaving the city. We saw the grand Cathedral and Great Cross, then to Portsmouth and slept, saw the Dockyard and the Victory, then crossed over to Ryde, where we spent Sunday. We saw all the Island, then a lovely garden and full of charming villas, houses and sweet scenery.

When we reached Freshwater Hotel, there was only one bedroom, two beds. This was assigned to Uncle and Aunt Charles, and the boys and we heard that two nice bedrooms for us were to be had in a cottage close by. When we reached it at night, it proved to be a mere whitewashed hut, with one room on the ground floor, and over it two lofts which were reached by a step ladder against the wall through a trap door. My Uncle was six feet three inches high and he looked as if he could put his head in at the trap; my Aunt portly. I shall never forget our ascent, and when we reached these lofts (there was no door between). The only furniture was a truckle bed with a rough mattress on it, a chair, and a basin and jug on a box. It was dreadful for the others, and I dare not make it a joke, as it was earnest to elderly people. However, we endured it, and we had a very enjoyable ten days. I was considered very lucky in being one of the party.

Nothing evidences so plainly to me the changes in London, E.C. in the last sixty years, so much as the fact that young girls could then live in the very heart of the city, walking out regularly, without a chaperon, as we did for two years then; now the crowded street would be impossible for us. It was always healthy too, and plenty of air.

Very soon after we came to London in 1839, I was confirmed at Christchurch, Newgate Street, by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Old Mr. Watkins, Rector of St. Swithin, London Stone, (who had married my father’s mother) examined me very kindly. I was very troubled that he might expect me to say I would renounce all the amusements of the world, Dances, theatres, etc. This was told him, and he said to me “Act according to your conscience in all these matters, and I earnestly pray, my dear child, that you may be led to value higher things so much, that you will, of your own desire, turn from all mere worldly amusements which would keep you from God.” And the good old man was right.

We did not go out of town that summer all together, but all paid visits, and often went to concerts and the theatres, and had a great many visitors. Mr. and Mrs. Fry took me once to the English Opera House when the young Queen was in the box opposite to us. A gentleman of the party, took me up into the corridor leading to her private entrance. It was empty, and when Her Majesty came from her box, followed by the ladies and some gentlemen round her, she stood still, close to me, whilst being wrapped in her cloak. I had a delightful view of her, and curtsied. She was quite simply drest, no ornament on her fair hair. She looked so young and small, but had the bearing of very high rank.

In the winter I went to my first public ball, at the Albion Hotel. It was given in aid of a charity, and got up by the Tilson family. I wore a white satin dress and white flowers round the plait of hair, worn low at the back of head, and banded off my face above my ears. This was my fashion after seeing Mde. Grisi at the Opera. I danced all the evening.

In 1840 my father decided on living permanently in St. Swithin’s Lane, and going away in Summer. Many young men came to our house, and in April I was asked by our old friend Charles Woolley to become his wife, I was too young I think to have decided, but I knew him so well. We were not to be married till I was 19, but we little thought of impending changes. In the early Summer I went once more to Norcott Court, and Charles came down with William. But my engagement did not please the family on personal reasons of their own. In August we all went to Margate for two months, whilst our house was renovated and all thoroughly decorated.

I have recollected that in 1840, June, when we lived in 10, St. Swithin’s Lane, the railway from Fenchurch Street to Blackwell was opened. It was at first propelled by stationary Engines with an endless coil. My father’s firm were Solicitors to this work, and a huge luncheon was given by the Directors at Blackwell, to which my sister Louie, William, and our father went. The line was on such valuable ground, that only just space was left between the crowded houses in a low neighbourhood and in many houses, tiles had been removed from the roofs, allowing a ‘head’ to come through, to see the sight. My Uncle Charles and his family was there and with the great people was the celebrated Daniel O’Connel, the Irish Agitator. My Uncle John had been intimate with him on the matter of the Irish Encumbered Estates, and had staid with him in Dublin, as he visited my Uncle in London. Twelve hundred persons sat down to lunch, and speeches were made and healths drunk.

At last Dan. O’Connel wished to speak and began, but he was very unpopular with all the respectable class in England, and many voices were raised to silence him, but opposition was delight to the Irish orator who persisted, and the riots increased. Very soon missiles were thrown, rolls of bread, cold fowls, pieces of meat, and friend “Dan” simply roaring with laughter, shouting his jokes and taunts. At last it was feared that more serious missiles would be used, such as glasses or knives. Decanters were seized up, a large number of gentlemen forcibly took hold of O’Connel, whose powerful figure and height, rendered force difficult, but at last by surrounding and pushing, they got him down the stairs on to the station yard amidst the yells and fighting of his opponents. To attempt getting him into a train was not safe. Several Steam Boats which had brought the guests, were alongside of the Pier, and after a while his body guard, had him on board, and out of reach of his enemies. He stood high up on the bows of the Steamer waving his hat in wild delight, and sending his jokes and ridicule in a stentorian voice till out of sight. Uncle Charles taking him in charge.

Of course, Charles spent his holiday with us, and our dear old friend F. Wistinghausen was also there: he staid at Dr. Hoffman’s whose widow died lately at West Hill. He and Charles had been rather formal together, but now they became friendly. One day when bathing, F.W. lost all consciousness, and would have been drowned but Charles supported him to a life-buoy, where he held him up, until a boat came out. It was heart failure then.

My father was much on the water, he had favourite boat men. One morning we went out and father said, “Where were you Collins, yesterday evening when I came down?” “Why Sir,” he said, “I had a queer customer last night. There has been a Gent for a day or two at the Royal, and I daresay you have often noticed in your good Glass, a large foreign ship, lying on and off lately?” This my father, and all of us had seen by our large telescope. “Well Sir, this Gent,” said Collins, “came to me and said, could I be ready at 10 p.m. to go off, as he and another Gent, had to go aboard a vessel, dropping down Channel, which would not come close in. Of course we said we would go, as he offered good pay so at 10 p.m. the two came down, and we asked which way the vessel would come. To our surprise he said, “We are going on board the French vessel, which has been off here a day or two. It was not our business to ask questions so we took them alongside of the French ship. A number of men were waiting at the side, speaking French. Our money was paid, and something over, it was getting light and they weighed anchor at once and sailed off. We got back that morning.” We were greatly excited at hearing this strange story. In a few days the mystery was solved. The two men were Prince Louis Napoleon, and a friend, who were going to attempt to raise the Prince to the throne. But, for the moment, the scheme failed, and instead, he was seized and lodged in the fortress of Ham. After some years he escaped and returned to England. In the Chartist Riots in 1848 he was sworn in a Special Constable, soon after Louis Phillipe abdicated, and Louis Napoleon began to climb the steps to the Imperial Throne, which was to end in an exile’s grave in England.

We came back to Swithin’s Lane in October, and had a gay Autumn, all our friends on both sides, making up parties for Charles and me. I had one trouble, however, our old friend Mr. Wistinghausen was in London, looking for work, and was constantly at our house. I was fond of drawing and he procured me a bust of a heathen god, and used to teach me to draw from the model. One day in November he came and some of us went to walk on the Iron Bridge at Southwark, which being a toll bridge was quiet. He left to go to a dinner, and afterwards to the Theatre, with Professor Partridge’s family, asking me to be ready for a good lesson the next day early. I had arranged my materials and was waiting for him, when my father came upstairs, looking very sad. He had just been told that our dear Fred Wistinghausen had passed away in his sleep. He went to bed quite well. In the morning they found him lying peacefully, his arms crossed, quite dead. We all grieved for him, and I think Charles missed him very much. He had grown to like and understand him, and did not then resent my great affection for him which I had from a child entertained.

About two weeks before this Christmas, 1840, (The Queen had married Prince Albert of Saxe Coburg and Gotha, in February and the Princess Royal, now the Empress Fredrick of Germany had been born in November). My father had a serious talk with me as to Charles going often with us to the theatre, an amusement he had given up on conviction, before we were engaged. Papa said he felt our example led Charles to turn back to the world, and he said, he also was feeling we were leading too worldly lives. He spoke of my confirmation the year before, and my doubts then, and also of the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, which he said he and my mother had not regularly received, and therefore I had not done so. He asked me to think over this, and be sure that my influence over Charles was a right one. I never forgot this talk in father’s old office. He was always so gentle and sweet to me, and it was our last. Charles said father was right about him, and we decided to resolve to make a change. In a fortnight after that talk, I had no father left on earth.

Chapter Seven

Death of Mary’s father - Theft and court case – Paris - Move to Tulse Hill - Marriage

On the 18th of December we were all looking gaily to Christmas. Charles was to take me to a dinner party at his friend Mr. Harrison, in Sussex Square. My Parents, Louie, and William were dining with Mr. Mill Pellatt at Stoke Newington. The weather was very severe, and my father forgot to put on his great coat before getting into the carriage. We all reached home about the same time, and sat round a large fire in the morning room, full of life, fun and jest, until father sent us unwillingly to bed.

I came down on the 19th. to make breakfast as usual, for our large party, when father came slowly into the room and dropped into his arm chair. I said, “You are ill, Papa, what is it?” and he replied indistinctly that he was very ill. My mother breakfasted always in bed, but I ran up, begging her to get up at once, which she did greatly alarmed, and we helped our dear father upstairs and into bed. I remember mother mechanically folded up all his clothes and put them in his wardrobe. We had sent for Mr. Gaselee who was near, and to Camberwell for Mr. Bean. When they came, they said it was an attack of Erysipelas in the throat from the chill on the previous night, and that his feeble health and stoutness rendered the pressure on the brain very serious. Dr. Cobb was then sent for. I waited outside the bedroom door to hear his opinion when he left, but he answered my distressed questions so roughly that I turned away into another room. When he went down with Mr. Bean he said “I am afraid I answered that poor girl like a brute when she spoke, but I could not tell her that her father was a dying man.” Mr. Bean told me this, and it shows how easily misunderstandings arise.

Sunday passed in great anxiety. He was rarely conscious. On Monday some improvement, and when Dr Cobb had seen him, he asked for me, and said there was a hope. Mother and I with Charles, were with him at 6 p.m. and only went down to dinner, leaving Chase, our nice maid in charge. I wanted to stay, but was not allowed and shall always regret it, for I was called up hastily, as father had asked for me, saying something about my eldest brother Stewart. When I ran up, the gleam of consciousness was over. We went to bed after Mr. Gaselee had seen him. At about 3 a.m. mother woke me, I was soon by his bed, holding a bottle of salts for him to smell, hot mustard poultices were on his feet. I saw Mr. Gaselee take my mother away, and lead her from the room; then he returned, took away the salts from me, saying, “he is at rest, Miss Pearce, go to your mother.” I went into the morning room and mother sat on the sofa, absolutely stupified, and I remembered how we had been so merry there only four days ago, and then, all were assembled except the dear father who had been only too indulgent to us all. Soon Chase came, and urged mother to go to bed in the spare room, she was passive and neither spoke nor cried. It was awfully cold, and my brother, Charles, Louie and I went into the Clerks Office, in which a huge fire was burning. It seemed further off from our trouble than the usual sitting rooms.

Our man as soon as it was light was sent off to Peckham Rye, where Uncle and Aunt John were staying at Uncle Charles’. By 8 o’clock we all went up to breakfast, or to try to take some, and soon my Uncles came. William never spoke, he was huddled up in father’s great chair, brokenhearted. He was his favourite son. Uncle Charles was full of grief, but always kind, whilst Uncle John was rigid. He was very fond of father, but often harsh to him, partly because he and mother were not very cordial, and he considered, she led my father to be more expensive than my Uncles thought right, when his health was so bad, and his family large.

Everything came to be done by me in the house. Mother did not care to leave her room or speak. Had not Charles been always ready to help me, it would have been hard work to arrange all details for mourning, etc., by a girl of 18. On Christmas day we induced mother to dine with us, a sad party in the room he had occupied a few days before.

The funeral took place on December 27th. It was necessary to ask for permission to keep Swithin’s Lane clear, in order to have space for the Hearse and Mourning Coaches, all with four horses to come down a narrow lane. Old Mr. Watkins who had married my parents, read the last service over our dear father, in the family vault in Bunhill Fields E.C. On Sunday Mr. Watkins preached a funeral sermon. It was a day long remembered by many, the cold intense. At 6 a.m. all London was roused by the most awful thunderstorm. The crashing of the thunder was terrible, many thought the end of the world had come, and poor mother who was always afraid of a storm cried out that the end had come and she should be once more with father. It was bitterly cold when we went to St. Swithin’s Church and of course, we were much affected, so that on coming into the street, the cold seized Louie’s face. By the evening she was very ill, and had an attack of erysipelas in the head and face, so that for some time her life was in danger. All the beautiful long curls, which had grown since she cut off her hair, had to be removed, and her features were hardly to be distinguished. However by degrees she rallied.

We had another trouble then, all my mothers and our own colored clothing had been packed in boxes in a top room, and by some chance, one box was opened, and it was found to have been robbed. On examination many things were missed, and the cook and Dennis, the manservant were proved guilty. As my mother could not appear in Court to identify them, I had to go. It was not pleasant but Charles and four or five of our friends went with me. Sir Peter Laurie was on the Bench and when I was put into the witness box, he as was his custom, began to use very rough language. When the Book was handed to me for my oath, I took it. Of course I had a crape veil over my face. “Put up that veil”, he said, “so that I may see all you do.” A murmur went round the Court, and Mr. Brown the City Remembrancer who knew us, leant over to Sir Peter, saying “Do you not know that young lady is Miss Pearce, daughter of Mr. Stewart Pearce, who died lately.” At once Sir Peter stood up, expressed the utmost regret that he had not been informed of this, and begged me to leave the witness box and take a seat on the Bench. To this politeness, I replied by saying I preferred to remain where I was, during the examination. I had no more rudeness to complain of, and left the Mansion House with my “body guard”. The servants were both found guilty and some of the valuable things, shawls, furs, etc., were recovered.

