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 ;^iFE AND Letters 
 
 OF Mrs. Sewell
 
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 THE LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
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 THE 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. S E W E L L> 
 
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 BY 
 
 MRS. BAYLY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " RAGGED HOMES AND HOW TO MEND THEM, 
 "the STOKY of the ENGLISH BIBLE," ETC. 
 
 " Thou hast dealt well with Thy servant, O Lord, according unto 
 Thy Word."— Ps.\. cxix. 65. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXIX.
 
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 TO 
 
 PHILIP SEWELL 
 
 AND HIS CHILDREN 
 
 Ubi5 :fi3ooft 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY 
 DEDICATED.
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 When requested by the relatives of my dear friend 
 Mrs. Sewell to write a short memoir of her life, I 
 at first hesitated, not from any unwillingness to 
 undertake so pleasant a task, but because I ques- 
 tioned if a life so quiet and uneventful could furnish 
 suflScient material to ground the hope of obtaining 
 for it general interest. The materials at hand for 
 use were by no means abundant. The bulk of her 
 family correspondence had been destroyed, and 
 she had not escaped the sorrow^ — the lot of most 
 who live to an advanced asje — of seeinor Jier earlier 
 friends drop one by one by the way. There are 
 now few living who remember anything of her 
 earlier life. 
 
 My own acquaintance w^ith her did not begin 
 until she was upw^ards of sixty years of age, but the 
 friendship which existed between us for more than 
 a quarter of a century, secured to me the privilege 
 of a very near and intimate acquaintance. 
 
 From her own lips I have heard many passages
 
 viii INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 of her life, and she was in the habit of speaking 
 unreservedly to me of past and present, also of her 
 thoughts and opinions on a great variety of sub- 
 jects. Still, with all these advantages, I really 
 knew so little, connectedly, of the first sixty years 
 of her life, that had it not been for the existence of 
 her autobiographical letter, addressed to her grand- 
 children, it would have been impossible to have 
 ventured on the task. The desire to make this 
 simple and beautiful story of home life in a farm- 
 house ninety years ago known, in her own words, 
 to the present generation, has formed one of my 
 strongest inducements to carry out the wishes of 
 those whose object in making the request has been 
 well expressed by a modern writer : — "The useful- 
 ness and influence of many excellent people have 
 been extended far beyond their natural lives by the 
 faithfulness with which their thoughts and deeds 
 have been recorded." 
 
 Still another motive which has much influenced 
 me, is this. Docs not the quiet, unobtrusive life 
 of my dear friend largely represent, in its outward 
 aspect, the kind of life lived by far the majority of 
 our fellow-creatures ? How few — how very few of 
 us are born to any kind of distinction (I mean, in 
 the eyes of the world), either in the way of surpass- 
 ing talent, wonderful performances, or position I 
 With most of us the main duties of our lives are
 
 INTRODUCTORY. ix 
 
 very simple and oft repeated. May it not, after all, 
 be a helpful thing to endeavour to show that this 
 apparently monotonous mode of existence can be 
 invested with a charm and a dignity all its own ? 
 
 It is said there is much in every life which will 
 not set to music. As a member of the Society of 
 Friends, Mrs. Sewell was not educated as a musi- 
 cian, but I know no one who, to the extent she 
 did, possessed the capacity of investing common 
 things with a charm equivalent to music. That 
 there were times in her life when she must have 
 bent under her heavy burdens, no one can doubt ; 
 but even then she could rejoice that she was learn- 
 ino; lessons which would teach her how to comfort 
 those who are in any trouble, by the comfort where- 
 with she herself w^as comforted of God. 
 
 We are living in times of much difficulty. No 
 thoughtful person can regard the condition of our 
 working classes especially, without grief for the 
 present, and apprehension for the future. 
 
 An historian of the French Revolution tells us 
 that during the years before its outbreak, when 
 the peasantry were driven mad with starvation 
 and taxation, the French aristocracy appeared to 
 be almost universally without sympathy in the 
 sufferings of the people. 
 
 Very different from this is our present position. 
 Although many deeply needed workers are still
 
 X INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 withholding their aid, we have a large army in 
 the field, enlisted from all classes, who are fighting 
 for better times for the poor and needy. This 
 army would probably be greatly augmented if it 
 could be made more clear how the object in view 
 can be attained without either pauperising the poor, 
 or, in increasing their wealth, also increasing the 
 consumption of intoxicating drink. At such a 
 time, when the public ear is not only open, but 
 anxious to learn from any who can teach, we have 
 thought that the experience of a very successful 
 worker mis;ht be regarded with some interest. 
 Perhaps Mrs. Sewell's greatest success in life was 
 in her personal work among the poor. She was 
 doubtless inspired for the work : she had few rules 
 to guide her : every fresh case was a subject for 
 individual thought, care, and cfi'ort — something be- 
 tween herself and God. 
 
 A friend, in writing of her, says : — " The thought 
 in my mind about our dear Mrs. Sewell is, ' Blessed 
 is she that considereth the poor.' There have been 
 many who have done more notable things for 
 the poor, but I know of no one who has consi- 
 dered them as she has done. The Spirit of God 
 has given us this word ' considered ' — it fits her 
 life exactly." 
 
 Description or comment on her plans would fail 
 to convey a true idea of the spirit in which her
 
 INTRODUCTORY. xi 
 
 kind deeds were accomplished, and wbicli made lier 
 influence among the poor almost unique. My hope 
 is that by simple, truthful narrative, given as far as 
 possible in her own written or spoken words, the 
 fire of love which burned so brightly in her own 
 heart may kindle a like flame in the hearts of many 
 others. It has been well said, " Commentaries may 
 teach, but it is the text that inspires." 
 
 If inaccuracies in reference to either time or 
 place are found in these pages, I must beg to 
 be judged leniently. The packets of letters and 
 papers sent me were, with few exceptions, without 
 date, and without any order as to subject. I felt 
 at first more at a loss than Amos, who had to date 
 his Vision "two years before the earthquake." I 
 do most sincerely thank the kind friends who, at 
 considerable trouble to themselves, have supplied 
 me with many missing dates. 
 
 I have throuo;hout received the most valuable 
 assistance from my dear daughter, who also contri- 
 butes the chapter on Mrs. Sewell's literary work. 
 
 Some portion of this book was written nearly 
 three years ago. The delay has been occasioned 
 by prolonged illness. 
 
 Streatham Common, 
 Nov. sth, 1888.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 — «» 
 
 PiQB 
 
 INTRODUCTORY vii 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY i 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON 77 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THOUGHTS OX EDUCATION 98 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 LITERARY WORK 130 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK 164 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHER FRIENDS . . . .190 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON 214
 
 xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 PACK 
 
 "MY NANNIE" 244 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 CLOSING YEARS 287 
 
 CHAPTER TX. 
 THE LAST STEP 3i3
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 -//S+ 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 
 
 This letter ivas ivritten hij Mrs. Sewell at inter- 
 vals, during the last Jive years of her ividowhood. 
 
 My dear Grandchildren, — I entirely sym- 
 pathise witli your wish to know all I can tell you 
 of your ancestors on the AVright side ; and as the 
 day of my life is now very near the horizon, and 
 will soon sink below it, and memory does not be- 
 come more retentive as days decline, it behoves me 
 to make speed and no longer linger or delay. 
 
 I am now eighty-two, and the night may come 
 before I have completed my task. 
 
 It will be a very meagre little memoriam — mere 
 scraps that have had sufficient vitality to keep from 
 being; submero;ed in the flow of the years. 
 
 In lookino; back it seems to me that the lio;htest 
 things keep at the top, whilst tbe more important 
 sink and are lost. This may be in mercy — the 
 heaviest might sink us. 
 
 The years through which I have lived have 
 been some of the most interesting in our country's
 
 2 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 liistory. I came into the world in tlie year 1797 
 — about tbe time of the great French Eevolution 
 — and from that time to this includes the grand 
 march of commerce, science, and invention, in- 
 cludino- tlie lives of some of the first historical 
 characters. I attempt nothing but family scraps 
 — odds and ends — to set them down as they link 
 together in my memory, without any attempt at 
 painting character. Many a little family has for 
 itself its hero or heroine. I want to try to im- 
 mortalise my father in the memory of his descen- 
 dants. This would not be easy, as he was a quiet, 
 rather reserved character, always living in com- 
 parative privacy, and never called to take any con- 
 spicuous place in life's stirring battle. Besides this, 
 he was always cramped by the narrow limits of 
 external circumstances, so that it can only be by 
 miniature touches licre and there that I shall be 
 able to give you a likeness of him. He lives in 
 my heart and memory as a hero who, if education 
 and circumstances had favoured him, would have 
 been a leading man in almost any place. He had 
 excellent talents and wide views ; he was far-sighted 
 and clear-siorlited, with considerable inventive and 
 scientific talent, very accurate and quick percep- 
 tions ; full of enterprise and quiet enthusiasm ; a 
 most humane, tender, and compassionate heart ; in- 
 dignant at wrong and oppression, and prompt to 
 right the injured. He was refined in every thought, 
 word, and action : vulgarity and meanness could 
 not approach him ; he was an ardent patriot, and
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 3 
 
 as a husband, father, master, and neighbour he 
 could not be surpassed. From my childhood to 
 old age I can never remember anything that in the 
 slightest degree impairs my admiration, veneration, 
 and deep love. I always feel that my words can- 
 not represent the full glow in which I ever see bim 
 stand. There was an elasticity, buoyancy, and 
 promptness peculiar alike to his physical, mental, 
 and moral nature ; shrewd without an atom of 
 guile, and true to the very core of his being. 
 