In January 1841 my brother William went out to the Swan River in Australia, to which place Uncle John Pearce had secured him a post as a Civil Engineer at £400 a year. The income was large, but all the necessaries of life were so costly there that it was really hard to live. Butter, I recollect, being 4/6d per pound. William was always so full of life and fun, we missed him sadly. The heat that Spring was very extreme, and by May we were all unwell, so mother took a house at Mortlake, near Richmond, for the Summer. I remember as we drove to Mortlake, all of us wearing gowns covered in crape to the waist, we actually opened the doors of the Coach on both side, to obtain air!

In January, I forgot to say, my Uncle John Barton returned from Peru, S.A. where he had been since 1822. His wife was staying in Swithin’s Lane with us, and we had all gone to bed. I was sleeping with her, when we heard loud knocking at the house door, and Uncle had come up from Liverpool with his brother, Jonathan, two days before he was expected. All the household got up, and it was very strange. I thought of that night in December when our dear father past away, but this was all excitement, not sorrow.

We had a nice Summer at Mortlake, all our friends liked to come, as we had a good garden. In July we came back to town and mother began to look for a house near London as now father was gone Uncle John thought it not well, we should continue to live in the City. Uncle and Aunt John went to Margate, and asked me to go with them. Charles also spent his holiday with us. After we had been there a little time, Uncle proposed to take Aunt to Paris, and I prepared to go home, but to my amazement he included me in the Continental plan.

In 1841 no railways existed I believe in France. Certainly there was not one from the Coast to Paris, so that travelling abroad, had not become the ordinary habit, but few people of our class had a chance of going abroad for a short holiday and there was a hope of adventure, and entire novelty. That a girl as I was, should be invited to visit Paris, under the auspices of a man like my Uncle, who was a Government Employee, was very exceptional, and I was much envied. I was sorry to leave Charles, but my intense delight in the prospect of actually seeing Paris, and visiting every place, which love of reading and of French History, had made familiar to me, left me, I fear little room for any regrets.

In the middle of August, Uncle and Aunt and I left Margate for Dover. Before starting, my kind Uncle Charles sent me a cheque for £5, to spend in Paris. We slept at the Lord Warden Hotel, and the next morning, in heavy rain, and a strong gale, steamed over to Boulogne. Our travels did not begin brightly, but nothing damped my spirits, and when, out of 60 passengers, only Uncle and I were quite well, I felt triumphant. Lord Mahon, the new ambassador to Vienna, with his wife and servants, and one of the Rothschilds were there. Lord Mahon never moved, wrapt in a cloak, he cared for no one, and only cried continually to the Captain or a Sailor “How long will it be?” Poor Lady Mahon was really ill and helpless, not a servant could or would attend her. At last my Uncle went to offer his aid, which she thankfully accepted. He almost carried her across the deck, to where her carriage stood, placed her quite comfortably in it, with all needful appliances, and, at all events, gave her the blessing of solitude. We reached Boulogne late, and the tide would not allow of our steamer entering the Harbour, so for hours she lay, rolling outside. It was dreadful to hear the groans of the passengers.

At last, about 5 p.m. we landed, after 7 hours passage. I still remember the excitement with which I saw all the Normandy fisher wives in their bright costumes, blue skirts, scarlet stockings, and high snow-white caps, and big gold earrings and chains. We are used to this coloring now, then it belonged to France, and was a new experience, and the noise of the chattering in French around me and the difference in the look of houses and surroundings, almost distracted me. At last we reached the hotel du Nord, where we were to sleep, and again all was new. The polished floors, great glasses and clocks, high windows and the curiously furnished bedrooms only added to my delight. The rain was so heavy Uncle would not take me out, but I could not sit still. He went away, and returned bringing me a book, “The Idler in France”, by Lady Blessington, (I have it now, 1897), and entreated me to sit down and read it till dinner time, which I did. My first Table d’hote dinner was an engrossing novelty, but now everyone is used to them. I slept well in my nice French bed, and in the morning, woke to find sunshine and a lovely August day.

Uncle determined not to post to Paris, which was rather expensive, but go by diligence. I doubt if any of my readers will know of such a vehicle, or if one may yet be found in France or Spain, in some remote spot, still free from trains. We had hoped to have places in the Banquette, a hooded seat on the roof so as to see the country but it was engaged, and we had three seats in the coupee, like a large coach. Those who had corner places did well, but mine in the middle was dull. However, I saw no troubles. The long roads of France, are uninteresting, but every now and then, a village, or a chateau enlivened it. There were four and sometimes six horses, rope harnessed, and a constant talk went on between the coachman and his team. At Abbeville we stopped to dine, I recollect there was a hugh spread of food, all different entirely from our English cooking, and splendid fruits. I had hoped to have time to see the Cathedral and more of the town, but we had to proceed. It was a terribly long journey of 15 hours to Paris, and I never left my seat all the time. When it was dark they let down from the roof, a shelf, on which I was to rest my head and sleep, but I never wish to go through that night again.

At 7, we were in Paris. All my misery was forgotten, and when I saw the site of the Bastille destroyed in 1830, and the ropes with lamps on them, across the street, on which the mob shouting “a la lanterne” had hung up so many poor wretches, I was unable to sit quietly and Uncle declared I behaved like a maniac but he saw I was happy. We drove to the Hotel Bristol in the Place Vendome (now always used by the Prince of Wales), but could not have rooms. They directed us to the Hotel at the opposite corner, (the square had corners cut off), in which Uncle took a beautiful suite of rooms au premiere, ante room, salle a manger, salon, and three rooms beyond for sleeping, all opening into a corridor behind. I never had such rooms again! We had every luxury in this visit, a carriage and pair of horses was always in the court yard of the Hotel, to drive Mrs. Barton and me to all sights or shops, but this was not how I wanted to see Paris. I longed to walk, to go into the Faubourge where the horrible drama of the Revolution had been played out, to the quarter “St Germain” in which were the palace like houses of the old French Aristocracy whose blood had saturated the open squares of the City, and stained the water of the Seine. Now this was not understood by my Aunt, who was very conventional, and my Uncle had many friends among French Officers, and could not give all his time to my romantic ideas, as he considered they were. In fact it was not romance, but my love for history which led me to desire to verify all I had read at home. I had to submit, but was allowed to go out alone, just round the Place Vendome and adjacent fine streets and shops.

One day the whole City was out to witness the King and his sons going out to meet the troops who had returned from taking Algeria, under the Duke D’Aumale and Prince de Joinville the two younger sons. The whole mass of soldiers were to return through the Place on which our rooms looked, led by the King, Louis Philippe and all his sons and Officers, a splendid set of soldiers, Cavalry and Infantry. Just as the troops were turning from the Boulevard into the Place, a man shot at the King. The roars and excitement of the mob was awful. I believe they actually tore the would-be assassin to pieces, and when the Cortege passed us and stopt a minute, the noise and acclamation were not to be described.

Seven years passed, and the French populace who had done this homage, would have murdered this King and his family, and drove them into an Exile in England where the King and Queen were sheltered at Claremont, and died there. Most of the Princes lived here and still do so, at least their descendants have homes here, the elders are dead.

We had a charming time at Versailles, sleeping one night in an old Hotel there, which had seen all the splendous and sins of the Courts of Louis 14th and 15th, and the fall of Louis 16th in 1783. All the floors were so polished it was difficult to walk safely. The bedroom with but a couch and easy chair, and washing apparatus, a glass bottle of water and a white pie dish for basin. All the world are now familiar with Versailles and its miles of pictures, among which the artist David, paints France as always victorious. But the German Conqueror by now ruled in its vast halls, in which he has received the title of “Emperor” from Germany. We also went to St. Cloud, a favourite of the old kings, before the end of the monarchy. It is gone now, levelled with the ground. The famous manufacture of China, a royal property, at Sevres, interested me much. I meant to spend some of my money in buying keepsakes there for the home people, but finding the cheapest cup cost three to four pounds my intention was abandoned. We had some of the French Officers about with us usually, and my Uncle gave very delightful dejeuners and dinners at the most renowned Restaurants in Paris, or at our Hotel. It was my first and last experience of the most delicious “Cuisine” and splendid rooms. Subsequent visits had been more carefully conducted but not less enjoyed. We went to one or two theatres but my Uncle did not care for them. He had to be in London by the 24th September for the wedding of Mr. Tyerman with E. Berkeley.

On returning to London in Sept, 1841, I found my mother had taken a house in my absence, at Tulse Hill, a new district about 5 miles from London near Streatham and Clapham. I was very vexed at her choice, a horrid little villa as they were all called, detached in a piece of ground not yet laid out as garden, no trees anywhere, all new half made roads. It was named Hanover Cottage after our dear old Hanover House, a most unworthy descendant.

We removed from St. Swithin's Lane into the Villa in October. It could not hold half our belongings. Jane and I shared a bedroom twelve feet square, a similar apartment with a light closet as dressing room for mother and Louie. The rooms on the same floor were alloted to Mrs. John Barton who was to live with us on my Uncle's return to Lima. The attics for servants and boys. Long narrow sitting-rooms, with windows at each end. How cordially I detested the narrowness of it all, such a great disappointment to us, who had hoped once more, for an old house and shady garden. Of course, too, all the other Villas were soon occupied but the inmates were not of the kind of society we had mixed in. Many were good, kind people, but we always felt a want. So 1841 ended in a dull uncomfortable loneliness, only brightened when our old friends came. This too was not easy, as no public vehicle then went beyond Brixton church, more than a mile from us, so were all the shops. My Aunt was then with us and by degrees we became used to the place but the house was so new and ill built, there was always some trouble.

In the Spring of 1842 it was proposed to build a church for this district, and all were interested in collecting money. for the purpose. People were not so overwhelmed by begging for charities, as they are now, and we collected a good sum. So Christ Church was begun. I never much admired it, though it was correct in architecture. The Rev. Wodehouse Raven was the first Incumbent, and our marriage on the 18th of July 1844 was the first performed in the Church. For a long time the road up to it from our house, was unmade. It was a dark and difficult walk in the Winter evenings.

I was ill in the Summer, and in September we all went to Brighton, taking my mother, and Aunt Ann Sherer with us. This was my mother’s first experience in railway travelling. We drove to Croydon to meet the train, taking our luncheon with us. The nervous condition of the two elders was really distressing. The train was so full, our party was divided, and to my great annoyance the mother and Aunt were hurried alone into one carriage, and we, (with the luncheon) were pushed into another. I believe the poor dears never spoke, but sat, holding each others hands, until we reached Brighton, and to their great comfort, were safe in a fly!!

We had many friends there, though your father would not take a holiday. We rode on horse-back, and on the whole, had a gay time. We hoped to have been married that Autumn or early in 1843, but things did not prosper, and I could not have the small fortune promised by my dear father. I was often away from home, at my three Uncles, or in London with Mr. Fry, and in that year Mrs. Barton left us, and went out to Lima where her husband had been made Consul by Lord Aberdeen. She meant well, and was really a good woman, but rather tiresome, perhaps she found us the same.

In the Autumn of 1843 I again went to Brighton with the George Pearces’, by no means so lively as our party of the year before. Aunt Georges’ daughter Annie Dipnall now Mrs. Carr of Surbiton, and I were friends, and Elizabeth my own cousin was fond of me.

My brother Stewart had been in India for some years, but never doing well, no steady perserverance, and he had married imprudently in every sense of the word*. I was godmother to his boy. I always hoped the poor child was taken from the evil of his conditions, for with so careless a father and so bad a mother, no good could have come to him. William had given up his appointment at the Swan River, and gone to Calcutta to Stewart, hoping for employment in his own profession, but India was not ready for railways, and William could find nothing to do. Your father wrote offering to take him as a clerk in his Office, and if he did well, as a partner ultimately, so he came back to England, and made our house as merry as it had been before he went away. But had we looked forward, and seen the future, we would not have suggested this plan. The business was not a good one for William, who was self-indulgent, like his family, and the loss of an excellent clerk, who was given up to make a place for William, was a great loss to your father. I was seriously ill in the Winter of 1843, and unable to go out, or enjoy any of the gaiety which went on.

At that time we had become intimate with the Trollopes a large family living on the old part of Tulse Hill. After Christmas, Louie and I went to Mrs. Cannon’s at Woodbank, Gerrards Cross for change for me. We were a large party, and had much acting and dancing, with other young people near. Among them were the Charlsleys, the eldest son blind. He has now built Charlsley Hall at Oxford, and still lives. A younger son. Robert married afterwards Margaret Cannon, and they live now at Oxford. Your father and William also came down, it was a pretty place.

In the Spring of 1844 an unexpected circumstance happened. The tenant of our old house in Harper Street, Mr. Berkeley, gave it up and but four years of my father’s Lease was unexpired, so it was unlikely another tenant would be found, it would be a great loss to my mother to lose the rent, and leave it empty, and it was proposed that she should live in part of this large house, with my two sisters and brothers, whilst your father and I would be married, and have all the rooms we required.

The plan arranged was that we had our own servant and took breakfast in our own room, but dine together and be separate, or together in the evening as we liked. A person applied for our house at Tulse Hill and all was soon arranged for our wedding in July. The plan seemed very feasible and good, for all parties, but I having tried this “Happy Family” life, do not think it ever succeeds, unless with people of singular calmness, or possessed with thorough judgment and self-control.

Relations who are deeply attached to each other, and who can cheerfully make great sacrifices on important matters, may easily fail in that power to “Give and Take”, which is always needed in the trivial details of daily life.

We were very busy all that Spring and early Summer. Uncle Charles gave me £100, to buy my trousseau, so I was no expense to my mother, and I was able to do something out of this sum, for all the others. Uncle John gave us also £100, towards furnishing, from which we bought our Piano, and we had many kind and handsome gifts, from the families on both sides and intimate friends. In those days, wedding presents were not the universal tax on every acquaintance even which they are now.