 I have often wished it had been possible to 
 obtain a clear description of his father and mother, 
 so as to judge what he might have inherited from 
 them, but they died when he was very young, and 
 he could give but few particulars ; but these few 
 were sufficient to show that his father was a man of 
 good education, and remarkable for good common- 
 sense. He was counsel and arbitrator for all diffi- 
 culties and differences that arose in the villao-e. 
 
 The ancestors both of my father and mother 
 joined the Friends in the time of the Common- 
 wealth, when George Fox was a preacher. There 
 is evidence in two of the churches near Lammas 
 that members of the Wright family had there been 
 clergymen ; but my father and mother continued 
 Friends till they died, and now lie in the little 
 Lammas burying-ground, with their nearest rela- 
 tives around them. The Meetingr-house was shut 
 np when my mother died, she being the last 
 member of the Society belonging to it. She was 
 most punctual and conscientious in attending the
 
 4 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 meeting, both on the First day and week-day, at 
 wliicli last she not unfrequently sat alone. At 
 one time the number of Friends in the neio-h- 
 bourhood must have been large, as a half-yearly 
 meetino; was held there. The stable still remains 
 where the horses were tied up during the time of 
 meeting, and only recently the steps were removed 
 from which the lady Friends mounted their horses. 
 
 . . . When my grandfather died, which he did 
 whilst his children were quite young, his w^dow 
 removed with her six children to a house in Nor- 
 wich which had no garden. The change from the 
 liberty of the country to a cramped house in the 
 city was distasteful to my father. I have often 
 heard him describe how he pulled up a boulder in 
 the street close by his mother's door, and planted 
 a grain of w^heat that he might have the pleasure 
 of seeiugr it ^vow. His mother w^as then verv deli- 
 cate, and he was her mainstay in the house, render- 
 ino; all the little service that he could. How lono; 
 this continued I do not know — I expect not long, 
 as he and his brother Eichard, two years younger 
 than himself, were sent by Cousin Wright (a near 
 relative who, on the death of the father, had become 
 guardian to the family) to a school in Yorkshire, at 
 Gildersham, kept by a Friend of the name of Ellis. 
 There he evidently recovered his spirits. 
 
 John Ellis's school must have been a boy's 
 romance. In after-life I often noticed if my father 
 met with any one who had been educated there, 
 they both became boys again. It had the true
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 5 
 
 freemasonic touch in it ; everything was earnest 
 — hard work, hard play, liberty unrestrained ; no 
 promenade of two and two with gymnastic pre- 
 cision ; it was up tlie trees, over hedges and 
 ditches, — anywhere their spirits and limbs could 
 carry them. Work was work, and play was play, 
 and I Lave no doubt, from the enthusiasm with 
 wdach my father spoke of his life there, that it was 
 a healthy discipline both for mind and body, giving 
 courage, energy, and the dauntless spirit of adven- 
 ture. I do not suppose that either my father or 
 uncle ever had the experience of physical fear. 
 The halcyon days passed at this school came to 
 an end, and they left Gildersham and liberty for 
 Ackworth, where the Society of Friends had estab- 
 lished a school, supported by annual subscription, 
 with the view of providing for the education of 
 orphans, or for the children of members whose 
 parents w^ere not able to provide for their educa- 
 tion. It ow^ed its institution to Dr. Fothergill, and 
 has remained one of the most valuable aids in the 
 Society, ensuring to the poorest of its members a 
 solid education, as well as the rudimental branches 
 of learning. It remains flourishing to the present 
 time, but has greatly enlarged its scope of instruc- 
 tion, and abolished many of the regulations which 
 then made Ackworth school a sort of prison disci- 
 pline to the two young Wrights. It doubtless w^as 
 considered a place in advance of Gildersham, at 
 least in manners. The discipline w^as exceedingly 
 strict, not to say severe. The law and the word
 
 6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 of commaDcl ignored all tlie little peccant places 
 and infirmities of tlie flesli to which the young as 
 well as the old are subject. Little shrinking things 
 unused to the water had no time given to stand 
 and plead at the water's edge, but were heroically 
 seized and plunged in, and sent off to make way 
 for others. Stone stairs, stone floors — nothing to 
 comfort the desires of the flesh in dress, food, or 
 aftection. I have no doubt that all this hardness 
 endured for many years had a tendency to streng- 
 then the self-denying characters of many who were 
 educated there. They went forth to battle with 
 the world, unspoiled by indulgence. The Honour- 
 able John Bright was an Ackworth scholar. 
 
 Children were taken into this school very young, 
 as early, I think, as seven or eight, and did not 
 leave till they could be apprenticed, at fourteen 
 or fifteen. There was no regular holiday all this 
 time, so that unless the parents or friends could 
 aftbrd to visit the children, they might almost for- 
 get even their appearance. Here poor John and 
 Richard found themselves in chains. Richard, espe- 
 cially, was always in disgrace, from his unbounded 
 f^pirits, his exuberant fun, wit, and ingenuity — 
 alwavs a leader of malcontents and adventurers. 
 The boys at Ackworth had to mend their own 
 stockings — to my unc'e, a most repulsive occupa- 
 tion. In order to extract a little fun out of it, he 
 on one occasion quilted a boll into the calf of the 
 leg, and wore it, attracting attention to it, as if it 
 were a part of his leg.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 7 
 
 The awful superior of the school was named 
 Dou Bavou, aud when any grave misdemeanour 
 had been committed, the delinquent was summoned 
 before the oreen cloth on a lonsj table, at the head 
 of which sat Don Bavon. I never heard in what 
 the awe of his presence consisted, but there must 
 have been somethiug either in his bearing or his 
 judgments, which caused the green cloth to be 
 mentioned with very solemn countenance. One 
 day ray father was summoned into his presence for 
 a very heinous offence; he had caught a fly, and 
 had daintily attached a piece of down to its wing, 
 and sent it off on its rambles during school-time, 
 which of course excited much amusement. The 
 offence was noted with all solemnity in the note- 
 book of the school, as having caused considerable 
 disorder. On another occasion my father was sum- 
 moned before Don Bavon, and was informed that 
 his mother was dead, and that he should communi- 
 cate the information to his brother Richard. My 
 father, wishing to do this gently, probably used the 
 master's words, and said, "Richard, we have lost 
 our mother." " Well," said my uncle, " I suppose 
 they will find her again." Nothing more passed ; 
 probably he had no explanation to give, and my 
 uncle did not, till a long time afterwards, realise 
 what had really happened. There were two brothers 
 in the school at that time who in the same night 
 dreamed the same dream — each had a vision of his 
 father coming to his bedside and looking at him. 
 A letter afterwards informed them that their father
 
 8 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 was drowned that night at sea. I have always 
 thought it a very affecting story, that tlie spirit of 
 the father should immediately seek out his two 
 little hoys at their school 
 
 How long they remained at Ackworth I do not 
 know, but my father from Ackworth went to a 
 school near London, considered a Friends' finishing 
 schooL 
 
 Cousin Wright (their guardian) at this time lived 
 at Esher, in Surrey; lie was one of the partners 
 in the banking house of Smith, Wright, k Gray — 
 a considerable bank at that time. On one occa- 
 sion there was a general run upon the banks in the 
 City. The head clerk of their baidv had a hogs- 
 head rolled into the Exchange, and mounting it, 
 proclaimed that any one who wished to settle his 
 account with Smith, AVright, & Gray could be 
 immediately paid. This restored confidence, and 
 their bank was not affected. 
 
 When the boys left school, it was into the bank- 
 ing establishment that tlieir guardian proposed 
 to introduce them, with a view to their future 
 advancement ; but ^Mr. Gray, one of the partners, 
 having sons of his own, did not approve of this 
 scheme ; and as, after a little while, the two lads 
 were much disgusted with their position in the 
 bank, they having to sleep under the counter at 
 nio-ht, with monotonous ^York and uncourteous treat- 
 ment from some of the younger clerks, they were 
 not displeased when it was decided that Eichard 
 should be apprenticed to a buckle-maker in Bir-
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 9 
 
 TniDg;ham. Buckle-makinor was a Q;reat business at 
 that time, aDcl very many workmen were employed 
 in it. 
 
 The infidel works of Voltaire and Tom Paine 
 were then being greedily read among the artisans 
 of Birmingham, and my Uncle Pachard, who wns 
 never second in anything, swallowed this poison 
 with zest, and it unhappily influenced his fine 
 nature till near the end of his life. But I must not 
 stay to sketch his erratic life. I return to my dear 
 father, whom Cousin AVright now proposed to 
 bring up as a farmer. To this end he sent him to 
 learn farminej with John Holmes of Tivetshall, in 
 Norfolk, who had the reputation of being a good 
 farmer. He was the father of my dear mother. 
 As Cousin "Wright had considerable lauded pro- 
 perty in difi"erent places, I have no doubt it was 
 his intention, then, ultimately to place my father 
 on one of his farms. My father's character suited 
 him well — they were both by nature gentlemen, 
 intelligent and self-reliant, with clear sight and 
 prompt action. 
 
 I must here give a slight sketch of Tivetshall 
 Hall in the olden time. The Sfentleman-farmino: 
 of the present day was then little known among 
 the middle-class farmers. Art and science, books 
 and leisure, were not at home in the old farm- 
 house. Pictures on the walls were considered 
 dangerous, as possibly leading to idolatry. Music 
 was a vain amusement, and hymns as well as songs 
 were prohibited. The voice was not cultivated,
 
 lo LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 and a musical instrument was never seen in any 
 Quaker's bouse. It was so when I was a child. 
 There remained much of the Puritan strictness in 
 the families of Friends at that time, some hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 My grandfather Holmes, as I remember him, 
 was a tall, gaunt man, with what would have been 
 a handsome countenance had the expression been 
 more genial. He was very tall and strong-built, 
 with black eyes, strong eyebrows, and good features ; 
 his complexion was dark, and his hair was all 
 combed back from his forehead. He wore a very 
 broad-brimmed black beaver hat, looped up with 
 three silk loops — not sharply cocked, — no hat of 
 the present day can compare with it in dignity and 
 costliness ; it gave a reverent aspect, well suited to 
 those who took their place in the preaching gallery. 
 His coat, waistcoat with deep pockets, and breeches 
 buckled at the knees with silver buckles, were all 
 of one colour — a very dark brown. His shoes had 
 lar2:e buckles, aud he wore a white cravat. 
 
 I have drawn my grandfather Holmes's picture 
 for you, as the like has passed away from this 
 generation. He was a minister among the Friends, 
 and not unfrequently preached, but I believe he 
 had rather a limited gift. He was of a nervous 
 temperament, and had rather an irritable temper, 
 but a good man. My grandmother Holmes, on the 
 contrary, possessed a most sweet and amiable 
 nature, always on the side of peace, ruling her 
 larse household with as much freutleness and skill
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. ii 
 
 as such a family could be ruled. She was a fine 
 woman, with a sw^eet countenance, a fair complexion, 
 a set colour, and blue eyes. Under her large white 
 linen apron was a place of refuge for her little 
 grandchildren w^hen there were storms outside. 
 My mother always spoke of her with intense afi"ec- 
 tion. Though not more than four years old at the 
 time of her death, I can well remember my mother's 
 grief when her brother Charles rode over to Fel- 
 thorpe one Sunday morning, to tell us she was 
 dead. Her mother was a great loss to her ; she 
 never spoke of her without adding in a tenderly 
 afi'ectionate tone, " Dear creature." My ftither also 
 admired and loved her, and spoke of her with much 
 sympathy, as of a good woman, oppressed, but 
 standing tender and firm in the midst of the battle 
 of life, persevering to the utmost. 
 
 When my father was introduced into this family, 
 I suppose he would be about seventeen. He 
 found there six stalwart sons and two daughters, 
 some older and some younger than himself. He 
 was two years older than my mother. They were 
 all, according to their capacity, hard at work on the 
 farm. Their names were Eobert, John, Benjamin, 
 William, George, and Charles, Ann and Mary. 
 These, with my father and an apprentice and two 
 men servants, composed the family, with the ad- 
 dition of my grandfather, grandmother, and two 
 female servants. In the farm-house all the washing, 
 brewinof, bakins^, cookinf]^, and needlework were 
 performed by the women of the family, and the
 
 12 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 dairy work also — an importaut part. The produce 
 of the dairy was carried to the Norwich market, 
 and I have heard my father say that my grand- 
 mother w^ould sometimes ride there on a pillion, 
 behind a man on horseback, and " sit the market," 
 as it was called. Other farmers' wives did the 
 same. It was an industrious and honourable call- 
 ing ; the women did their full share in making the 
 farm prosperous, and the house a place of plenty 
 and liberal hospitality. 
 
 I just remember my grandmother, and being 
 allowed to go with her into the dairy and dip my 
 fingers into the cream. She was very indulgent 
 to her grandchildren, but few of them can remem- 
 ber much of her, as she died more than twenty 
 years before my grandfather. 
 
 My father, when speaking of the time when he 
 was an inmate at the farm, would say, " That was 
 a rough house." My grandfather's irritable temper 
 provoked a spirit of obstinacy in the sons, which 
 often made rather stormy weather. 
 
 You may well suppose, from what I have said 
 of my father, that this was not congenial society 
 for him, and you may also well suppose that to the 
 women of the family, used to the rough, uncour- 
 teous ways of the young men, his refinement and 
 kind feeling, which led him to pity and help when- 
 ever he could, made him in their eyes a gentle 
 squire ; and no wonder poor Ann lost her heart, 
 and found love lis^hten labour. Mv o-randmother 
 very fully ap[)reciated the difference between him
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 13 
 
 and her lion-hearted sons ; she was always very- 
 fond of my father. They say that pity is akin to 
 love, and out of that soil I believe my father's love 
 first grew, and by the time he left Tivetshall it was 
 firmly rooted. 
 
 Cousin Wright had found a much better posi- 
 tion for him. This was with Maurice Birkbeck, 
 who lived at Blandford, in Dorsetshire. He was 
 a gentleman farmer of the first order, in every 
 respect a contrast to the family my father had 
 left. He was a man in advance of his aije — I 
 mean the farming age. He was of good family 
 and well educated, a gentleman in his manners, and 
 full of enthusiasm and enterprise. This led him 
 eventually, in about 1813, to emigrate to x^merica, 
 with a view to form a settlement in the far West ; 
 but, like th.e generality of pioneers in difficult enter- 
 prises, he fell a sacrifice to it, being drowned one 
 night in attempting to ford a river on horseback. 
 When I was a girl at Tottenham school, I saw two 
 of his daughters ; they had come to London to take 
 leave of their friends preparatory to their departure. 
 They were two lovely, elegant creatures, looking 
 little like denizens of the backwoods. My father 
 always spoke of Maurice Birkbeck as of a man he 
 entirely admired and esteemed. On the map of 
 England out of whick we learned the geography 
 of our country, he had marked the position of 
 Blandford by writing in very small characters, " I 
 lived here." 
 
 When my father was twenty-two years old,
 
 14 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 and my mother twenty, tliey were married. Cousin 
 AVright and a goodly company of Gurneys and 
 others were at the wedding. My father was con- 
 sidered a young man of good expectations. Their 
 first home was at Buxton, where my sister Anna 
 and my brother John were born — Anna in 1793, 
 .John in 1 794. ]\[y mother never told us anything 
 about her courting days, but I knew she always 
 considered my father a very handsome man, and 
 superior to other men. She always upheld his 
 authority and influence, and the same may be said 
 of him. He always showed a marked attention and 
 respect to my mother ; her children never saw any 
 cross j)urposes between them, and I should say 
 through rough and smooth they were a very happy 
 and entirely united couple. My mother was re- 
 markable for sound judgment, kind feeling, and 
 common-sense ; she did not damp my father's greater 
 enthusiasm, but probably she moderated it ; and if 
 he did not find in her a strictly intellectual com- 
 panion, he found an excellent helpmeet, a good 
 manager, industrious, neat, and very orderly ; she 
 was thrifty and economical, but with a truly hos- 
 pitable heart and liberal hand, and she was a 
 pleasant, sociable neighbour. Her moral qualities 
 Avere admirable, and she had sufficient self-respect 
 never to pretend to understand things she did not. 
 Sensible of her own want of education, she was very 
 ambitious that her children should not labour under 
 the same disadvantage. AVe have all to thank her 
 for the untirinc: efforts she made to secure for us
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 15 
 
 every advantage tLat lay in lier power. My dear 
 mother had a good conntenance ; slie was an 
 average beiglit, and square built ; her face was 
 square, her eyes brown, and her hair blacii. She 
 had rather a dark complexion, with a set colour. 
 She was a comely woman, and pleasant to look 
 uf)on. My father and mother, in most waj's, were 
 physically and mentally a contrast, and I have no 
 doubt beneficially supplemented each other. I will 
 not describe my mother's dress till I come to the 
 time when I first recollect it. 
 
 I was born in 1797, at Sutton in Suff'olk, where 
 my father was occupying one of Cousin Wright's 
 farms. Before I was two years old, my father 
 removed to another of Cousin AYright's farms, at 
 Felthorpe, six miles from Norwich. Of course I 
 can personally remember nothing of Suttou, but 
 many little stories told by my father and Anna and 
 John invested it with some romance. There was 
 a pit, called the " Crag pit," in which were found 
 many antediluvian fossils. My fiither found a 
 remarkable knife, and until the day of his death 
 my uncle Richard persisted that he had found a 
 musical instrument of mechanical construction, and 
 of course the artificer was Tubal Cain. My uncle 
 lent it to a great antiquarian who never returned 
 it, which, you may suppose, rendered its worth 
 inestimable. I have often heard him describe it 
 with the minutest exactness. 
 
 Vancouver, the celebrated navigator, visited 
 my father at Sutton. Sutton was not far from
 
 1 6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 the sea, and after the battle of Campe^do^yll lie 
 saw the victorious fleet uuder Admiral Duncan 
 sail past with the captured ve-sels, the sails hang- 
 inor ill raos, and riddled throuo-h with cannon 
 shot. 
 