We were married on the 18th July 1844, the same day on which my Grandfather Pearce had married Miss Walker in 1780. Their wedding trip, was to Epping Forest for the day in a Post Chaise! We were to go to the Isle of Wight and see Mr. and Mrs. Woolley ( an Uncle ) at Littlehampton. Christ Church which we had helped in building was to be consecrated for weddings. The Bishop was abroad and there was a delay of the messenger, so the necessary papers arrived only on the morning. The Church was full of people, and little children whom I knew, scattered flowers and sugar plums on the doorway as we left. My bridesmaids were, my sisters, your Aunt Ellen, Fanny Cannon, Elizabeth Pearce, and Fanny Pearce, of these Fanny Cannon and Mrs. Allcard alone survive. We had the ordinary Wedding Breakfast and all our families were there. The cake came from “Walkers” in Piccadilly, who had supplied all for the Queen in 1840.

We posted to Cobham, in a heavy thunder-storm and the postilion had too freely drunk our health, so we were not sorry to find ourselves safe. The next day we went to Southampton, crossed to Cowes, on to Newport, and thence to the Undercliff and Freshwater, it was lovely weather, then we came back to Portsmouth, and Chichester, where Mr. Woolley met us, and we drove to L’hampton, they were very kind, but I felt it very dull, though they took us to Arundel Castle, Goodwood, and other places, making picnics everywhere. Then we went on to Box Hill and Mickleham and so home. This was my second visit to the Isle of Wight, as I may have said before.

*A painting hung in my great grandfather’s house showing an old lady with a bible. When the picture was restored, the bible was revealed to have been painted over the image of a child. Family history suggests that this child was Stewart Highmore Pearce, and that he had been painted over due to his disreputableness. (The painting was later given to the artist Charles Maresco Pearce – both he and my great grandfather William Seymour Eastwood were the children of Mary’s first cousins).

Chapter Eight

Married life in Harpur St - Stewart, Bertie, Louie, Duncan, Alice, Grace, Katie and Margaret born - Move to Peckham then Clapton - Scarlet fever, whooping cough, peritonitis, etc

Things were not finished or in order for us when we reached Harper Street, and it much annoyed me, that we had to make one party so soon, but by degrees our rooms were finished and looked very nice. However, after a few months it was a trouble to us, always to be included in my Mother’s plans, and dependent on the hours and meals of others. Things became rather strained between us, Louie, I knew felt with us usually, but of course, could not say so, and we spent our first Christmas Day at Uncle John’s for want of a pleasanter invitation. As there was a prospect of our needing more rooms, we decided on fitting up a second kitchen for ourselves and having two servants and more bedrooms, this we did early in 1845, and after that, all went far more happily.

In the end of March, we heard that Stewart had suddenly left Calcutta, owing to his wife’s conduct, and was working his way home before the mast. This was sad news to us all. He arrived one Sunday morning, when I was alone, but Pears, my father’s old barber, had seen him first, and brought him to Harper Street, Stewart had known Pears all his life, as my father had helped him when young and he was always grateful to him. Stewart was in a most miserable condition, quite broken down, and it was a great shock to me to see him, really unfit to be in our home. By degrees he improved, and recovered his old tone, and was much with me, as we had been very fond of each other. About a fortnight after he came back, my first child was born on the 20th April 1845, on the same day as we had been engaged five years earlier. He was named Charles Stewart, and was always the most loved by his Grandmother and Aunts. We had rooms in Peckham Rye in the Summer, and my baby, was much admired at Uncle Charles’. In the Autumn we took him to Ramsgate for your father’s holiday. On Christmas Day he sat up in his own high chair, when we lunched looking sweet in a frock of cerise coloured Cashmere of which I now have a piece, after 52 years.

In May 1846 our second boy came, on the 29th, he was named George Herbert, after his paternal Grandfather. He was a strong fine child, and when three weeks old, began to scream or rather “roar” which continued for seven months, it was a terrible trial, his poor nurse was constantly stopt in the street by enquiries as to what was wrong. We took him to Dover where my mother was, but had to leave as people could not remain in the house. Then we took him on a visit to my Uncle Wicksteed at Leatherhead, but they could not bear it. He slept well, but if awake roared incessantly. Suddenly it ceased, and I doubt if he ever cried again!! he always amused himself, and was a happy child. People said I thought more of him, than of Stewart, but I always felt so much was done by my family for Stewart, that I had to do more for Bertie. Stewart was a delicate, highly nervous child and less easily managed; he could read when only three years old. I nearly lost him when he was two, owing to his having had some tincture for a cough, given against my wish by Mrs. Pulley, it affected his brain, and but for Mr. Bean’s happening to call in Harper Street, when the child was lying on my lap, and at once putting some calomel on his tongue, he would have died. After that, I never allowed quack medicine to be given.

At the end of 1847, after a very hot summer, which had tried me as we had been in London, only spending a fortnight at Grove Hill our first daughter Mary Louisa was born on the third of November, and before Christmas we had to leave Harper Street, the lease having expired. We had a fancy to live at Peckham, our old place, and took a nice house in St. Mary’s Road, near New Cross. But it was a changed place, and people, from what it had been in our youth, and we did not like it. After a few months, the flooring gave way, and it was found that dry rot had destroyed the timbers of the house, so we had to leave. Uncle Charles was very anxious we should live at Clapton, near my Uncle John, as we had it in his power to help, and was very fond of us. Small houses were scarce then and we had to take some rooms for a time, at last we found a small house on Dalston rise, close to the downs, which the landlady added to and improved.

At that time March 1848, all Europe was in the utmost confusion. The French had risen against their King, Louis Philippe, who was forced to escape with his family, and in great risk, from Paris, and take refuge in England. Claremont belonging to his son-in-law, the King of Belgians was assigned to the French royal family. The young Duchess of Orleans, whose husband had been killed earlier, in jumping from his carriage, took her two little sons into the assembly, and appealed to the nation on their behalf, but uselessly. Royalty was for a time abolished, and a Republic formed. In England this wave of rebellion had excited the lower classes, aided by the distress in this country, and a body of Malcontents, Chartists as they were called, caused the utmost alarm. London was prepared for defence, our Queen and her family were urged to leave Windsor, troops were ready to guard all public buildings and places, and the mass of gentlemen, were sworn in as special Constables. Among these was Louis Napoleon, who had lived quietly in London since his escape from Ham, and who in a few months was President of the French Republic, and in 1851 by the “Coup d’Etat” Emperor of France. But the riots expected here fell flat, though the people were all in a panic, the government had made such powerful arrangements, very quietly, that the project of rebellion failed. The Charter was sent in cabs to the Parliament, only a few thousands met at Kennington, and ere long “The Chartist riots” was a scare of the past.

Our small rooms in Clapton were uncomfortable and as our house could not be ready till July, I joined my mother and sisters in a house at Tunbridge Wells for a time.

I have not spoken of my dear sister Louie’s engagement in 1846 to an old friend Mr. Hoare, his brother had known us for many years having been a school-fellow of my brothers’ at Uxbridge and came often to our house after leaving school. Tom Hoare was a quiet, shy young man, and we once thought he admired Louie. But his brother only made our acquaintance in 1840. At first none of us liked him, he was rough, and of a different type, however, he became our great friend, and with many faults had unbounded sympathy and kindness of heart. He was not a successful man like his brother, and though a friend of my husband, we were surprised and indeed sorry that Louie cared for him. In every respect, they were so unlike that it seemed very uncongenial. He was godfather to my Louie so I kept my three children at Summer Vale more than two months, but it was inconvenient for Charles to come, so I was glad when the alterations at our little house on Dalston Rise were ended, and we went back in June. There was not much spare room, but it was a convenient pretty home, with a garden open to the Downs and plenty of fresh air. We had relations near in Clapton, Uncle and Aunt John Pearce, Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood. The Blaxlands and others, very often I drove with Aunt John to see our relations at a distance, and many of their friends, soon became ours also.

I was much at home having only two servants, and three children. In November my mother was at Hastings and for the first time, I left my baby Louie, taking Stewart with us to stay with Mother. I was looking at her in her Nurse’s arms, and did not notice my Stewart’s hand was on the door of the omnibus, when the man slammed it, and shut in his little fingers. He gave one shriek and then had to bear the agony of forcing the door to, in order to unlatch the handle. I had no remedy, save to put his crushed fingers into my mouth, and I shall never forget, how the child only four years old, writhed with pain, and would not cry, it was dreadful. By degrees it abated, a gentleman in the omnibus heard me say he was going to the sea, took out some money, and told Stewart he had behaved like a hero, giving him money to buy a spade and bucket. But the shock tried my boy much, and he was very poorly. We came home soon, Stewart remaining with his Grannie and Aunts till Christmas. In the early Spring of 1849 Bertie developed Scarlet Faver, which Stewart and baby also took. Bertie was very ill. Our nurse left in terror, and my sister Louie came to help.

In 24 hours she was laid up with it, and we had no help but our general servant and an old nurse from the alms houses; it was a bad time, but mercifully all recovered. Our good servant actually had the fever and never gave in, or failed in her assistance to us.

I suppose during that illness, Louie had leisure to think more of her engagement to John Hoare, for as soon as she recovered she wrote in terms of great sorrow, to cancel the same on the plea of unsuitability of habits. We were all very thankful, yet Mr. Hoare remained a dear friend of my husband and myself to his death in 1867. In July 1849, Amy was born, and in August we shared a house at Broadstairs with my mother. Whilst there, Mr. Woolley, my father-in-law, was suddenly ill. I came to London with my baby, but never saw him again. I was very fond of him and always received from him every mark of affection. We followed him to his grave, in Abney Park Cemetary and then returned to Broadstairs.

Stewart often staid with his grannie who was very fond of him. In September 1850 Charles and I went to Swansea in South Wales to stay with Mr. Hoare, who then owned the South Wales Brewery. We met many friends of his, and had Picnic parties to the Mumbles, a beautiful place on the shore. In climbing up a rock, to which Mrs. Street and I had scrambled up, John Hoare received the damage which ultimately caused his death. We went to Chepstow, Hereford and Worcester, on our way to Birmingham which I thought very dingy and smoky, to Manchester, when we saw Mrs. Gaskell, who lived next door to Mr. Williams where we visited. Mrs. Williams was Aunt Charles’ sister, then to Liverpool, where I was very unwell, had caught some sort of eruption at a Hotel. For the first time we saw my brother John, since his imprudent marriage in 1848, to a Miss ? a Roman Catholic in Glasgow, this step cost him his post in the Electronic Telephone Co., he had two children then, and we were helping him to go to Melbourne.

In the Spring of 1851, we required more room, and with some regret took a home in Clapton Square. It was nicely done up for us, and we were busy adding to furniture as we wanted to be settled there in May. Half our goods were removed and I had been in London shopping, when rather unexpectedly on Ash Wednesday, March 5th Duncan and Alice arrived on the scene! It was awkward, I had seen my mother on the previous day, and she was so horrified at hearing of twins, that she started off at once to her house at Tunbridge Wells. But no sooner was she in the train, than she felt equally shocked at going away, from me, when I was in trouble, and so returned by the next train, come down to Dalston Rise, and carried off the children and their nurse to Tunbridge Wells. I did not at all enjoy my experience of two babies in a house from which half the furniture was removed and really little comfort for nurse or children, they were very delicate, especially the girl, and at the end of ten days, they were baptised by the Rev. A. Gordon. For many weeks and months we were very anxious about Alice, but I think now, Duncan was really as delicate. At three weeks, all was in nice order in our new house, and Aunt John drove us there, and soon after nurse Curtis and the other children returned, we had an under nurse, and were comfortable with four servants but six little ones under six years is a burden.

On the 1st May of this year 1852, the famous Great Exhibition in London was opened by H.M. The Queen. It was the wonder of the age, and entirely the idea and work of the Prince Consort. Since then Exhibitions have become universal and frequent, but this novelty caused much excitement. It was opposed, and said to be impossible on all sides, and pronounced to be a folly and certain failure. No one however, who on May 1st 1851, was present at the opening of the “Great Exhibition” at Kensington, could have denied that it was aught but a complete triumph. It was opened by the Queen and Prince with their four elder children, The Duke of Wellington, who had then but another year to live. Crowned Heads, Nobles, Artists, foreigners from every known country, and thousands of English of all ranks were there, it was a place bearing some aspects of a gigantic hot house and others of a huge bazaar. On the stalls were heaped the products of every nation, from the “Koh I Nohr” to a tin tack, from the most gorgeous Eastern Manufacture to a piece of tape, every kind of machinery in working order, all that could be made or carried was there at its best. Altogether, it was a union of all people, places and things in the world.

My husband and I went to see it taking our two boys. Bertie evinced then his genius for collecting and to my horror, displayed to me, with glee, a piece of an earthenware broom, which he had broken off a Chinese “bas relief” to take home for a keepsake. I fancy he is the only person who did such a thing, and it spoilt my day, for I fancied perpetually this relic in my pocket, would be detected.

We were very comfortable in our new home in Clapton Square, having more room and another servant but our old garden at Dalston Rise was a loss. Not long after we went there, our friends the Blaxlands took the next house, whence out intimacy with them. Mr. Blaxlands was a distant connection of the Woolley’s; his wife and I had been playfellows when quite young. For some time I taught the two elder boys, but in 1852, April, my husband had small pox, not severely, but it prevented me from being in the family for a time, and then he and I went to Brighton, Stewart was 7, so went to the Grammar School, and Bertie to Mr. Newcome’s being only six.

On July 30th our little Grace was born. I was ill for some time, and for change went to my Aunt, Mrs. Wicksteed at Chislehurst taking baby, Mrs. Noakes my nurse and Amy, who was my Aunt’s godchild. Not being better, I took baby and Mrs. Noakes to Brighton where I quickly gained strength.

In the November of this year 1852, the Duke of Wellington died, I wished to see him laid in state, but Charles would not take me with him. It was fortunate he did not, for the crowd was terrible and had he been encumbered by me, would probably have lost his life. He was dragged under the barriers out of the crowd, almost senseless, his great coat was absolutely wet through from the state of the heat he had been in, there was a dense mist over the crowd from the heat.