 The farm at Sutton was very poor land, with a 
 great deal of common covered with feru and furze 
 bushes. It served as pasture for sheep, of which 
 my father had a large flock. It happened one 
 winter that a deep snow lay for many weeks upon, 
 the ground, and thus the sheep's food was un- 
 attainable. All their resources were exhausted, 
 and the sheep were perishing of hunger, when my 
 father's inventive genius constructed an implement 
 which I cannot describe. To this he fastened 
 several horses abreast, who by dragging this im- 
 plement removed the snow from the vegetation. 
 The sheep, following after, were thus saved. My 
 fother often told us how the horses went pluno;iu2f 
 throuo-h bush and brake. 
 
 There is another little incident which shows 
 the home life of the young couple. When my 
 father went to the common to look at the sheep, 
 he W()uld sometimes carry my sister Anna in his 
 arms, no doubt to relieve his busy wife. His 
 intelligent dog, Briton, accompanied him. One 
 day when he reached home he found one of the 
 little girl's feet bare — tlie shoe had probably fallen 
 somewhere on the common. lie called Briton 
 and showed him the shoeless foot, and then the 
 other, touching the shoe; then exclaimed, "Hie
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 17 
 
 off, Briton ! " The dog started, and after some 
 time returned witli tlie slioe in his mouth. 
 
 On the remove journey to Felthorpe we stopped 
 at Tivetshall Hall, where my sister Elizabeth was 
 born in 1798. I, at the mature age of one and 
 three-quarters, proceeded with my father to take 
 possession of the new home, where I lived till I 
 was twelve. Shall I say it was the happiest part 
 of my life ? No, I will not do that, although my 
 memory can recall very few shadows that rested 
 upon it. Very heavy clouds were passing at that 
 time over the country at large. It was the time 
 after the terrible French Revolution, when the wars 
 of Bonaparte threatened to overturn all Europe. 
 But events of that kind reach children very 
 softly. The newspapers came to Felthorpe only 
 once in the week. No railway train speeded evil 
 tidings, and no telegrams startled people out of 
 the steady joy of life. My father went to Nor- 
 wich market every Saturday and brought the news 
 home with him. As we increased in years, my 
 father's zealous patriotism infused itself more or 
 less into each of us. I have a sense now of the 
 thrill which used to pass through my whole frame 
 when any great event had happened, when my 
 father's animated words, kindling eyes, and the 
 manner in which he turned over the newspaper 
 whilst giving my mother details, sent the blood 
 through my veins with cjuickened speed. My 
 father's spirit had a potent influence on his chil- 
 dren. I was a still child, and did not break out, 
 
 B
 
 i8 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 but I felt. You may imagine liow I was stirred 
 one Saturday when he came home from Norwich, 
 and coming to me, unrolled a paper parcel and 
 displayed a long piece of scarlet bunting to make 
 a flas w^hich was to be hoisted on the church tower 
 at the moment when the notice came that Bona- 
 parte and his conquering army had landed on our 
 coast. " Here, Mary, my dear," he said, " thee 
 must make this flag to jDut on the steeple to let 
 the people know that the Frenchmen have come." 
 An officer appointed Admiral to the fleet, or Com- 
 mander-in-chief to the army, could hardly have 
 felt himself of more importance than I then did, 
 and indeed it seems difficult now to believe that 
 I did not do something for the relief of our country 
 at that time. It was a time to be remembered, for 
 the country was stirred from one end to the other 
 with the expectation of immediate invasion. In 
 the southern counties by the sea the Martello- 
 towers were built, and on part of the coast of 
 Kent preparations were made for letting in the 
 sea to flood the portions of the coast likely to 
 be chosen as landing-places. There was a great 
 enlistment of soldiers all over the country. I 
 think it w^as compulsory — the exjDression used was, 
 " He is drawn for a soldier." 
 
 I well remember the day when the intelligence 
 came to our house that my father was "drawn." 
 You know that it is one of the strongest principles 
 among Friends not to bear arms. To this day 
 Friends never become soldiers, and many have
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 19 
 
 become prisoners for refusing to do so. My father 
 did not think it was a convenient time for him to 
 leave his family and go to prison, and his principle 
 was not too strong for him to obtain a substitute. 
 This was allowed. T think my father paid £^0 
 for his substitute, and he was appointed to a much 
 more suitable office. Being a farmer, he had horses 
 and waggons at his disposal, and he undertook, 
 should it be necessary, to convey the women and 
 children to a place of safety when the landinnr- 
 place of the enemy was known. As this was un- 
 certain, he was obliged always to keep in readiness. 
 My sister Elizabeth and I entered very energetically 
 into this preparation for removing. "We had a fine 
 baby-house, with which Elizabeth and I spent many 
 happy hours, enacting many little plays in the 
 drama of life. Now all bad to be packed up, for 
 the general remove was daily expected. On the 
 highest land in the county, telegraphs were 
 erected, and a system of signals prepared to com- 
 municate intelligence speedily from one village to 
 another. Bonfires were also arranged for the same 
 purpose. The whole country was in anxious sus- 
 pense, especially on the south and east coasts, but 
 the French ships withdrew, and that panic passed 
 away. There was always a subject of interest in 
 the atmosphere when the men met together. De- 
 finitely we of course knew nothing of politics, but 
 we took a kind of infection from my father which 
 was very definite. The agony of his mind was so 
 great when he heard of the death of Nelson at the
 
 20 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 battle of Trafalgar, that lie jmced the room the 
 whole evenino^ unable to sit dowu. Some of Lis 
 dreams at this time were very extraordiiiar}^ auti- 
 cipating events which afterwards really occurred. 
 I remember the exultation with which Lis light, 
 rapid step entered the room W'here we w^ere 
 sitting, bringing with him the joyful tidings of 
 victory. Yarmouth was illuminated from one end 
 to the other, and everybody was feasted on the 
 quay. 
 
 But I must return to the early days when w^e 
 lived at Felthorpe, and the family consisted of my 
 father and motLer, Anna, John, Elizabeth, and my- 
 self. About this time John, five or six years old, 
 was considered fit to begin his education. In a 
 village about a mile from our Lome there was a 
 school kept by a man of the name of BligL, and 
 thither John was sent, escorted by my sister Anna, 
 not two years older. SLe was a brave little woman, 
 and undertook the responsibilities of the eldest in 
 the family with much prudence and authority. 
 I always remember her then as a ruler ; she w\as 
 specially John's patron and caretaker. No doubt 
 they both pursued their education under Mr. Bligli, 
 but I think it did not continue long. It was my 
 earnest desire to go with them, and one day my 
 mother trusted me to their care. It was a first and 
 last time. A boy had displeased the master, and 
 was called up to undergo punishment. This in- 
 fliction was administered on the palm of the hand, 
 on wdiich the master struck several times with a
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 21 
 
 wooden implement which the boys called a " cussis." 
 The boy roared vehemently, and I joined in the 
 outcry, and never desired to visit this seat of learn- 
 in 2; ao-ain. 
 
 After this they went to a school at Norwich kept 
 by a Miss Coe. John could not then pronounce 
 all his letters distinctly, and Anna was his pro- 
 tector, doing battle with any boy who molested 
 him. She had, as a child, a great deal of charac- 
 ter. I think they lodged with Friends, returned 
 home on the Saturday, and w^ere sent back on the 
 Monday. 
 
 My father and mother were very fond of their 
 children, but we were never indulo-ed so as to be 
 spoiled. On one holiday, when John had been 
 pleading for something his mother did not choose 
 to grant, he, thinking to alarm her, threatened he 
 would run quite away, and started off on the road 
 leading to Norwich, repeating as he ran, " I will 
 run quite away," when my mother's cheerful voice 
 followed him, saying, " Run, John, run." After a 
 time he quietly returned by himself. 
 
 The next school Jolm went to was at Hitchin, in 
 Hertfordshire. After this he went to Isaac Payne's 
 school at Epping, and then to Josiah Foster's at 
 Southg-ate. This was the best school amonost the 
 Friends at that time. He finally finished his school 
 education at my uncle John Reynolds's at Enfield. 
 John Reynolds was a scholar and a gentleman, the 
 husband of my father's sister Mary. 
 
 My sister Anna went to a Friends' school at
 
 22 LIFE OF MRS. SEJVELL. 
 
 Plaistow, in Essex, and Elizabeth and I were left at 
 home ; but our education was not to be neo'lected. 
 My dear mother necessarily had little time to spare. 
 Cousin Wrio-ht's words to her when he first saw 
 my brother John lying in his cradle, " Nancy, that 
 boy is my heir, and thee will ride in thy carriage," 
 were not fulfilled. Farmers' wives, as I have before 
 said of my grandmother, held no sinecure positioD. 
 The farm servants were hired by the year, at what 
 were called Statute Fairs, where they stood together 
 to be looked at and questioned. Women servants 
 were often hired in the same way. The men slept 
 and were boarded in the house. No baker or 
 brewer ever came to the door ; bread and beer 
 were always home-made ; all the bacon for the family 
 was pickled, the cows were milked by the maids, 
 and the butter and cheese made by the mistress. 
 The washing was all done at home, and the needle- 
 work for the family. Besides this, a large poultry- 
 yard had to be attended to, so that it will be no 
 matter of surj^rise to you that my mother looked 
 about for a school for Elizabeth and me. We were 
 such united playmates and workfellows that I do 
 not remember the time when I felt older than she 
 was, though there was a year and three-quarters 
 between us. She was a spirited little thing, and 
 never would be left behind. We were driven in 
 our little chaise by the boy to Mrs. Outlaw's, at the 
 farther end of the villaoe. Hers was one of the old 
 dame schools, and she was quite primitive. 
 