In April 1853 my Stewart went to see the Houses of Parliament with his Grandmother and Mrs. Greenwood. Arriving down the stairs from the House, he suddenly fell lame complaining of his knee, for weeks he was confined to his bed. Dr. Little saw him, and said it was contraction of the muscles, and that he would be lame for life, a model of his leg was taken at much expense. Our doctor Mr. Complin being ill, his son Edward a student saw Stewart, and on careful examination, detected a large abscess under the knee pan. After a while, this was opened. It was great agony, but my boy was good, in a few days he could stretch out his leg, and all fear of danger ended. He always walked rather lame.

No sooner was he better than all the seven children had whooping cough. I never had it, nor did I take it then. Our sweet little Grace took the infection, but did not cough, from the first, she never cried or fretted, laid still on her pillow, slowly dying. On the morning of June 8th we saw her pass away, I think without pain. She was a lovely child, her features, hands and feet, were perfect. I never saw a sweeter face. Mrs. Lucas placed a bunch of lilies of the Valley in her clasped hands, saying they were emblem of her – 11 months old. When the children began to lose the cough, we all went to a house in Mortlake, in the midst of an apple orchard. No words can tell how I detested the place, it was a sunless Summer and the gloom with no outlook or view, dreadful. We came back in August, Katie was born in September 9th.

Our house was then so full, that we sent Stewart and Bertie to school at Mr. Altree’s Tunbridge Wells, where my mother had lived, she had removed to West Croydon in 1851. The boys were well cared for there, and well taught. I had the two elder girls Louie and Amy to teach, and there were then three younger ones, so I was relieved by the boys’ absence and I had more leisure for all the needlework. I never put out any clothing to be made before this year, when the elder boys had heavy cloth tunics and trousers.

I had forgotten that this year 1853 my sister Louie who only called at the door to ask after those who had whooping cough, actually caught the malady, and was quite ill with it. My mother and sisters then went down to Rousley in Derbyshire, close to Chatsworth where they spent the Summer in a nice farm house, they also were near Mr. Allcard’s Country House, he was a great Florist, and had gone there to be near the Duke’s head Gardener Joseph Paxton, who had been knighted at the opening of the Great Exhibition in 1851, in which he materially assisted as regards the building of the “Glass House” and grounds. His daughter Victoria married George Allcard.

I think we must have sent the two boys to school at Tunbridge Wells in the Spring of 1853, as I recollect Stewart was only three months at the Hackney Grammar School in 1853, before his knee was hurt, and Bertie was a year at Mr. Newcomes. I think, therefore, after Katie was born in September, /53, they must have gone to Rose Hill, as then there were five in the nursery, and I had to begin to teach Louie and Amy. The two boys had been a pleasure to teach, they were very quick, when they began French, they were not attentive, so I used to make them sit up on their high chairs whilst I read aloud an amusing story in French, if they sat perfectly still during the reading, I then gave them a free translation in English.

In 1854, we thought of removing to the forest as we were cramped for room, and should have then sent the elder boys to Mr. Gilderdale’s but there was no railway from Walthamstow to London, and houses were scarce, so we waited. On November (the 9th) our daughter Margaret was born, she was delicate, and we had her baptised hastily. For many weeks I was kept in my room with illness, and a wet nurse was had for the baby. On the 15th of January 1855, I was able to go to Church, my sister Louie being with me.

I had not left my room before, and was very weak. Charles was away, and in the evening Louie was very unwell, and my monthly nurse, who was still with me, put her into a hot bath in my bedroom. She became much worse, and was lifted into my bed, Doctors came, who thought her in imminent danger, and I spent that night in running about, when in the morning, I had been an invalid.

Early we sent to Croydon for my mother, and to London for Dr. Addison, and by Louie’s wish to Mr. Bean our Uncle at Camberwell. They met in consultation, and Louie asked Mr. Bean to return to tell her if she were dying. I was by her, and shall never forget my sensation as he came into the room, and pronounced the verdict… death………….

She asked for Mr. Gordon to administer the Holy Communion which we received, together, and Mr. Gordon left. After he went, she turned her face to me, and said in a whisper, “I feel sure dear I shall recover.”

The attack was Peritonitis of a most severe kind, and for days we doubted the result. She was in our bedroom for six weeks but did rally. All our children were dispersed to different friends, only the baby and her nurse left. In April Louie was taken to Croydon in a carriage, and we returned to our room and once more collected our scattered family. But peace was short lived. In a week or two the twins and Katie were taken ill with Scarlet fever, the nurse who had been with Louie, came back to nurse them, and we had to undergo for many weeks, a system of quarantine, or course, no one risked coming to see us, though the patients were isolated; only Mrs Bernard Lucas, met me daily out of doors. The elder girls had a daily governess who left directly, so I had them again to teach. The children recovered well, we had sent baby and her nurse to Woodford Green from the first, and as soon as the three could go they followed. There were no drawbacks with the twins, save that Alice made Duncan swallow a brass knob of the blind, which alarmed us. Katie had dropsy.

Chapter Nine

Move to Upper Homerton - Frank, Basil, Honoria and Janet born - The Croydon wet nurse - Move to Grove House - Typhus and the drains

As some difficulties occurred this year in my husband’s business and home expenses increased we thought it best to take a more roomy house and in place of advancing the elder boys to the school in Romanoff House, we had better let them continue their education at the Grammar School, where Mr. Jackson was a clever head master with good staff.

Fortunately a large old house in Upper Homerton was to let in a good position near Mrs. Greenwood and the five houses, it contained more rooms than in Clapton Square, and all much larger a small garden. At midsummer 1855, we went into it and Stewart and Bertie resumed work at the Grammar School. On the 9th of December Frank was born, I had then nine children living, the eldest not 11 years old.

The elder girls and Duncan were taught by a daily governess for some time, when Duncan was six years old he went to school at Highgate Hill at a Miss Amsden’s.

Both the elder boys held good places at School, and usually took prizes. Stewart was specially clever, I was always interested in their lessons, and when the Wednesday papers began, (questions to answer on all topics,) I would not help them, but always looked out the replies to see they were rightly understood.

In the Autumn of 1856 Charles and I went to Paris for a few days, leaving Miss Grassman with the children; this was my husband’s first foreign experience. We went first to the Louvre Hotel, but Meriscoe Pearce my cousin, then studying painting in Paris, called it very extravagant and took a room for us in the OcoQuartier, and showed us where to find good meals cheaply in the Luxembourg Quartier.

A Mr. White who knew Charles showed us many places of interest, we went to see Dr. Denys, also met Mr. Blaxland and went to hear preaching at Saint Sulpice and at Saint Roel where are ten lovely statues.

In 1856 Miss Grassman began to teach the children and Katie had a few lessons. Miss Grassman was of German family, and very well educated, the children were quite attached to her and she taught admirably, but her intense pride towards me, was a daily trial.

In February 1857 Basil was born, the 16th, he was a delicate boy, and could not be fed on milk as Frank had been, and therefore he also had a nurse. She did not do well, and my mother advised us to let her entrust him to a young widow at Croydon, where she lived then, and she would carefully watch him. Early in August we were going for a holiday to Ilfracombe, and before we left London, went down to Croydon to see the baby, as my mother and sisters had gone to the sea.

On arriving at the cottage, no one was in the house, it was dirty and wretched, an old cradle stood in the middle of the floor. I glanced at it, thinking it empty, but on looking closer, we saw our poor little Basil, in a heavy sleep, dirty, emanciated, the face of an old man, and hands like bird’s claws. We were dreadfully shocked, and I took him up, rolled in a blanket, and we looked for some neighbours, who could tell us more. One woman said “Oh Ma’am go to the public house close by, and the landlady will tell you.” So we went, the kind woman cried when she saw us and the baby, she said she knew it was a gentleman’s child by its clothes, but the widow never allowed it to be so. We heard how this woman had only pretended to nurse Basil, as she also had her own child, she used to drink constantly, and would take our baby into the public house, and give it gin till it went to sleep. The mistress of the house was miserable but could not find out anything about the poor child. When my mother and sisters left, they ordered their servants to see to the child but something prevented. We had to leave him there, and go home, and at once, found a nice person, who knew Mrs. Lucas, and who had just lost her baby. The next day I went to Croydon and brought him home. He at once took to his new nurse, who came to us, and remained some months. As she was a nice person, we parted with Nurse Read, and only kept Anne, the under nurse, for Frank, and the two little girls.

In 1856 the three elder girls had gone to school at Notting Hill, to Miss Harvey, a friend of Mrs. Greenwood’s. Like so many of those people who fancy they can establish a school at any time, she tried to sink the family and do justice to pupils, in this she failed, and we removed the children.

In September 1857, we went to Ilfracombe for ten days. On opening the newspaper in the train on our leaving London, we first saw the terrible accounts of the Indian Mutiny. No words now can describe the shock inflicted by the terrible details of this outbreak, it was wholly unexpected, as the early threatenings of the rebels had been kept so quiet, and we always thought of India as a safe possession. I remember being so excited by reading the particulars of the various massacres of men, women, and children with all the added horrors and exaggerated accounts, that I could hardly bear the motion of the train. I think it spoilt my holiday, though in those days, before the rail was made it was lovely travelling, from Barnstaple to Ilfracombe outside the coach. We had rooms in Coronation Terrace, under Hillsboro’. No one who visits Ilfracombe now, can imagine what it was, when Wildersmouth was all rocks, and the Capstan a bare Headland, and the Tors a wild spot. We went to Lymouth, and only just escaped a bad accident on --- Hill, where one of the four horses jibbed and backed the stage into a shed by the road, at which crisis, I jumped down from the box seat. All was lovely and our holiday only too short.

In 1858, I had a bad illness in June. My brother-in-law Thomas Woolley who had brought his family home from Sydney in 1856 became seriously ill, and after much suffering died at the Victoria Hotel, St. Leonards; his third daughter Eliza, had died before him. The widow and her five children returned to Sydney soon afterwards. Old Mrs. Woolley had left her sister-in-law’s house, at Westergate, Sussex, and taken a small one in Clarence Road, Hackney, with her eldest daughter Mary in 1857; for some time she was very happy there, but a stroke of paralysis rendered her almost powerless. She was ill for several months and in March 1857 she died. I was laid up at the time, having been confined with a boy, John, who only lived a few hours, and whom I never saw.

The elder boys did very well at school, working hard, and Stewart was to leave the Grammar School at Midsummer and go to Sherborne, a public school, as he was intended to be a lawyer.

At that time, my husband was doing very well, and as the boys and all needed change, we took a large house at Eastbourne (then a small country place) in Cornfield Terrace, where we went for the holidays, taking Jane Salmon as cook, a housemaid and two nurses. Uncle and Aunt John Pearce came down to stay, bringing their servants, James and Susan, driving down from Clapton. After they left, my mother and sisters came. It was a very bright time, Charles was down often, and played cricket making up a club of their own. Then we became friends of William Mortimer, who we all liked. Two boys, sons of the Marquis of Huntley also were of the club. The eldest has made himself very notorious as Marquis of Huntley, the younger, Lord Louis Gordon, went down in the “Captain” off Spain. When we came home, I prepared my Stewart to go into the house of Dr. Harper Head Master of Sherbourne, it was a great trial to us to part with him, he was a strangely nervous boy, but we hoped such great things for him in his future, his abilities were unusual. He had genius, alas! A poor adornment.

At the end of Autumn Charles and I went to the sea alone, and being at Weymouth, we unwisely had Stewart to join us for a few days. We saw Portland, and then took him to Sherbourne to see the Harpers, and the school house. It is greatly improved now I hear, the old Chapel, which then was a drawing room, has been restored. The visit unsettled our boy. We came home by Bournemouth which then consisted of a small Hotel, and a few houses in the Pine Woods. The Ex King of the French, Louis Philippe lived there in a small house, we met two of the young Princesses and the Prince de Joinville in a pouring rain all drest in mc’intoshes, cloaks and galoshes!

At Christmas, Stewart brought Frank Edmondes home with him, Frank was in Stewart’s class, the upper 5th at first, but soon left it, he was cousin to Mrs. Harper who was a daughter of Col. Harness, who had been at Lucknow during the mutiny, and after was Governor of Chatham. Mrs. Edmundes was his sister. We were all fond of Frank, and he often was at our house, when he left Sherbourne for Woolwich and Chatham. He passed his examination well and got into the Engineers. Later on, he went to Bermuda, coming home in 1871, we saw much of him, then until he was engaged to a Miss Bowen in 1873, or 4. Stewart did well in the upper 5th and was removed to the 6th form where prizes were not given, only a medal on leaving, then he flagged. All this is in advance of Christmas 1859.

All will remember a large young party that Christmas, when William Mortimer was the leader, and when old Wicks, the butler to Mrs. Greenwood (lent us for the occasion) came to me during the dancing with alarm on his broad face, saying, “Ma’am, stop it, the chandelier in the dining room is vibrating awful, and will fall on the supper”, to avoid this catastrophe, I made only half of the couples dance the polka at once.

At that time Duncan had gone to school at Chatham House, Ramsgate, as he needed sea air.

I suppose, were it now compared with the curriculum of Cheltenham College, it would be nowhere! I cannot recollect that we took the children to the sea in 1860. On the 16th of July a 7th daughter, Honoria Maud was added to the nursery, and once more Nurse Read was installed as head.

It was a wet Summer, and the Autumn was not good, in September Charles and I went to Germany and up the Rhine and visited the high Vineyards where the wine was very fine after a comet year. I recollect we drove up in the evening from Frankfort and came down to Mayence very late at night. We also saw Heidelberg with the lovely Neckar. The ruins are so beautiful but somehow I felt as if the castle had been pulled down! Like Hurst Monceaux near Eastbourne. We staid at the Hotel de Russia in Frankfort, formerly kept by M. Sarg, whom I had seen at Mr. Fry’s. He had entertained the Czar of Russia who gave his name and some splendid vases to the Hotel, and stood sponsor to M. Sarg’s daughter, Alexandria, she was a beautiful pianiste. The “Cuisine” there we found admirable.

We came home by Paris, and had difficulty in finding rooms, it was so full of tourists returning. The weather was more or less wet always, and we were glad to be at home.