 My brother Eichard was born w^hen I was about
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 23 
 
 six years old ; he was a charming little boy, and 
 very pretty. He was always my special charge. It 
 was my business to dress him in the morning and 
 give him his basin of bread and milk before I had my 
 breakfast, and I used to put him into bed at night. 
 I was very proud of his appearance. On a Sunday, 
 when his best frock was put on, his brown ribbon 
 sash, and his beautiful drab beaver hat, I would 
 walk with him up Bilney Lane to meet my father 
 and mother coming from Meeting, and they W'Ould 
 stop and take him into the chaise to ride home with 
 them. 
 
 I keep lingering over the remembrance of our 
 early years at Felthorpe ; they were happy years. 
 No doubt there were cloudy days, but I do not 
 remember them; and there was all the joy and 
 freshness of a young, natural development, with 
 no checks from my mother, and great animation 
 and encouragement from my father. To the last 
 day of his life he delighted in his children ; and 
 he knew they loved him, and this cheered him 
 when all beside was sad and stormy. 
 
 I must tell you a little about his farm, and 
 Felthorpe itself. The quality of the land then, 
 and ever since, has been some of the poorest to be 
 found in Norfolk, all reclaimed from heath land, 
 by which it was surrounded. The farm contained 
 eio"ht hundred acres, four hundred of which were 
 heath and wood ; it was a poor sand in most of the 
 cultivated parts, and there was some meadow land 
 for the cows — a discourag^insf tract for a farmer.
 
 24 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 The trees were mostly oak and Scotch fir. My 
 Cousin Wright was the first man in Norfolk who 
 planted these firs with a view to timber, but he 
 said if they would grow in the poor bleak soil of 
 Scotland, they would not find themselves much out 
 of their element in the poor, scant soil of Norfolk. 
 He planted a considerable breadth of the soil 
 with firs. At first this was called by the gentry 
 " Wright's Folly." But the folly in a few years was 
 accounted wisdom, and the Koyal Society presented 
 him with a handsome gold medal, which your dear 
 father now has. From the success of the experi- 
 ment, the planting of heath land with the Scotch 
 fir rapidly increased. When I was a little girl 
 there was not much fir wood ; now the heath lands, 
 then so bare, are thickly covered, and it has added 
 a very picturesque feature to that dreary, thinly 
 peopled district. 
 
 When I say " dreary " you must not suppose we 
 children thought it so ; to us it was a delightful plea- 
 sure-ground. On the common, and in the swam2:>, 
 where we made our first acquaintance with flowers, 
 there was the sundew, the maiden's hair, the bog 
 pimpernel, the grass of Parnassus, three varieties of 
 heath, and a number I cannot now call by name ; 
 and there were the lapwings calling "peewit." 
 Besides this there was a sandpit, which had in it 
 a mixture of clay, and here we gave ourselves our 
 first lessons in modelling. I am sure ours was a 
 more entire enjoyment than Palissy's ; we had no 
 need to burn chairs and tables to dry our articles.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 25 
 
 The bigli-woods were close by, where the first 
 primroses and violets were found, and here my 
 delighted eyes first saw the wood-sorrel, which I did 
 not meet with again for forty years. We needed 
 no one to provide amusement for us ; w^e had free 
 access to all those places, and many more of varied 
 interest. In the field just before our house there 
 was a wide dry ditch on the farther side, with a 
 white thorn hedore on one side and the OTass road 
 on the other. This ditch was a very delightfid 
 place for making bowers to sit in ; we used to arch 
 them over, and then make our roof of ivy, which 
 we would strip from the pollard-oaks. My father 
 would sometimes o-o to an osier- o-round which 
 he had planted, and bring us a few long wands, 
 which he would help us to drive into the banks on 
 both sides, and tie them at the top with a piece of 
 cord which he usually had in his pocket, aud he 
 seemed to enjoy it all as much as we did. 
 
 There were four lanes which started very near 
 our house, each running; to the villao;e in a different 
 direction — the Common Lane, the Church Lane, 
 the Bilney Lane, and Brick Lane. We did not 
 very much like the last, from a sort of mystery 
 which hung about it. The report current wa^, that 
 a man of the name of Brand had killed himself in 
 that lane, and if any one drove down it after night- 
 fall, they would see a man without a head running 
 along by the side of the cart. I always felt a degree 
 of solemnity in walking down it, as we did some- 
 times when sent to fetch our letters, w^hich were
 
 26 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 left at "The Bull," the only public-house in the 
 village. You may be sure I never saw Brand. 
 
 On one side of our house was a fruit garden and 
 orchard. The orchard was a notable place, as there 
 grew the summer apple-tree, which we might pelt 
 with stones and brickbats when the main crop was 
 gathered. We might also eat those that had fallen 
 in the night, which made a visit to the summer 
 apple-tree our first morning exercise. Whatever 
 was granted us was freely granted ; we had no 
 perplexing laws to provoke us to break them. We 
 might j^elt the damson-trees, but not touch the 
 plum and greengage trees ; we understood, and 
 obeyed. In this orchard Elizabeth and I. performed 
 our first charity which meant giving something 
 from our own small store of money. A very poor 
 family had removed into the village, and my father 
 did all he could to find the man and his family 
 employment. He ordered one of the boys, about 
 twelve, to come and dig a deep hole in the orchard. 
 Our sympathies were much stirred for these poor 
 people, especially for this boy, and we consulted 
 together how we could give him a little of our 
 money. Our income was a penny a week. We 
 were too delicate of his feelings to off'er it as charity, 
 so we went and stood by the hole he was digging, 
 and as it were accidentally dropped our pence into 
 it ; and when he picked them up to return to us, 
 we said, " Oh no, it was of no consequence." 
 
 I am sure my sister Elizabeth and I shall never 
 forget our secretly getting into debt. We were
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 27 
 
 taken to Norwich with our father and mother. 
 Not far from the inn where my father put up was a 
 small shop where children's toys were sold. These 
 were the high times of our baby-house, and in the 
 shop-window we saw some little tin and lead plates, 
 the very things for our baby-house kitchen. We 
 ventured into the shop to inquire the price ; they 
 came to more than we had by a penny or half- 
 penny, I forget which. Temptation w^as very 
 strong, and we asked if the man could trust us till 
 we came again and paid him. He evidently saw 
 that w^e were not thieves, and consented, and w^e 
 went off with our prize. We very seldom went to 
 Norwich, and we w^ere unwilling to trust any one 
 wdth our disgraceful secret, and this penny hung 
 about our necks for weeks, attended with the most 
 anxious fear lest the man should see my father 
 and tell him of it. I forget the particulars of the 
 repayment, but I know in some way our consciences 
 obtained peace. I tell you these two instances to 
 show the influence of our parents on our morals. 
 They taught us not so much by talking or preaching ; 
 they walked before us in the uprightness and integ- 
 rity of their hearts, and we followed. I w^ill give 
 you another little instance of this silent influence. 
 Some sparrows had made their nests in tlie thatched 
 roof of our wood-house, and my father had ordered 
 one of the men to mount a ladder and destroy 
 them. He went himself to see it done, and I 
 walked with him. We returned to the house 
 together quite silently. As I paced along by his
 
 2 8 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 side without speaking a word, I have no doubt he 
 thought I was sorry for the birds, and he laid his 
 liand on my head and stroked it tenderly. I im- 
 mediately divined his thoughts, and felt asliamed, 
 for I was not thinkinor of the birds at all : but 
 my thoughts were cot explainable. I have often 
 thought since how wise it is to give people credit 
 for thinking and feeling rightly ; it really helps 
 them to do so. 
 
 Among the events of those years of which I 
 have the keenest remembrance were sheep-shearing 
 and harvesting. My father had a very large flock of 
 sheep. The nightly folding them in field after field 
 was profitable for the poor, dry land. My father 
 had imported from Spain some Merino sheep, and 
 had parted with his long-legged, blackfaced Norfolk 
 sheep, with wide standing horns, for the Southdown, 
 thus improving his wool, which was at that time a 
 profitable article of trade. Many farmers came to 
 see my father's Merino rams, for in this, as well as 
 in other things, he was a man in advance of his 
 day. As far as I can remember, he had four of 
 these Spanish rams, and gave £io each for them. 
 The sheep-washing took place in a long meadow, 
 a considerable distance from the house, through 
 which ran a very small stream. At a certain place 
 this stream was dammed up, so as to form a pond, 
 and the sheep were penned up close by it. I 
 vividly recall this rough, active, and noisy scene. 
 There were washers, sliglitly dressed, standing in 
 the pond, ready to seize the unfortunate animals
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 29 
 
 from the catchers in the fold, who fluDg them 
 unceremoinously into the water, where they were 
 ducked and towzled about, and then, bewiklered, 
 and bleating most piteously, were driven ofi' into 
 the meadow to dry their dripping fleece as best 
 they could. The sheep-shearing day was of the 
 most momentous interest to us. My father had 
 given a sheep to each of us, and when it was 
 shorn, the fleece was weighed and we each received 
 the market price of the wool. Of course we were 
 anxious that our fleece should be heavy. To assist 
 this, on the morning of the sheep-shearing day my 
 father called us early, directing us to the fields and 
 lanes through which the sheep had ^^assed, leaving 
 a good many locks of w^ool upon the bushes. Oh, 
 kings' daughters ! what have they to equal the 
 delight of getting locks of wool from the bushes 
 in the early morning, and then fresh home to 
 breakfast on our bread and milk, sweetened by 
 our father's exhilarating pleasure in our success ? 
 It was a very sensational time with us when our 
 fleece w^as weighed, with our little gathered accumu- 
 lations. He always gave us the exact weight. 
 
 One cold spring morning, in the lambing-time, 
 my father came into the kitchen with a newly- 
 born lamb in his arms, as near dead as it well 
 could be. He was just going off" with my mother 
 to the monthly meeting at Norwich. He called 
 me quickly, saying, "Here, Marj^ ; if thee can 
 make this lamb live, thee shall have it for thy 
 own." By the time they returned, a joyful resur-
 
 30 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 rection Lad taken place. I had been sitting all 
 the moruing with the lamb laid on flannel before 
 a good fire. I kept rubbing it and giving it a 
 little milk, as it could take it, and before they 
 came home it could stagger about the kitchen. My 
 father was as good as his word — it was my lamb. 
 
 I must not omit a little description of harvest- 
 time, for that — to us children at least — was a season 
 of joy. The harvest-men were all boarded in the 
 house, and the cojDpers full of dumpling, the boilers 
 full of beef, were a sight to see. If the men were 
 working near the house, a horn was blown, and they 
 came trooping home, washed at the pump, and then 
 took their seats at the long table. There was always 
 a leader chosen among them, called a captain, who 
 sat at the top and kept order. When they were 
 working farther from the house, which we preferred, 
 a horse was put into a light cart, and the eatables 
 were placed in tins, the meat in one, puddings in 
 another, and vegetables in a third, with baskets 
 full of bread, and kegs and stone bottles of beer, 
 with pewter plates and tin mugs, so that there was 
 not much to break. When the cart appeared in 
 the field, the scythes and sickles were laid down, 
 and a place was chosen for the repast under a tree 
 or hedge as might be. We children were often 
 allowed to go with the cart. The fine rounds of 
 beef and long puddings make me almost hungry 
 now to think how good they looked. Everything 
 was well cooked in my mother's house, and the 
 harvest-cakes, of which every man had one in the
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 31 
 
 afternoon, with a horn of beer, were better than I 
 have ever been able to make since. Of course, 
 they had the dew of youth upon them. 
 
 When all the fields were cleared, the harvest 
 supper was the crowning achievement. The last 
 wasfo-on full of corn was adorned with branches of 
 trees and drawn into the yard ; then all the labourers 
 went home and dressed themselves in their best, 
 to come, with their wives, to the harvest supper. 
 There were two long tables in the kitchen, which 
 were plentifully covered with roast and boiled 
 meat, plum - puddings, and home - brewed beer. 
 After this was all finished, the captain would come 
 to the parlour-door to ask my father's presence in 
 the kitchen, where my father's and Madam Wright's 
 health w^as drunk, and I do not know what more. 
 Any one who had a voice was called upon for a 
 sonof, and the eveninoj ended with takinsj the tables 
 and boards off the tressels and having a dance, of 
 which I remember the comic effect, as we children 
 peeped behind the blinds of the glass door which 
 separated the kitchen from the keeping-room. 
 
 Perhaps no one was more glad than the farmer's 
 wife when the harvest was gathered in, and her 
 labours ended. I do not wonder at her being glad 
 when the change was made when the men boarded 
 themselves and all their wage was paid in money, 
 but it snapped some of the ties which bound the 
 servant and master together as fellow-creatures. 
 
 But the first real loosening which I can remem- 
 ber was the introduction of the threshing-machine.
 
 32 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 instead of the everlastinc: flail with wbicli hitherto 
 all the corn had been beaten out on the barn-floor. 
 Dear me ! I can hear it now, the first sound in the 
 early winter morning, the regular monotonous bang, 
 bang. Of course it made work when it was scanty 
 on the farm, and the men looked on the new con- 
 trivance with no favour, prognosticating, of course, 
 no good — as they do now at any change. But the 
 day came when, in my father's absence, a man's 
 hand was so much injured that he had to lose his 
 arm. AVorse was to come. On another Saturday, 
 when my father was in Norwich, a woman who 
 had no business to be there was caught in the 
 wheel, and died that evening from her injuries. 
 This v;as the warrant for the threshinfr-macLine to 
 stop, and my father yielded to it. 
 
 My mother and our governess, with Elizabeth 
 and me, walked through the village on the Sunday 
 evening. Instead of the greetings and curtseyings 
 common on such occasions, there w^as a dead silence, 
 and even as a child I felt the weio;ht of the solem- 
 nity painfully oppressive. 
 
 My mother was the lady of the village ; there 
 was no other ; all the little kindnesses proceeded 
 from "Madam Wright." There was a great stir 
 about vaccination at this time, and my mother had 
 Maria and Richard vaccinated. The village people 
 were of course opposed to the change ; they preferred 
 the veritable i\\m^ and have done wdth it. There 
 was a family where the small-pox was raging, and 
 at the worst my mother took Maria and Eichard to
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 33 
 
 the house to show that she had full confidence in 
 the cow-pox as a substitute for the small-pox. 
 
 Most of the labouring people at that time brewed 
 a little beer for themselves, which was called " small 
 beer." Those a little above them brewed a larger 
 store. In my father s house a good deal was brewed. 
 The dairymaid was also the brewer. When the 
 yeast had risen, my mother bottled what she needed 
 in stone bottles, and kept it in the cellar ; the re- 
 mainder was put into jugs, and Elizabeth and I 
 carried it to those who brewed their own beer ; and 
 when they brew^ed, they returned the compliment. 
 This was one of the convenient and pleasant little 
 ways through which a neighbourly feeling was kept 
 up. At that time people who did not make their 
 own bread were considered very bad managers ; it 
 was a kind of test of the quality of management. 
 
 In Felthorpe there w\as no society ; the only 
 neighbour with whom we visited lived in the 
 next parish. He was a farmer. His name was 
 Harsant, a fine man with a fine spirit. His wife 
 was as fjood a soul as ever lived. I am sure we 
 children thought so, for her heart was full of love, 
 and her cupboard full of cakes and mince-pies and 
 all sorts of good things. We could not eat too 
 much to please her. They had the old genuine 
 hospitality that would fearlessly run the risk of 
 making you ill, so that you did justice to their 
 provisions. Our friendship with them continued 
 through their lives. The rest of our society was 
 amonc^st the Friends at Norwich and my mother's 
 
 G
 
 34 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 relatives. Mr. and Mrs. Harsant Bot unfrequently 
 took a cup of tea with us. On these occasions my 
 father and Mr. Harsant would play quoits ; they 
 were both good players, and it was a delight to us 
 children to watch them. I have never seen quoits 
 played since. My father used to play trap-and- 
 ball with us. If he came in a few minutes before 
 dinner, he would catch up the bat and say, " Come, 
 girls, where is the ball ? " And then he would send 
 us such " nice catchers ; " and if we missed catch- 
 ing, he would say, " Ah, butter-fingers ! " What- 
 ever he did was full of life ; he never sent us bad, 
 erratic balls. Dear man ! there was no chafe or 
 worry about him, but, strong, hopeful, and kind, 
 he delighted in development and any exercise of 
 ingenuity. 
 
 I remember once a complaint being urged against 
 me by my sisters. I was, like my father, very fond 
 of speculation. I cannot remember what feat I had 
 thought I could perform, but one of my sisters said, 
 " Mary always thinks she can do everything." I felt 
 a little abashed, which I suppose my father saw, 
 for he laid his hand lovingly on my head and said, 
 " That's right, my dear, always ho23e." 
 
 I believe we were as happy as children could 
 be. But now there came a chansje. Our educa- 
 tion, begun at the dame school, was now to go on 
 under a bright young governess. She was a fine 
 creature, all life and intelligence. I think she was 
 the only daughter of an ofiicer who was with our 
 army in America, she and her mother remaining
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 35 
 
 in England. I suppose their means were not very 
 abundant. At that time, if girls Avent out for 
 governesses, it was always supposed they were 
 poor. She had been educated at Mr. Thurgar's 
 school at Norwich, which was a first-rate school for 
 the day. He inspired the girls with a delight in 
 learning, and this pupil certaiuly infused the same 
 into her scholars, and our school became a pleasure. 
 She was specially clever in teaching history, and 
 giving it the charm of reality. She would read 
 lloman and Grecian history to us, and then talk 
 about it ; then she would make an abstract of 
 what we had read, which we learned by heart and 
 repeated, not like parrots, for I know I had a living 
 appreciation of both characters and events. The 
 coldest day in winter I would sit muffled up in a 
 quiet place to learn the history-lesson. She intro- 
 duced us to a much more stirring kind of poetry 
 than we had known before. In the afternoon 
 whilst we worked she would draw from her own 
 store of imagination, and as she went on, produce 
 little romances. These were the little Quaker 
 girls' novels. My sister Anna, who slept with 
 her, and sat up later than the rest of us, had the 
 benefit of a story told in bed. After school she 
 was as ready to play as we were. She would fly 
 over the ditches, inciting us to follow her, and dig 
 up primroses and violets to plant at the sides of 
 our long house. Once in the half year we had 
 examinations. The room was decked with flowers. 
 My father and mother were present ; rewards were
 
 36 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 on the table, and no ambitious student at college 
 could be more anxious to disting-uish himself than 
 we were. Once in the week a French master came 
 from Norwich to teach us French ; also a drawiug- 
 master, who taught many families in the county ; 
 and he sometimes took us out to sketch. He was 
 a pleasant, friendly man. He would bait his horse 
 in my father's stable, take tea with us, and then go 
 on to some one else. 
 