The Winter brought all the family home, with much bustle and work for all, and their father was not so cheerful as of old with them, for there was much trouble in the world, and he shared it. We decided that all must be contented at home in the Midsummer holidays of 1861, but unexpectedly, Mrs. Bernard Lucas asked us if we would go to the sea, and let Mr. Nathaniel Powell have our house at once, as scarlet fever had broken out in his, at Buckhurst Hill. We had only four days notice, I went off alone to Worthing, found a house in Liverpool Terrace to accommodate us, and we got there within the time. It was a school, so plenty of room for all, but poorly supplied. Mrs. Lucas and her son came to us for a week, we went to Arundel and made other excursions, but Charles could not get away often to be with us, and eleven children to manage alone, was not an enjoyment to me.

We intended Bertie to go into his father’s business and thought it well, he should obtain a good knowledge of French and German, so in September, he went to Vevey in Switzerland, to M. Guerin, a school recommended by Mr. G. Simon. I disliked his leaving home, but thought it best. By this time we seemed to have out grown our house in Upper Homerton, the sitting rooms were excellent, but we only had 6 bedrooms and a nursery, with a small bedroom on the ground floor, not desirable. I knew our family might be larger in 1862, so begged my husband to let us find a larger house, especially as Stewart was to leave school at Christmas. I have never ceased to regret this removal; had we waited, for a time, we should have found that circumstances would have so ordered, we could have remained, indeed the house was so good and would have allowed of alterations subsequently made by our Successors there, that it would have allowed us to remain for years, and saved us many weary cares and troubles. Perhaps however, we were ordained to make this mistake that we might suffer from so doing. Some day we may know whether it was so.

It was not easy to find a house as we did not wish to leave Clapton; at last we took the only one there vacant, feeling it was too large and expensive besides having other disadvantages of position. Grove House stood in two acres of gardens, was approached by a private road with turnpike gate, and was beyond the railway station. I cannot say we took no advice, for we consulted my Uncle John Pearce, but he disliked interfering, and only wished us to remain near to him; besides he knew my husband had been prospering, and he supposed, still was so. He little knew what were the demands on a man with such a family as ours. I think the fault in this was mine; though a husband ought to rule in such matters, mine was only too willing to gratify me.

A great calamity fell upon the country at this time in the death of the Prince Consort on the 14th December after a short illness. He had no doubt, over-taxed a constitution never strong, and had much anxiety on account of the Prince of Wales. A cold taken when his great coat had been forgotten brought on some fever which became serious.

In spite of the entreaties of his wife, and of Sir William Turner, the specialist for this malady, the Prince refused all stimulants, and soon sank under the disease. His death was only known on Sunday morning, we were told of it as we were going into St. John’s, Hackney, we felt stunned.

News was brought to the Rector, and suddenly in the service the Dead March in Saul was played. I shall never forget the thrill of pain which seemed to pass over all the congregation as they rose, guessing the case.

The death of Prince Albert was a terrible sorrow to the Queen, and in some ways a loss to the country in the great talent he had displayed for evolving the art and science of the day, but the Prince of Wales, was of an age to take his place as Heir Apparent and the devotion of the Queen to her husband, must have raised many difficulties.

The Prince had not been very amenable to his father’s rule, and much home trouble had occurred, indeed in a degree Prince Albert’s death was hastened by this.

The Queen remained in entire seclusion as regarded public life for several years.

We removed from Upper Homerton to Grove House, Upper Clapton, before Christmas 1861, and I cannot say our first Christmas Day there was very bright or pleasant. Stewart had left Sherbourne and was to go into Uncle John Pearce’s office. Miss Levin was the governess, but very inefficient and we arranged that Amy and Alice should go to school at Cheltenham where Louie was.

On the 11th January 1862, our little Janet was born, a beautiful child, she was called after Miss Bowman, her godmother. Soon after I recovered, Katie and Margaret were taken seriously ill, and it was soon found to be typhus or low fever, the under nurse, Ellen Parish was infected, and became dangerously ill, another servant slightly. After a time, it was traced to impure water, and it was discovered that the wall of the well for drinking water was cracked, and that drainage water leaked into it. Charles attacked the vestry, and it was found that all drainage from the small houses round, as well as from Grove House was most insanitary, and the authorities were compelled to expend £400, on the proper drainage. At one time we feared that both Margaret and Ellen Parish would have died, but after a long, serious illness, all recovered, and the children and nurse went away for a change. The baby was a very sweet child, very intelligent at eight months old she sat up in her chair, playing with her wooden animals, and making the noises of each. She wore a white silk bonnet, lined with pink, and was called “The Beauty of Upper Clapton.”

In this Spring, we first knew our dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Charles Jacomb of Spring Fields, and soon knew many of our neighbours. I had a district for coal and clothing clubs, 40 houses, we were a very large family 18 or 19 people. I had all the management of them, clothing to direct for all, a Reading Society, and some visiting in the evening, a busy full life.

In September, Aunt and Uncle John went to Margate, and wanted me to stay with them, Charles came part of the time. When I came home early in October I found my baby rather too excitable, and I was much with her. Very soon, more painfully acute symptoms arose, and Mr. Toulmin feared for the brain. Then began ten terrible weeks, she never rested unless when carried about, and four of us, in turn walked up and down those nurseries day and night, her head resting on a small pillow, if we paused, or tried to sit down, her cries were pitiful. So it went on to Christmas Eve, all were nearly worn out, and at six p.m. her Father called her as she lay moaning in my arms, and she was at peace. We could not lament for her, her suffering had been too great but we missed her sweet face, I often think how little Maud, then 2 ½ years old, used to walk up and down by my side, as I carried Janet, holding by my dress, and I remember too, how when we told all the children that she had gone home, Stewart took them all into the dining room, and kept them quiet and occupied, that I might rest. On Christmas morning Charles and I went to the early service at St. Matthew’s. Ada Lashbrook was with us in 1863 as governess to the four younger children, her father having lost money through Mr. Harrison, they had to retrench for a time.

All through the Winter and early Spring I was not well, the long illness had tried me, and we were not happy as to our boy’s work at Gresham House, he was not able to resist the attraction of billiard playing in London, and found office work very dull. The Prince of Wales on the 10th, of March married the Princess of Denmark, who had been raptorously welcomed in London on her arrival. She was eighteen, and a beautiful girl, who had been well brought up in so simple a household, that she was used to the utmost economy.

On her first visit to the Court of England, “to be inspected” the Queen presented her with many suitable dresses, her own girlish cotton frocks being impossible.

We went down to Folkestone on the wedding-day, then only a little quiet place. The steep old streets leading from the sea, were illuminated with Chinese Lanterns suspended across, from house to house. On the 11th, we crossed over, and went to Paris for ten days, as a change. The weather became intensely cold and felt perished even in our rooms at the Hotel Meurice, whilst the keen wind blowing along the straight streets rendered going out really a suffering. We came home to very much sorrow. It was evident that our Stewart would not do any good in the profession for which he had been educated, and in which we hoped he would follow my Uncle and Cousin.

He insisted on going to sea, and though we knew the life would be most uncongenial to him, we found opposition useless. I always think, that this bitter disappointment was the beginning of his father’s illness.

Early in May he went out to China in a merchant vessel belonging to a friend. My sister Louie came up to stay with and comfort us when he left, it was dreadful to me, and I felt then just as I did when I stood by his coffin seven years afterwards – stunned. He left, drest in his sailor’s uniform in the middle of the day, but at tea time suddenly returned with another lad, as the vessel was not to sail till midnight, so that she might go out of dock on Sunday morning, another goodbye, but I could not give way.

The following day was Whit Sunday and I was not able to go to Church, a lovely day, and I was alone, when our nurse came in to see if our little Margaret was with me as she had left the others in the garden some time, I was roused up by this, and searched the house and the garden for her in vain. After a time her father and Aunt with the elder ones returned from Church, and he at once went out to look for her, thinking that she had hidden herself. Bertie took another direction. When her father had gone about three quarters of a mile towards London, he saw a little figure sitting under a wall by the road-side, with a great flat bundle, fastened up in a blanket, - it was the child. He went gently up to her, and asked where she wished to go. And she told him at once, she was waiting for an omnibus to take her to London. She was going to the docks to find a ship that would take her to China to be with her dear Stewart. Her father said that on Sunday she could not go into the docks, and that she would require clothes and money. She told him, she had seven pence halfpenny and her breakfast in the bundle, and had taken her winter frock and cape, as it might be cold! How so fragile a child had carried that bundle for so great a distance remained a mystery, her father could not carry it home. He advised her to return with him to Grove House for the present. She said no more, and quickly walked back. We begged her Aunt to take her into her room alone, and after giving her some nourishment, she slept, quite worn out.

She never spoke of this adventure to anyone, nor have I ever heard her allude to it. It, however, affected her nervous system, and very shortly she had one or two cataleptic seizures. Sir William Gull came to see her, with Mr. Toulmin who was greatly interested in her always but they said very little notice should be taken of these attacks to her.

It was not easy to prevent the other children being excited when they occurred, and we found their notice rather tended to increase them. So Louie decided on returning home to Ilfracombe, taking Margaret where she would have sea air and be entirely away from all associations reminding her of the brother’s absence she so much loved.

In September of 1863, we also took rooms at Ilfracombe, and I went there with the three elder girls. We had a large cheerful party there. My mother and sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Lucas and the Bernard Lucas’ the Beans and others, Charles came down for his holiday, but could not stay long. I omitted to say that just before we left home we had received a letter from my brother William whom we had believed to be dead many years, as he left London in 1849, and had not written after 1850, it was a nice letter, he had struggled through a hard life, had married a good woman, though of inferior social standing, and had a family who was growing up on some land he farmed, at Coleraine in Australia. He had become a Christian man, his wife’s influence bringing back all he had been taught when young, and now, as a father himself he had begun to understand what his mother must have felt in thinking of him as dying in so unprepared a state, so he wrote. The story of his death had arisen from the body of a man being found near Adelaide whose clothes were marked “W. Pearce” how he came by them, will never be known, but thus it happened, and my brother’s death was accepted.

We met at Ilfracombe our friend Mrs. Scott of Hyde Park Street, a young widow with three little children who also was on Hillsboro’ Terrace. She has been our friend ever since.

A sad accident happened whilst we were at Ilfracombe, just before we left. A gale had blown, causing a heavy ground swell on to the beach, and bathing for ladies was objected to. One lady, who was to leave the next day, and to be married very soon insisted on going in and refused the rope which she was urged to take. My husband who swam very well, had found the water so unpleasant, he had gone into his machine in the Gentlemen’s Cove, and was partly drest, when the man in charge, rushed to him, entreating him to come at once as a lady was drowning. Without delay, as he was, Charles hurried round to the other Cove, and dashed into the sullen waves, swimming with another man to the place where the poor woman had struck against a rock.

He was of course, embarrassed by being partly dressed, and, though there was another man to assist, it was most difficult to get through the ground swell, the poor woman was also very heavy, and quite unconscious, so that she sank in the water. At last she was brought to the beach, and carried up to the bathing house, a doctor was sent for, and as soon as my husband reached land, he begged me and my sister Jane to go to assist. For two hours, under direction, we did all that was possible, one or twice she appeared to breathe; but at last it was of no use to employ means, all was over. Her poor mother was there, it was her only child, just going to be married.

The whole affair was trying, and to my husband a great shock, he had to see the family and give evidence, he did not recover for some time, as it was so injurious to him, thus to have gone again into the rough sea, after once coming out.

Indeed I always felt this was the cause of illness which came on early in 1864 and from which he never recovered.

About this time, 1864, Duncan went to school at the Merchant Taylor’s, and Frank and Basil to Ramsgate.

I think also in this year, Amy and Alice were at home, and we tried a German lady for a Governess, Miss Lauterain who taught Mrs. Jelf and her sisters, but she did not get on well with our girls. Amy had very curious fads and Alice was rather insubordinate. I had a severe illness in April of this year when Jane stayed with us. My sister Louie had not been well after we left Ilfracombe, and they removed to Bath to consult an eminent surgeon there, and whilst living in apartments, met again Mr. Buttanshaw who was an old friend, his family having known my mother and all of us, at Tunbridge Wells, he was the curate at Bath Abbey, and a man of good fortune.

Chapter Ten

Charles unwell - Charlie born - Louie unwell - A dreadful secret

In the summer of this year, my husband began to experience curious sensations in his hands and fingers, a tingling in them and inability to grasp anything, if he took up a glass or cup, it fell from his hand.

On consulting Mr. Toulmin he said it was the result of over strain and anxiety, he had so enlarged his scope of business, and was also engaged in the buying of property in the city, to build new offices, as a means of making money, such being very valuable.

Our family was so large and needed much outlay to keep them, and give them the best education, thus he felt he must exert himself to the utmost, and gain a fortune by extra toil beyond business.

It was the mistake thousands have made, health sacrificed for wealth, but it was not for himself he worked, but for me and his children.

Mr. Toulmin ordered him at once to go to the sea, and take a few weeks of entire rest.

We went down to Cromer in August, but could not get rooms, he returned to London, and then tried our old favourite place, Eastbourne where we had small rooms in Cornfield Terrace, taking Katie Margie and Maud, with Ellen Blain.

Charles lost the symptoms which alarmed us, and was only anxious to get back to town, where he was much wanted. In the Autumn, he took me to Torquay, and we paid a visit to Ilfracombe, on our way home, as my mother and sisters had a home for the Winter in Hillsboro’ Terrace.

At Christmas all were at home excepting Stewart, our three elder girls had been three years at school at Cheltenham, and Louie being 17 only needed masters so we arranged to have a resident governess for the four others, the younger ones, Kate and Margie requiring regular teaching. Miss Lauterain found the little ones, not sufficiently advanced for her, so she wished to leave, and we heard of Miss Woollett who came later on.

It was a hot Spring and Summer. On July the 7th our last child was born. Mr. & Mrs. Jacomb were his sponsers, and Bertie and Louie. I had for some years been much attached to Mrs. Jacomb, indeed she was one of the few friends I ever made. Mrs. Bernard Lucas was my very best, but her only child Matthew had made a very bad marriage in 1861, whilst we were at Worthing, and in the year after, when we removed to Grove House, the Lucas’ gave up their dear little home in Lower Clapton, and went to Putney, near Barnes Common.

Mrs. Blaxland too, soon after left Clapton Square so I much valued having Mrs. Charles Jacomb for a friend. In the early Spring of 1865, the Jacomb’s youngest boy, Harold died, he had only a slight fall from a stool, but it was fatal. We had decided on calling our baby ‘Horace Charles’ but meant to call him Charlie, our eldest son being Stewart.

When Mrs. Kingsford asked Mrs. Jacomb to name the child, she said ‘Harold Charles’. I thought at once that her lost boy’s name had been on her mind, and I would not alter it. Afterwards I heard, she had asked my husband to let the baby be ‘Harold’ and he at once consented.

All the early part of 1865, my dear sister Louie had been suffering much, they were in Bath and had a house on Sion Hill. Mr. Buttanshaw had been very ill, and not being fit for a journey, yet needing a change, my mother invited him to go to her house, there he had a serious relapse and was dangerously ill. A nurse was had, and my sister Jane often helped her. When he recovered sufficiently, he went to South Devon, and soon after, wrote to Jane, making her an offer which she accepted. She came to see us in the Summer before Charlie was born. In September, I went to Cromer, taking the five girls. Louie stayed at home with Charlie and his nurse.

All this year my dear husband was greatly harassed in business, so hampered by the difficulties in arranging for purchase of houses in Mark Lane, business also was bad.

He could rarely come to Cromer. Emma Bean came to stay with me, but I also was very anxious and not well.

We heard that my sister was more ill, and that an operation was needed, which Spencer Wells was to perform, and for which my mother and sisters were to come to London, I accordingly decided on going home.

Whilst we were away, before Louie became so very ill, Jane came to stay at Uncle John’s in Clapton, and Mr. Buttanshaw staid at Grove House, that he might be introduced to all our family, as the wedding would not be later than the Spring.

On our way home, we went to Norwich to see the Chapel in a stable which had been set up by Father Ignatius, (Mr. Lyne) who has gone on making himself conspicuous to this time. It was a poor place, with tawdry decorations, a stout young fellow in a Monk’s dress, with bare feet, was in charge. Emma asked him “How they lived’. “Oh”, he said, “we beg for all we need.”

“Indeed”, replied Emma, “Were I a stout young man like you, I would rather be a railway porter, then degrade myself by begging for food!” I was much amused at her suggestion to him.

My mother and sisters came up to Somerset Street early in October and I was often with Louie. She was very hopeful as to the operation, fully believing a perfect cure would ensue. I was not allowed to stay with her at the time, as she and I wished, but Emma Bean was chosen I had never felt so sure as the others, that all would go well, so I was not to be there.

Our friend and doctor at Clapton was present however, during the operation, and came to see me directly. I learned from him that no operation had taken place, as on examination Mr. Wells, found it would be fatal, this distressing part he did not see fit to communicate to any of the family, but Mr. Toulmin said he should at once tell me.

He advised me to say nothing of it, except to my husband. It was a great trial to us when we went to Somerset Street in a day or two, to find that my mother, Jane and all friends, were so delighted that all was well over, and when I saw dear Louie she was quite happy and sanguine as to speedy recovery.

A short time elapsed, and one day, Mr. Wells came into the drawing-room, when I was alone, and at once said he much wished to see as he knew that I was aware how differently all had occurred, to what was expected. I was very hard with him, as to the concealment of the truth, but he said, I must keep it a secret, as if known to any one who would divulge it to Louie, the result would be most serious.

He said she might live a year or two, perhaps less. I think he felt the disgrace of the misrepresentation he was making of the case, but still, insisted on my silence.

The following weeks of October, and into November, were to me dreadful, Louie was altered by the Chloroform I fancy, and was very excitable and irritable, the doctor and nurse who knew all, felt I was watching and blaming them.

Jane was to be married in February, and was engaged in buying her Trousseau; it was terrible to me to see poor Louie interested about the wedding, choosing her dress, etc. for it, and talking over plans, when I knew her days were numbered.

At last, as a change came over her, and all could see, she made no progress to recovery, Mr. Wells advised she should be taken home to Bath, feeling no doubt, she might sink and die.

I went with the party to Paddington on a dark foggy day in November, two porters carried Louie from the carriage to the railway, and we placed her in a corner making a sofa, she looked awfully ill, everyone seemed shocked who saw her, when I at last said good-bye, she whispered, “Dear Mary, you have done all you could for me.” So we parted until the end came.

It was a dull winter, and I suppose I wrote to Bath in bad spirits.

Louie kept her bed, and gained no strength, but often wrote telling me to be more cheerful about her, as she should be well by the wedding, and preparing for it whilst we knew she was dying.

The holidays were a break and all but Stewart were at home, no one suspected our sorrow.

At last, on the 11th January 1866, a heavy fog of two days, brought tremendous snow storm and cold, all telegraph wires were broken by the snow.

I was alone about 4 p.m. when my husband came in, and I felt he had bad news. The guard of the Bath train had brought a note from Mr. Buttanshaw begging us to go down at once to Louie. I was very unwell, bur forgot it, and prepared to go by the last train. It was an awful journey, such cold, and a fierce gale of wind.

The ‘London’ a large vessel to Sydney, went down that night in the channel. Dr. Woolley of Sydney College was on board, and he collected all round him for prayer as the ship foundered. A carriage was waiting at the station at 12 at night for us, but the roads were in such a state from ice and snow, that the pair of strong horses could with difficulty draw us up Zion Hill.

All were up at Mother’s, and we learnt that in the day after intense pain, Louie had nearly died, when some internal formation had given way, so we were sent for.

It was exactly what Mr. Wells had foretold to me, and I knew there was only a few days of life for my dear one.

It appeared that acute pain had come on, and Dr. Coates sent for an eminent surgeon to see what caused it. After examination and much suffering, it was found that some formation had taken place, and that death must ensue. I told my mother and Jane all the history of Mr. Wells’ failure, and that he said she could only have lived a few months. It was a sad time, they were deeply offended I had kept it secret and of course, most indignant with Mr. Wells. There were two nurses and in spite of the intense cold, all windows open, I sat up with dear Louie, who did not know how near was the end, she was quite herself, but excited. In the week which followed, I was only out of her room for 14 hours to rest, I sat by her wrapt in a fur cloak.

I had to repeat all the story of failure to Dr. Coates and the surgeon who utterly condemned Mr. Wells, indeed the Bath Medical Journal severely blamed him.

On the evening of the 16th January, the nurse took some stimulant to Louie who put out her hand for the glass, saying, “I feel as strong as a good horse, nurse,” they begged me to go down at seven to have some dinner, but I suddenly felt I was wanted, and begging Mother to excuse me, ran upstairs. Nurse met me at the top, coming to fetch me. There was a change, I sent her for the others, and went to the bed head, Louie was sleeping, all came up about eight. A lovely pink colour came over her face, she opened her eyes as if she saw something which delighted her, and a sweet smile came, Nurse said, “She is gone,” and I closed her eyes.

I knew then what real sorrow was, and it seemed as if I had lost the most precious thing in life.

We all went home after the funeral. She was laid in the Abbey Cemetery. Jane broke down quite, and Mr. Buttanshaw was very kind, but I felt so bereft I could not lament or grieve outwardly.

All arrangements had been made for Jane’s wedding. My mother was to live with them in Russell Square and her house was let. On the 20th February, Charles and I with Louie, went to Zion Hill, and on the 21st the wedding took place in the Abbey. Only Mr. and Mrs. Thorp were present, and with the Rector, Mr. Kemble, came to breakfast, the couple went to Torquay, and the next day, my husband and Louie went home.

I was to remain with Mother till the pair came back to their new home. Mother went to them in March, and I was glad to be again at Grove House.

All our home worries and cares before, seemed as nothing to the loss of Louie. My husband was so greatly attached to her. She had our respect as well as our love.

From that time, I reckon began the long course of troubles and misfortunes which still continue to follow me, but I look back, and can often say it has been a wise discipline. I hope I may do so still. Business matters were very involved, and caused much anxiety, though my husband felt so sure all would eventually be prosperous, and he should be a rich man.

In April my dear friend Mrs. Jacomb who had been my great comfort was confined. I had two of her girls staying with us at the time. On the second day after the baby’s birth, Mr. Toulmin came telling me he was anxious about her, and begging I would take her girls to see her, and she specially was asking for me. I went into her room, where was Mr. Jacomb and his mother. My dear friend’s face was flushed, and her eyes so bright, her curly hair making her look so young.

She sat up as she saw me, and told me she was going home, and would I promise to be a mother to her children? I felt overwhelmed. She urged it again, and it was very grievous, with her husband watching her. At last I said, that whatever was in my power to do for her children, I would do it to the best of my ability.

She seemed happy, and kissed me, saying “Goodbye”.

In another hour, all was over.

Mrs. Jacomb’s loss was a great sorrow, for we were really friends, and I had depended much on her affection to fill a part of the terrible blank left by my Louie’s death, very different arrangements were soon made in Mr. Jacomb’s house, and his children were separated from old friends, but he never forgot the close tie between his wife and me.

After years his kindness proved this, and but a few years ago, when his son Edgar died at Davos Platz, he alluded to his wife’s last moments, in replying to my letter of sympathy.

The Summer of 1866 saw my mother settled in Russell Street, Bath, with Mr. Buttanshaw and Jane. He became quite out of health and they went abroad, my mother coming to us at Grove House. After the holidays Alice went to school at Mrs. Daugars in North Hampstead. We were at home in the Summer and Charles was worm with anxiety, so in the Autumn we went over to Normandy, and Brittany for a short stay. The weather was very bad and cold, and neither of us were very cheerful.

The old Norman towns of Lisieur, Caen, and others were however very interesting, but we turned back at Caen, giving up Brittany till a more favourable season.

We decided to spend the last fortnight in Brighton, sending for Louie and Amy to join us. I was suddenly taken ill and was laid aside for a month, Charles could not possibly remain away, so my cousin Emma Bean came to look after me and the girls.

During our stay there in November, occurred the wonderful “Meteoric Shower” of falling stars, the grandest which has happened yet.

Chapter Eleven

Return and unsatisfactoriness of Stewart (son) – Cannibals - Move to Woodford - Journey through the Alps for Charles’s health

Almost immediately after our return, our poor Stewart came home from Australia. He had held some post in Japan, but I doubt if he were ever fit for work. He was very ill in China, and had ophalmia with his old malady of internal tubercles, so that he was for a long time in hospital.

The Counsel at Hong Kong, Mr. Hewlett, knew his father, and he went to his house, then to the French Charge d’affaires who took a great liking to him for his abilities. But as he did not recover, a voyage to Australia was advised, and he went to Sydney. On his way, the vessel touched at the Solomon Islands to get sponge and coral. The natives were and are now, very savage and cannibals, a fight took place, and Stewart was hurt in his foot, but mercifully, all got safe to their vessel. On his reaching Sydney, he staid at Mrs. Tom Woolleys, and she and his cousins were kind to him, but he was not prudent and vexed her. After going to various places, he determined to come home, in the hope of regaining his health. He wished to go on with legal studies so that perhaps he might regain his lost chances, so his father arranged he should be placed with our old friend Mr. Blaxland, whose son Athelstan was in his office. Stewart began well and Mr. Blaxland thought he would succeed, but his old weakness for playing billiards over-mastered him, and we were very anxious, as the Spring of 1867 went on, feeling London was unfit for him both physically and otherwise. This added to his father’s cares much, but I knew little of business anxieties then.

At Christmas 1866, Charles had obtained possession of all the block of New Building in Mark Lane, which had been erected on the sites of four old houses, one of which my mother had been born in in 1794.

It was now wholly offices, and the rental gave a profit of £1000 a year. This property was settled on me and seemed a great possession. I recollect I was ill and the deed was brought up into my bedroom at Grove House to be signed and witnessed. This was my first fortune, and like others I have had since, has vanished away.

In May of 1867, Bertie came of age and as Stewart had been absent when his 21st birthday occurred, I wanted to give the children a dance to celebrate both. Just before I had gone to Worthing not being well, and Charles promised to go and rest, but he could not do so.

On May 29th the birthday party took place, and very bright and gay all were, though there was no extravagance or display. Amy was ill at the time.

We little thought the small cloud of care, would soon spread and break, nor did any feel, that this Summer would be the last of ease and comfort.

Stewart’s health grew worse, and though he had not the moral strength to give up the one bad habit which he blamed himself for indulging, yet he was very unhappy, knowing how he grieved us, so he became very worn, and unfit for anything.

At last in August he decided on going out to Canada as Mr. Toulmin hoped a clear, bracing air might arrest lung mischief. But on the 1st September Charles was attacked by severe illness suddenly, we were so alarmed that Stewart went up to London to fetch Dr. Quain, as our doctor feared the worst.

A week of great anxiety followed, but then he began to rally. Stewart had to sail for Canada on the 12th he had been quite ill from the shock of his father’s attack, and his hurry to fetch Dr. Quain and I was so desirous he might not have to go, without having an assurance that his father would live.

He left Grove House at four a.m. on September 12th I had been sitting up all night, and had gone to his room early. He had closed his box and sat down on it to press the lid to, but he was a mere skeleton, and his weight useless for the purpose, he looked so ill. Bertie went to Liverpool with him, and we were able to send better accounts of his father.

Charles’ illness continued some time, and he was unable to go to London. His business affairs had become so complicated, that he only could have arranged them, his absence was therefore ruin.

His friends constantly came down to Grove House trying to carry out his arrangements in business, but he was fit for no work, and change was ordered, so he went to Worthing, for a month having some of the children.

On our return it became needful to retrench in our way of living, that meant to reduce number of servants and have less ground, so we took a house, The Rookery, George Lane, Woodford, where we went after Christmas 1867. It was a smaller place but now I think we had done better had we lived more cheaply in Grove House, until it was let. Charles was not equal to any business cares, or to face all the complications which had arisen since his illness, and Dr. Quain, said if his intellect were to be saved, he must take six months of entire rest in new scenes.