 There is no knowino- what we mio^lit have 
 turned out had this governess remained to carry 
 us along the way of knowledge in such high heart. 
 Our afternoon reading; with her was in Plutarch's 
 Lives. I must have been nearly ten years old 
 when she left us. Her father wished her and her 
 mother to join him in America, so there was no 
 help for it. Our hearts were filled with sorrow 
 and our eyes with tears for the loss of one who 
 had given us so much joy. She entirely fulfilled 
 my father's idea of a teacher for children, and 
 great was his sorrow, in watching her successor, 
 to. see that, instead of climbing, we slid down the 
 hill. All that Nancy Wardell could boast of was 
 good temper, and that was inexhaustible. For- 
 tunately for Anna, she was sent to a Friends' school 
 at Tottenham, kept by Abigail Firth. Her educa- 
 tion was completed by one year's finishing at this 
 school ; she, with two other girls (the Clarks of 
 Downham) were parlour boarders, with whatever 
 privileges that might confer. Her friendship with 
 these girls was a great pleasure to her through her
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 37 
 
 life. Anna was a girl of good abilities, not quick 
 but thorough ; she was silent and abstracted. I, 
 being four years younger, was not a companion for 
 her, nor was she for me. Elizabeth and I were 
 inseparable. Anna was thus a good deal thrown 
 upon herself, when, at the end of the year, she 
 returned home to be our teacher. To Elizabeth 
 and me the year had been a lost one in the way 
 of intellectual progress ; verbal accuracy was all 
 that was required of us, so we learnt our tasks 
 and repeated them. From the time Anna went 
 to school at Tottenham our drawino--master was 
 discontinued ; our governess was supposed to teach 
 us drawing and French. She knew a good many 
 sonsfs, which she would sins: and teach to Elizabeth 
 and me. We none of us ever learned music, 
 therefore we had not the torment of learning to 
 disgust us ; but we delighted in music, as I believe 
 all Quaker girls do to whom it is forbidden. Mr. 
 Harsant's organ (a barrel-organ) was enchantment 
 to us, also a musical snuff-box he had ; and he 
 played on the violin ; so you may suppose that 
 the house of our neighbour was charming to us. 
 
 Personally, Elizabeth and I liked Annie War- 
 dell. She amused us, for she was very good at 
 chat and gossip, and we got acquainted with all 
 her little world of interest. My mother liked her 
 for her willingness to help, but my father almost 
 despised her. My father and mother were very 
 kind to all our governesses ; they were never made 
 to feel themselves in the way.
 
 38 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 On Anna's return from Tottenham, our governess 
 left us. We did not like Anna's reign, nor did we 
 learn happily ; saying lessons was a dull business, 
 and perhaps it was natural not to like the rule of 
 a sister, especially as there was no animation in it. 
 She was now growing into a pretty young woman, 
 at the age when ambition to be something springs 
 up in girls' minds. I think she and the Clarks 
 were working themselves out of the pupa state, 
 and emerging into something into which we were 
 not permitted to look, much less intermeddle with. 
 In her bedroom she had some Latin words written 
 on a card, of which we did not know the meaning, 
 although we learnt the words by heart. She was, 
 I believe, teaching herself Latin. She was so 
 reserved that my mother often wondered what 
 Anna could be thinkino: about. Elizabeth and 
 I used to say, " Anna has got away to her old 
 thoughts." 
 
 I must not forget to say during this year we 
 had an addition to our family. A distant relative 
 of my mother's died ; she was the wife of a farmer 
 living not many miles from us. She left a large 
 family of little children. The eldest girl, not more 
 than fifteen, was expected by her father to take 
 the management of the farm-house. Our parents 
 felt so deeply for this young girl and her father, 
 that my mother offered to take her for a year, and 
 to teach her all she could to fit her for her respon- 
 sible position. This ofi'er was most thankfully 
 accepted, and Betsy Parkham became my mother's
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 39 
 
 willing and most obedient pupil, and afterwards 
 discharged the duties of her life most creditably. 
 She taught us the steps of the Highland Eeel. I 
 think this was alL 
 
 But the time drew on when we must leave 
 our happy childhood life at Felthorpe — leave our 
 common ; the high wood ; the four-acre meadow ; 
 the oak grove ; the fields of which we knew the 
 names as familiarly as our own. During the early 
 part of this century, when the price of corn was 
 exceedingly high, a farmer could live even upon poor 
 Felthorpe land, and comparatively prosper, espe- 
 cially where a large flock of sheep were kept, 
 making it unnecessary to bring manure in waggons 
 from Norwich. The cultivation of land was at that 
 time much stimulated by the encouragement and 
 example of Thos. Wm. Coke (now Lord Leicester) 
 of Halkham, in the north part of Norfolk. There 
 were annual gatherings at his house at the time 
 of sheep-sheaiing, and all the farmers of any mark 
 were invited to be present and partake of his hos- 
 pitality. On these occasions all new inventions 
 and improvements were exhibited, and many a 
 farmer returned home with his head full of new 
 ideas. I remember the time when lucerne was 
 introduced as food for cattle. Mr. Burrows was 
 the first cultivator in Norfolk. He wished my 
 father to come over and look at his crops, and my 
 father drove over with my mother, Elizabeth, and 
 me to see them, and he soon adopted the plan for 
 himself.
 
 40 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 As soon as the cessation of war removed tlie 
 obstruction to commerce, and the price of corn 
 became as low as it had been high, the gentlemen 
 farmers who had grow^n up found a sad reverse, 
 especially on poor laud like Felthorpe ; and I have 
 no doubt it was this which induced my father to 
 give up the farm and join a shij)Owner at Yarmouth, 
 who appeared to be very prosperous, and had several 
 vessels engaged in profitable commerce. He came 
 several times to see my father, and it was at last 
 decided that all the farming stock should be sold 
 by auction, and whatever else would not be needed 
 at the new home. It was on the day of the auction 
 I first saw my dear father's face look anxious, 
 almost aoonized. I remember now how that look 
 struck to my heart wdien he saw his beautiful farm 
 horses and other stock selliug far below their value. 
 The old perennial sunshine ceased that day, for 
 though he was never moody, and mostly cheerful, 
 he became more silent, and his face more tlioughtful. 
 Worldly prosperity never visited him again, but he 
 was speculative, enthusiastic, and hopeful ; depres- 
 sion was foreign to him, and he never damped the 
 family by recounting his own anxieties. We spent 
 our last night at our dear friends the Harsants', who 
 were as sorry to lose us as we were to leave them. 
 
 I believe my dear mother was very anxious 
 about this remove. She often talked to my sister 
 Anna about it. My father w^as at home on the 
 farm. But of shi|)ping he knew nothing. He had 
 gathered together about ^10,000. My mother
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 41 
 
 never oj^posed my father, nor doubted that lie 
 understood better than she did wijat he was doing ; 
 still, while packing her movables, she was anxious 
 and thoughtful, having had no experience of any 
 but the farm life, and beingf well content where she 
 was. As for myself, when I had taken a heart- 
 aching look round on the dear old place where all 
 my life had hitherto been spent, I set off full of 
 hope and curiosity to enter on the experience of 
 the new home. Maria and Richard were left behind 
 with our good friends the Harsants, till we should 
 be settled. Elizabeth and I went with my father 
 and mother in the family chaise, drawn by Sports- 
 man, our father's favourite driving-horse. It was 
 a cold day at Michaelmas. We overtook the waggon 
 with our furniture. We had to pack into a small 
 house at first, as the house my father was building 
 for us was not completed. He had bought a j^iece 
 of land, on which he built a good comfortable 
 dwelling-house, a laundry, wash-house, and dairy 
 detached, also stable and chaise-house. There was 
 a good-sized meadow, which ran down to the 
 marshes, and a large kitchen-garden — everything 
 planned for comfort, and nicely furnished. 
 
 Here we began a residence of six or seven years. 
 I was not thirteen, Elizabeth eleven, Maria nine, 
 Richard about seven. John was at school, Anna 
 was a young woman of seventeen, and it is curious 
 how soon Elizabeth and I, from children, were raised 
 to considerable importance. 
 