Directly Aunt and Uncle John heard of this, they gave me a cheque for £100, that no anxiety should weigh on Charles’ mind, as to Expenses. Bertie was then 22, and equal to carrying out regular business, and four intimate friends, undertook to superintend all other matters, so that no sacrifice should be made.

On the 27th I think of April 1868, we left home, and eleven children, with every hope of cure for their father. An old lady friend staid at the Rookery in charge.

It was a hard trial to say goodbye and my little Charlie was only 3 ½ years old, we had asked Jane to take charge of him and his nurse, but Mr. Buttanshaw said he would not have a child for six months and then let him go, so he, Maud, the three elder girls and Bertie, were at home, Duncan at Merchant Taylor’s school, living at Woodford, Frank and Basil at Dr. Guy’s where they were able to remain, through the kind aid of our old friend Mr. Jacomb, who when we talked of removing them for economy, would not allow it, saying all would come right in our future.

We went to Folkestone and spent a week at a private Boarding Hotel on the Lees, kept by some old servants of the Toulmins. The weather was bitterly cold, following a hot early April. Such wind and snow I never saw, we could not leave the house, and Charles was most depressed. On the 3rd May, we saw the vessel pass, having Ada Lashbrooke on board, who was going to Melbourne to marry her cousin Fred Austin.

Suddenly came a change, and in a day or two, we crossed over to Calais, in a broiling Summer’s sunshine, and then began the Summer of 1868, of intense heat, and in spite of trouble, it was an enjoyable six months.

The heat was intense during the crossing to Calais, and I had a violent headache when we reached Paris, where we only were to sleep. I went at once to bed, and my husband strolled out, gradually as the cool of the evening came on, I felt better, and when Charles returned, and ordered a slight, tempting repast to be sent to me, I got up and enjoyed it. We had a good night, and were rested by the morning, when we set off really for Switzerland, but I was so afraid he would be over-taxed by the long journey that we settled to spend two or three days at Dijon, to see the Cathedral, which is old and good, and the town quaint but dull. Finding we had taken so much luggage as would incommode us, we sorted out unnecessary articles, packing a box to be returned to London.

To our annoyance, when settling the bill, money had run short, and we had arranged our circular notes for Neuchatel, where we intended to rest for the first time. The faith and courtesy of the Hotel Proprietor soon relieved us. He begged we would feel quite tranquil, and was content to accept Charles’ promise to send cheque from Neuchatel. After leaving Dijon, the heat was great, and Charles so worn out, that a second halt at Macon was needed.

Macon is a very picturesque town on the [Loire] no very high hills, but on level. All the slopes covered with vines yielding a white wine, Burgundy, at that time little known in England. The river is a lovely feature in the landscape, we enjoyed seeing it, and was sorry the train left so early as to allow no time in the morning for another survey.

Alas! How little we then thought how much loss would eventually be ours, through that halt at Macon. We left at 5 a.m. going in the omnibus with a very charming young couple, French evidently of social standing as three servants were with them. We were in the same railway carriage, and after a while, the gentleman offered us fruit, of which they had a fine display, and as they spoke English well, we had some conversation when Mde. Opened the travelling bag and offered me scent, I saw all the stoppers were gold, having a Duke’s Coronet on them.

She told me of her little children in Paris, two, asked me if I went to the Court, when I informed her that all such life was above my rank in Society, although I knew much about it. This in no way checked the pleasant chat, nor that between our husbands; when we stopped and changed carriages for Switzerland.

They were going to the South of France. I saw their names on the numerous packages on the platform, they were the young Duke and Duchess of ----. My memory now fails for the French title which was that of an old family of whom I had read in Lady Blessington’s book the ‘Idler in France’. After a cordial adieu we separated. The next time I saw the name, it was among the killed in the Franco-German War, a sorrow for her, which neither title nor luxuries could heal I fear.

The railway by Pontalier to Neuchatel was then a model of engineering skill, ascending the Mountain in a series of zigzags, so that you could often see the end of the road just travelled, by the side of that on which the train was running.

It was very late when we reached Neuchatel we were both tired and hungry, but had to content ourselves with some poor food, so went cross to bed. All seemed better the next morning on looking over the beautiful Lake and landscape. After a good breakfast we went out to survey and climbed a high terrace I think near the Castle or Chateau. It was a lovely morning, and the sky and clouds perfect. Suddenly, in an extra gleam of sunshine I began to wonder why some distant white clouds, low on the horizon, were so fixed, no movement. In a few minutes the knowledge flashed upon me, that I was looking for the first time on Snow Mountains. The Alps. I seized Charles’ arm and made him also see, and then we sat and gazed upon them in silence. A sensation I believe, only to enjoy once in a life.

Leaving Neuchatel that afternoon for Lausanne we much enjoyed the views of the Lake of Geneva and mountains, we went to Vevey, where we remained two or three weeks, “en pension” at the hotel de . This had been an old family mansion with frontage to the street, but at the back, consisting of three sides of a quadrangle, and gardens going down to the lake. At Neuchatel we had met two sisters, Misses Jago, cousin Miss McAdam, and Admiral Jago the youngest Admiral in the service. They also came to this Hotel, and we became very intimate. After leaving Vevey, we went on to Glion, a place of most lovely views but not many walks, though I always enjoyed the walk down to Montreux, of course, we saw Chillon and its Castle.

In the middle of June the weather became cold, we had settled to go to the “Diablerets as being higher and more bracing when it was so hot at Vevey; but we found it very cheerless there.

The Hotel was almost empty, and no stores of provisions, all stoves had been taken away, and we had to sit in our cloaks and great coats for warmth. Cakes or sweets none, and cooking bad, it was very dull. However, we at last had some sunshine after days of snow, wind and rain, and had one or two scrambling walks. Then we took a car, and with our luggage drove to Sepey thence by Cumballey, where by Mrs. Scott’s advice, we rested and had splendid coffee, on to Chateau D’Oex this was our first experience of driving in a Swiss car, and the headlong pace at which we decended by zig-zag roads from the mountains, always on the edge of deep ravines, was trying to the nerves of invalids. I quite delighted in it, and always chose the outside edge of the seat, so as to have the greatest swing as we turned the sharp corners. I did not do this on a later visit! Chateau D’Oex is a broad beautiful valley on the Lucerne. We went to the Pension Rosat, our first trial of a real Swiss wooden house with balconies, the highest charge was four francs a day on the 1st floor, we could only get rooms on the second, having the same outlook, all were alike fitted with wooden furniture only bedside carpets, the Salon and Salle a Manger lay on the first floor. Our food was excellent and plentiful, compotes of fruit, cream etc., it was delightful, and weather perfect.

After a few more days more people came from the Diablerets, like ourselves, finding that place cheerless. Among these was a Major and Mrs. Mainwaring, she was a daughter to Kelk, the railway contractor. We became friendly, the Major and Charles played chess often. On the third day or rather evening they played to a late hour, the Major had not been very well, and complained of the shaking of the car in coming. About 5 a.m. we were woke by Mde. Rosas begging me to come at once to Mrs. Mainwaring. I hastily drest, and ran down to her, when to my horror, I found her almost distracted, and her husband dead. She had gone to bed late and fallen asleep, waking up and not finding him with her, she had gone to his dressing-room, a closet door was locked, but she could get no answer, and roused the landlord. After some time the door was forced open, and poor Major Mainwaring was found quite lifeless.

A very trying time followed, we were the only English people, except Mr. and Mrs. Parkes who were Roman Catholics, and the widow clung to us. The funeral had to take place at once, but the syndic of the village, extended the time by a day, until the only child, a son at school at Dresden, I think, could arrive. There were no wires nearer than Thun or Beg, and the weather had changed to a heavy snow storm, rendering travelling difficult. However a young clergyman Daniel Powell, whose family we knew, said he would risk it, he succeeded and Henry Mainwaring reached Chateau D’Oex on the Sunday. The funeral was quite primitive, only a wooden coffin, no mourning to be had such as Mrs. Mainwaring wished for. The little church stood on a high rock in the centre of the valley, it had been the Castle and was reached by a 100 steps. We followed as mourners. The rock was so near the surface, that earth could hardly cover the coffin and the straw laid upon it.

All the trouble and anxiety of arrangements had been ours, as poor Mrs. Mainwaring was absolutely crushed, and needed constant care. My husband was so over tasked by it, that I decided on leaving, as soon as the son came and the funeral over. There chanced to be a return carriage going down to Thun on the Sunday afternoon, so we took it, and drove down the lovely Thal to Thun, which place we reached at the close of the Sunday. It was such a peaceful drive, after the sad, exciting days we had passed through, always near the river, rushing brightly under stones through wooded heights, to lose itself in the lake of Thun.

We went to the Pension, ---- kept by a Swiss Lady who had married Captain Campbell. The evening was closing, but all looked bright, and when our carriage drew up, we saw on the doorstep, two ladies, one of whom sprang towards us, and we saw it was Hannah Hamilton who had been a sort of governess to our little children and companion to me. She was a nice girl, neice to Miss Hildyard who was the governess to the Royal Children, and who was loved by them till her death.

The other lady was Hannah’s sister, Mrs. Margetson with one little girl. It appeared Major Margetson (of Ditchingham Hall, Norfolk), was not in good health, so they were staying here till he felt better, and they were glad we came. We made some excursions, and the Summer days went by, but the Major did not leave his room, and the Swiss doctor looked grave. At last Captain Campbell spoke to us, and said he feared it would end fatally and begged me to break these tidings to his wife, and Hannah. I did so, and once more, we had to go through all the sorrow we had endured at Chateau D’Oex, only now with friends.

I felt it to be impossible to allow Charles again to go through the trial before us. He had been so shaken by the first, and his health and progress had the first claim.

Mr. and Mrs. Parkes came after us, and they promised to stay on and do all these poor people needed, besides Thun was a larger place and an English Chaplin could be found. Hannah saw the necessity for our going, so with great regret we left them, and went to Interlaken, after a few days we heard Major Margetson had died, and we were thankful to be spared more of such grief. After seeing the Falls at Giesbach, we went up the Lake of Brienz to Meyringen and the weather was so lovely, we went to see the Falls of Rosenluc or the ascent of the Little Scheideck. This first trial of real mountain walking with a delightful Guide, was so pleasant, that he easily persuaded us, to let him go back to Meyringen, fetch two small portmanteaus of clothes, and then cross the Little Scheideck and Wengen Alp to Lauter brunnen.

It was easy mountaining of course, but the air was delicious and the novelty great, the only draw back being the grey flies, which bit through gloves or silk wraps, drawing blood, and being very painful. We descended into Grindelwald as the lights were beginning to show in the houses, and went to The Bear, our guide hastening on to order rooms and hot foot baths as our feet were sore with nearly nine hours of walking.

We went in the morning to see the Glacier, then set off over the Wengen Alp to Lauterbrunnen. The snow was in masses on the summit, but it was melting and we heard the fall of slight avalanches. A bottle of champagne at the Hotel on the top was very refreshing. I have always found the descent of a mountain far more trying than climbing, and I certainly was tired and worn out when we accomplished the long weary path backwards and forwards on the mountain-side into Lauterbrunnen. We were really tired and over done by the hot sun, and I know we were rather cross. I am not sure it was a prudent excursion. Certainly not the way to rest.

We reached the hotel at Brienz late in the evening, weary and hungry, for we were too tired at Lauterbrunnen to eat, to our disgust there was nothing for supper but large veal chops, coarsely fried, half cooked, and we went to bed still hungry and cross. The next day we went on to Meyringen once more to collect our luggage left there when going to the mountain, and crossed the grand Bruni Pass to Lucerne. The road was very fine, no railway then, and the outside of the coach or Diligence was delightful. At Lucerne we went to the Schwann Hotell, which I did not care for, as there was no view. After our first ramble about the town and sitting by its beautiful lake, we decided on going to the Pension Schweilzer, kept by the Bros. Kopt, and remaining there for a good rest, making easy excursions. A letter came from our acquaintance the Misses Jago and their brother, begging us to take rooms for them where we were.

Our rooms were very nice, “Au 2nde” opening on to a wide balcony, and looking over the lake. We always contrived to find 2 rooms with door between, one always had a prospect, so we had the two beds moved into the less pleasant one, slept in it, and used it for my dressing room. Charles drest in the other, which we arranged as a sitting room also, and sat there after breakfast. The furniture of such rooms was simple in those days, wooden bedsteads, no curtains, table, chest of drawers with toilette glass and small washstand. We soon got into the way of taking a Siesta after the early meal at 1.p.m. there was always a sofa in each room, so we rested peacefully, until it was cool enough to go out. In those days, no afternoon tea was to be had, but the Jagos and ourselves were provided with tea brought from Home, so we usually joined forces about 4 p.m. thoroughly enjoying our “Cups” though it often was a very picnic affair, it was always merry. We always continued this tea-making and at other places gave pleasure to any nice person when inviting them to share it.

We had simple breakfasts, about 8.30 to 9 a.m. going down when drest, then a good stroll, or a steam boat excursion. Lunch (or early dinner at 1), then rest and letter writing or reading if not done before 1, tea, a long walk. Supper of cold meats, vegetables, sweets compotes, and fruits, afterwards we sat out of doors… Sometimes musicians came and a concert was given, or some played cards, occasionally the young ones danced. We took the usual excursions to Brunn and Fluellen saw William Tell’s Chapel, though his story is now called only a myth, and were never tired of the beautiful Lake Scenery with perpetual variety of coloring on hills, lake and mountains. The bridges too were so picturesque, one all painted on the sides of its wooden roof with Holbein’s Dance of death. Lucerne too had some very quaint and picturesque towers and fountains. One of my occupations I had forgotten, namely making pencil sketches of these views and buildings. I succeeded much better with the last, as views are too extensive for unprofessional artists.

The weather was very fine all that end part of June and July in which we staid at the Schweitzerhaus and at last, we were seized with an intense desire to walk up to the top of Pilatus, sleep there, and see the Sun-rise. Admiral Jago wished to join us, which pleased me, as I liked him, and I knew he would help Charles if tired. All the people in the Pension opposed my going, but I would not let my husband go without me. So one fine afternoon about 3p.m. we started. For some distance the road ascended through orchards then some “Green Alp”, and later on, steep rocky paths, rather tiring, the top is I think about 7,000 feet, but there was one part of the climb steep as on the ‘Little Scheideck’ Admiral Jago did help me. not Charles, for I was rather tired when we reached the top. Being early in the season, there was a bad supply of food, and I am inclined to think the beds were damp ! but we were tired ! and went to bed early, and I was told the two gentlemen slept, but after I had exhausted my first short sleep, I became so excited by the fear of being too late for the sunrise, that I perpetually made a journey to the window, looking for the dawn.

It was decidedly in advance of that time, when I could bear no more delay, but waking Charles, and going outside to call Admiral Jago, we drest and prepared to go up the few hundred feet, remaining to the summit, that was a climb indeed, near the top, the ascent is made through a chasm piercing the rock, a natural one, in which a ladder is laid across, and you have to creep along the rungs of it, on hands and knees, and the passage is so low. When we reached the actual top, we stood looking down on Lucerne at our feet, it was a grey morning, no sun, and we feared no view, the valley below us was piled with masses of cloud, and these appeared to us as though the whole space on which we gazed was filled with masses of white cotton wool. Suddenly, as the sun rose over the peak of the mountains and his rays fell into the Valley, this enormous mass of soft white cloud, drew upwards, and slowly vanishing gradually disclosed all the Lake and its beautiful borders, the town and tbe buildings lying at our feet as a picture!

We stood silent, just looking, watching the changes in the landscape as the sun rose, and feeling we had seen one of the loveliest and most wonderful scenes possible.

After scrambling back to the Hotel and having a proper breakfast, we began the walk down, and as before, it tired me far more than ascending, it was nearly 4 p.m. before we entered the hall of the Schweitzerhause, and all in the Saloons hurried out to greet us, and condole on the dreadful fatigue we had under gone in walking up. We were very cheery, assured them we were not tired, and I ran upstairs to my room saying the walk was easy to English people! However, when I tool off my Alpine boots and stockings all the nails on both feet were dark purple, almost black, from the pressure downwards in the descent.

We remained at Lucerne through July, not doing much after Pilatus as weather was intensely hot. At the close of July, we began our progress to Wildbad, where Charles had by Dr. Quains’ orders, to take a course of baths. On leaving Lucerne we went up to Schaffhausen, and by my wish took rooms in the Chateau Lauffen, the old baronial residence close to the magnificent Falls, our rooms overhung the water – alas! My mistake was evident as soon as we settled in for the night, as sleep was utterly impossible close to the thunder of the huge mass of the water, it was deafening, one only implored it might cease if but for a time, but no! On and on went the mighty roar and if utterly tired, sleep came for a few minutes, it was only to wake to the full consciousness of its being worse than before.

In the morning early we got up, weary and worn, it was a wet morning, and after breakfast, we put on the usual waterproof garments and went out in a boat to a rock under the Falls, and then we realised the perfect majesty of the sight, fortunately the sun shone, and in our great wonder and delight, we forgot our weariness and loss of a night’s rest. I made a little pencil sketch of the tiny bridge which crosses the river. We went on to Baden in very bad weather and the town was so full we could only get rooms with a parapet wall before the windows so we could see nothing but the rain, it was dull. At length we took a fiacre and drove to the Chateau, a very ancient Castle, at first the porter doubted if we could be admitted as the Royal family were there. Just then an officer passed us, he stopped a moment, and when he had gone, we were told it was the Crown Prince, Frederick William the father of the Duchess of Baden, and who afterwards succeeded his brother as King of Prussia afterwards becoming the first Emperor of Germany in 1871.

We saw all the antiquities of the Schloss and its dungeons which were used by the Vengetts or Secret Council. The Oubliette, a deep well, in which persons who had been tried, were led over, when the ground fell under their feet and they fell in, the sides all covered with sword blades. Also the Rack, and other instruments of torture. We went into the rooms now used by the family, at the entrance to the Salon, an attendant courteously asked us to pause, whilst he asked if we might go in. A lady’s voice said we could do so, so we walked in, finding ourselves in the presence of the Grand Duchess, her mother the Crown Princess of Prussia, afterwards the Empress Augusta.

We made a suitable obeisance and retreated, other ladies were there all working, on our way out we again saw the Crown Prince. In the evening we visited the Kursaal and saw the gorgeous Salles for reading, music and gambling. The season was early, so not many people were there, only two or three tables were crowded. I watched the roulette and rouge et noir tables, it looked like a child’s game, and I half wanted to try my luck, but Charles would not.

Correspondence

The following letters form the last part of the typed manuscript of Mary Woolley’s memoirs.

[Mary's family had known the family of her future husband, Charles, for many years. Here her father writes to his mother to tell her of Mary's birth.]

My dear Madam,

When I had last the pleasure of seeing Mr. Wooley he most kindly requested me to communicate to him the result of Louisa’s accouchement, should it take place during his visit to Ramsgate. Being informed that it was his intention to return to-morrow morning (consequently before the Post Delivery) I have taken the liberty of addressing this letter to you knowing the kind interest you and Mary take in my wife’s welfare.

I have the happiness to say, that at 6 o’clock this morning, I received the gratifying present of a little Girl who with its Mother are doing extremely well; at least , they were so this morning when I left Peckham and Mr. Bean conceives nothing as likely to occur to retard Louisa’s speedy restoration to health. As our pleasures are never yielded us without some alloy, I am concerned to say, our little William has been, and still continues very seriously ill; attributable partly to teething, and partly to internal inflammation; I hope he is mending, but he is much reduced. Our cook has also left us, I fear in a dying state, from inflammation; my poor Wife has had enough to do to support herself under these peculiar circumstances.

I hope, my dear Madam, you receive every benefit which the Sea Air can possibly bestow, and that you and Mary are very much enjoying yourselves. I begin to fear the fine weather has taken its flight, not to return this year, and indeed we must not complain, having enjoyed so large a share of it already.

Pray present to Mrs. Heale my respectful compliments, and inform her I walked with Frank this morming, who gave me a favourable account of the inmates of the Lodge.

I beg to apologise for intruding upon you so long a letter and remain,

My dear Madam,

With much respect,

Your humbly obliged Servant,

Stewart P. Pearce.

Swithins Lane,

September 24th 1822.

Mrs Woolley,

At R. Heal, Esqr.,

Wellington Crescent

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[Mary's paternal grandmother writes to Mary's father about her birth.]

My dear Stewart,

I take the earliest opportunity to congratulate you and your dear Louisa on the birth of your dear little son, may it and its mother be long spared as blessings to you; and, now, my dear Stewart, you sustain a very important character in life, as a father. I hope you will be very anxious to discharge the great duties it requires, of you, by training up the dear little immortal to the service of God from whose gracious hands you have received him, and who is saying, bring up this child for me, because it is not only the body that’s to be thought of, it is a little immortal and almost every thing for time and eternity depends on early instruction. I do not think I shall see my sweet little Boy till Tuesday because on Monday I must give orders for my mourning, and I hope you will not suffer Louisa to see anybody except her Mama, and the head Nurse, kiss dear tiny for me, and I pray the blessing of God may rest upon him, and believe me your affectionate Mother.

M. Pearce.

Love to little Madam

1818.

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[Mary's brother, aged 7, to their Aunt]

My dear Aunt,

I am much obliged to you for your kind present of a sovereign. I think you will be surprised to hear that I am writing this letter on a handsome new desk which my Uncle Charles gave me yesterday, it has my name upon it on a brass plate. I hope you got home safe on Saturday night from our house. Give my love to Uncle John, and give my love to Mr. Rosson, Esqr.

I remain, dear Aunt,

Your affectionate nephew,

Stewart Highmore Pearce.

Monday evening

Hanover House 1825

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[In 1828 Mary's mother was ill, and was away for some time.]

October 16th 1828

My dear Mama,

I hope you are better, and Aunt Ann quite well. I hope I shall deserve the shells you promise me. I sat up to supper last night with Miss Gibbs from,

Your affectionate and dutiful child,

Mary Pearce.

♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠

[Mary's parents seem to have been away again for some time in 1834. This is not mentioned in the memoirs.]

Dear Papa and Mama,

I was very much pleased to hear from you this morning, and that you were so comfortably settled. Miss Silberrad wishes me to ask you if you will write either to Jane or me in preference to herself, and, write to Jane next, if you please, as (though she cannot read) it would please her to have a letter directed to her.

Andrews called here this morning and wishes to know if Mamma would have any objection to give her a character after the Winter, as She is going to remain with her sister to help her, She has been keeping house for her while She was in the country, and is looking very well, She brought us some beautiful Dahlias. I am very glad Louisa likes Dover so much, and hope She will come home quite well. We are very happy, but I am longing for the time of your return home quite well. Will you write soon to let us know how you are and mention Andrews. As you have crossed your letter, perhaps you will allow us to cross ours, let us know on the next, please. Will you have the camp stool sent down. Give my love to dear Miss Luweza, who I hope is better, and accept the same yourselves, dear Papa and Mamma.

From your dutiful and affectionate child

Mary Pearce.

September 1834

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Dear Papa and Mamma,

I was so glad to hear you are better.

Give my best love to Louisa, and tell her I am very happy, but I shall be happier when she comes home and I remain dear Papa and Mamma,

Your dutiful little Daughter,

Jane Pearce.

Jany says she can hardly write, with happiness. I wish you could see her little face. L.S.

1834

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My dear Madam,

I wish you could have seen the delight with which Mary and Jane received their Papa’s letter this morning and I was likewise extremely pleased to hear that you were so soon comfortably settled.

We are, I am pleased to say as well and happy, as we can be considering the dear children are without either yourself or their Papa, but in a few days we shall get more accustomed to the smallness of our Family party although that will not make us the less anxious for your return. The servants are doing everything they can to make us comfortable, and Ford and I are such friends that when She leaves I fear we shall mutually regret the parting. Being forbidden to cross this letter I must with regret conclude, and with kindest respects to Mr. Pearce and affectionate love to yourself and dear little Louisa, remain ever my dear Madam.

Yours very sincerely,

Louisa Silberrad

1834.

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Imperial Continental Gas Associaion,

Established by Act of Parliament,

Office, White Hart Lane,

Lombard Street.

9th June 1836.

Dear Sir,

I have great pleasure in communicating to you, by order of the Board, the following Resolution of the Board, proposed by Moses Montefiore, Esqr., yesterday, and unanimously agreed to by the Directors.

“That the thanks of the Board are eminently due and are hereby given to John Meriscoe Pearce, Esqr., the Solicitor of the Association and that the sum of £500 be appropriated to the purchase of a piece of Plate, or otherwise, as Mr. Pearce may elect, to mark the sense which this Board entertains of the unremitted Zeal and Talent which has been employed by him, in the successful prosecution of his duties as applied to this Association from its first Establishment, in the general conduct of their legal business in obtaining the original Act of Parliament with a limited liability under which affairs have been conducted and more especially in carrying through both Houses of Parliament, the New Act for more than doubling their Capital preserving the privilege of limited liability.

I have the honour to be, Dear Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

Charles Fortnum.

J.M. Pearce, Esqr.

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[Author unknown, but I detect Mary's writing style and sense of humour.]

Some memories of John Meriscoe Pearce.

When quite a young girl I was on a visit to my Uncle and Aunt, John Pearce at Hampstead, then a quaint place, with the beautiful walk across the Heath, to the almost Classical “Spaniards” a small run, was to Caen Wood the fine place of Lord Mansfield on the left, two nice houses on the right were Lord Erskins, and another Lawyer’s. The view from the Heath was wide and lovely, and every part covered with Firs and gorse. A few large houses on the Finchley and Highgate roads were the only dwellings. My Uncle would take me on Sundays to walk across the Heath with him, speaking rarely to me.

On one such “Sabbath” walk a gentleman accosted him, who I heard afterwards was Sir Andrew Agnew an M.P., and vehement advocate of a very strict and dogmatic “observance of the Lord’s Day” as the Bill was called by its supporters. My Uncle knew Sir Andrew Well, and was quite well read in the details of this Bill, which forbad any but relegious occupations on Sunday, or any travelling or amusement.

He greeted Sir Andrew cordially expressing his great surprise at seeing him on Hampstead Heath on Sunday. “Oh,” said the good M. P., I am working day and night in the House in the effort to pass my Bill for “Observance of the Sabbath” and you know Mr. Pearce what that means on mental strain. Then too, as you also know, the atmosphere of the House is most insanitary and unhealthy so that I find, unless I can get a Sunday rest of mind, and recruit my health by coming to some such charming place as this in fresh country air, I should utterly break down and fail in heart, so I always get out of town on Sundays.

My Uncle paused a moment, and then said “Indeed Sir Andrew I am quite of your opinion that such blessings as fresh air and the beauty of nature are absolutely needful for us, working men, and I am glad you recognise this for your own case. But does it not seem to you Sir Andrew, that your Bill, if it be passed, must entirely deprive thousands of tradesmen, Artisans and mechanics, who toil all the week in foul atmosphere, and in poor surroundings, with few pleasures in their lives, of the one boon permitted to them on the Sabbath, fresh air and exercise coming in the healthy country places which God provides for us.

Sir Andrew said, “Good Morning” and walked on.

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The Provident Clerk’s Mutual Life Assurance Association,

27. Moorgate Street, E.C.

London.

27 February 1878.

Dear Madam,

I am instructed by the Board to convey to you their sincere and ernest sympathy in the affliction caused to yourself and family by the decease of their old and much esteemed friend, Mr. Charles Woolley. I have also to convey the expression of deep regret and sympathy on behalf of the members assembled at our Annual General Meeting, at the loss which the Association has sustained, in the person of their able and upright auditor. Permit me to add on my part my sincere concurrence in the above and my best wishes for yourself and family.

I have the honour to be,

Dear Madam,

Very faithfully and respectfully yours,

W.P. Linford,

Acty and Secy.

Mrs. Woolley.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

The following letters form the last part of the typed manuscript of Mary Woolley’s memoirs.