 There w^ere several Friends' families in Yar-
 
 42 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 month. They were all in trade, and thoroughly 
 respectable. There were a large number of youDg 
 people, with whom we soon became acquainted. 
 They were a pleasant, sociable community of 
 Friends. William Sewell and liis orood wife were 
 the leading Friends in the Meetinsj. He liad a 
 large grocer's shop in the market-place, where his 
 sons and daughters were trained in business habits, 
 without at all becoming what is commonly called 
 mere shop men and women. William Sewell held a 
 high place in the town. The opinion of Quaker 
 Sewell had great weight. He was very watchful 
 over the young men, promoting in every way their 
 intellectual studies, and by his open-house hospi- 
 tality encouraged them to meet together and 
 exercise their powers in compositiou, discussion, 
 &c., &c. An annual Essay meeting was held at his 
 house, at w^hich the young men read their essays, 
 &c., to the young ladies and other friends of the 
 meeting. They called their society the Demos- 
 thenian Society. The young women afterwards 
 founded another called the Agenoria. Societies 
 like these are common enough now, but they were 
 rare in those days. The meeting for worship was 
 rather large. There was no minister, only the 
 same quiet sitting for two hours, morning and 
 afternoon, on the first day of the week. There 
 were no kind of religious advantages, only a steady 
 moral training, and a watchful guard against any 
 deviation into worldly amusements or fashions. 
 William Sewell's wife was an Elder, and kept her
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 
 
 eye jealously upon us, lest we should lead the other 
 youDg Friends out of the way of plainness of speech, 
 behaviour, aud apparel. My dear mother had 
 herself rather a taste for dress, though she kept 
 strictly within the letter of the law ; but her 
 children she liked to see prettily dressed, and with 
 this unfortunate proclivity, she ordered for our 
 winter dresses, at a fashionable dressmaker's in 
 Norwich, cloth pelisses of a very pretty sage green 
 colour, with capes. These capes, with the collars 
 and wrists, were trimmed with swansdown, which 
 made them not only very pretty, but very striking, 
 when worn hy four girls. "When we took our seats 
 at the top of the Meeting-house, all eyes w^ere upon 
 us, especially the eyes of the dear Elder, whose 
 silent cogitations were very painful and per^olexed. 
 When we went again in the afternoon, she passed 
 us without speaking. This was very eloquent; but 
 more soon followed. On the next mornino- she 
 came to our house and asked for an opportunity of 
 speaking alone with my mother, when she so seri- 
 ously set forth the danger of leading other young 
 girls into the temptation of dress, that my dear 
 mother was overcome with the fear of our becoming 
 a stumbling-block in the way of others, and much 
 to our disgust and disappointment, she sent back 
 the pretty pelisses to have the swansdown taken 
 off and a trifling little cord put round them, thus 
 depriving them of all their glory. AVe were very 
 angry, but to wound the conscience of a good 
 Friend, and set a dangerous example, were sins not
 
 44 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 lightly committed at tliat time. There was great 
 deference shown and respect paid to the Elders who 
 bore rule in the church ; they were not tyrannical, 
 only firm to their convictions of duty — especially 
 this dear woman who despoiled us. 
 
 When I was fourteen, my father and mother 
 thought that I should have a year at a boarding- 
 school, as Anna had done. I was sent to the same 
 school at Tottenham. The method of teachino: 
 was the same as at most other schools at that time 
 — ^just learning lessons and repeating them word 
 for word. We had a few lessons to learn out of 
 school hours. All this, lodged in the memory, was 
 considered as volumes of knowledge for future use. 
 I believe a great deal of it was dead seed. We 
 had a French master and a drawing-master. I 
 made a small proficiency in copying flowers, of 
 which I was very fond. I was a parlour boarder, 
 which ffave me the advantnsre of dining in the 
 parlour when there were visitors — always having 
 tea there with the governesses, and sitting up to 
 supper. The only thing I have to show for this 
 year is the piece of embroidery in wool, which, 
 when I came home, was duly framed and hung up. 
 This kind of work was then in fashion. 
 
 My education being now considered finished 
 (we should now consider not begun), I set myself 
 to carry it on after my own taste. We each of us 
 took some little part in household matters, and 
 Anna and I took it in turn, a week at a time, to 
 teach Elizabeth and Maria as we had been taufrhfc
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 45 
 
 ourselves. I am sure tliey gained little enough 
 from me. My great delight was in poetry, and 
 the works of Moore, Southey, Byron, Scott, and 
 others, continually coming out, gave me a perpetual 
 feast. For two years I think I read little besides, 
 learning whole books, and repeating them to my- 
 self in the silent meetino's. I do not think I 
 derived any harm from this almost exclusive atten- 
 tion to poetry. Quaker girls have little excitement 
 in their quiet lives, and these works afforded to 
 the craving^ imag-ination all the excitement and 
 variety it needed. There were other books that 
 Elizabeth and I read and half-studied tooether, and 
 with drawinof, and attendinoj the various meetin2:s 
 of the Agenorian Society, our time passed pleasantly 
 enough. We every now and then got a novel from 
 the circulating library, but this being forbidden 
 fruit, we devoured it in our bedroom. Our little 
 room, being far away from the others, admitted of 
 secret practices ; but it was not often that we so 
 trespassed. We lived very open lives, with little 
 concealment amongst us, and in perfect harmony 
 with each other. Through life it has been our 
 blessed experience never to quarrel or misunder- 
 stand each other. In the midst of my precious 
 father's secret trials, the unbroken love of his chil- 
 dren was his sweetest solace — the deep, true, and 
 vrarm love we bore him never failed. 
 
 From our settlement at Yarmouth I come upon 
 eight eventful years — eventful in many w^ays. I 
 have not the courage to recall the saddest portions
 
 46 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 very minutely, but will just touch upon them 
 sufficiently to carry the history forward. 
 
 In the year 1815 the battle of Waterloo gave 
 peace to our long-troubled land. We had a grand 
 illumination in the town, and a great dinner feasted 
 the people, the tables being placed all along the 
 quay. It might well be a time of rejoicing; the 
 price of food had become exorbitant — I think 
 flour was five shillings a stone. When my brother 
 Richard w^^s ten years old, my sister Ellen was 
 born. An event of equal importance was my 
 brother John's marriage to Anne Harford, by 
 which our family became enriched by the posses- 
 sion of one of the most charming of women — 
 superior in intellect, in sw^eetness, and amiability ; 
 simple and unselfish in the greatest degree. If 
 she had enjoyed the education given to women at 
 the present day, and had her unusual amount of 
 natural talent been developed, she would have 
 been distinguished in more than one field of art 
 or science. Her manners were charmino- • she 
 was the central attraction in every little company, 
 though altogether unconscious of it herself; her 
 aim was always to interest and bring out the 
 talents of others. She enchanted children, in- 
 structing them with the utmost simplicity. She 
 could address a company of children anywhere ; 
 her interest and afi'ection flowed out to them so 
 intensely that she never felt the burden of self- 
 consciousness, and the plentiful store of her imao-i- 
 nation always seemed within reach. She wrote seve-
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 47 
 
 ral works for yoimg people, the names of wliieh you 
 will remember. " The Observing Eye," which after 
 many years still retains its place ; two works on 
 geology, the title of one (I think), "The World pre- 
 pared for Man ; " and another work much valued, 
 " What is a Bird ? " I give you this sketch of dear 
 Aunt Wrio-ht as at the time I mention she became 
 a member of our family ; and my brother John, 
 havinof become of aQ-e, he settled at Dudwick House, 
 according to the intention of Cousin Wright, and 
 began the management of his own property, which 
 had been somewhat neglected by the executors. 
 
 The next important event of this period was 
 the starting of the first river steam-packet in Eng- 
 land. My uncle, Kichard Wright, had brought his 
 steamboat to perfection, and proposed to have it 
 placed on the Yarmouth river to run between Yar- 
 mouth and Norwich, and as his schemes always 
 emptied his pocket, he proposed to my father to join 
 him and take the management of it. My father did 
 so, and my uncle went ofi" to something else. 
 
 [Here follows an account of the draining of 
 Mr, Wright's resources through the dishonesty of 
 another. At last he determined to have the 
 matter sifted by competent arbiters. " This went 
 on for some time— a time never to be forgotten 
 by those who heard my father's step come into 
 the house after those meetings," his daughter 
 writes : and during^ the arbitration the offender 
 died, and the wrong was never righted.]
 
 48 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 My sister Anna and I bad often very grave 
 consultations at this time as to our own duty. 
 We could not bear to increase the burdens of our 
 dear father, and yet we could not see any way 
 before us. Situations as governesses were not so 
 easy to be obtained then as they are now, and to 
 be a governess involved a great descent in the 
 social scale — much more than at present. When 
 I was between seventeen and eighteen your dear 
 grandfather proposed to be taken into my good 
 books, but I was not so minded, and he went to 
 a Manchester warehouse in London for two or 
 three years. 
 
 [It was probably two or three years after this, 
 though the date is not given, that an explosion 
 took place on one of the two river steam-packets, 
 and a number of persons were killed. Mr. Wright 
 came up to Norwich by the other boat, and saw 
 thirteen dead bodies laid side by side close to the 
 river. Mrs. Wright was then at Tivetshall, and 
 a friend went to tell her of the calamity and 
 bring her to Norwich, where her daughter Mary 
 was staying. They remained together till the 
 following evening, when the parents returned to 
 Yarmouth in the other packet.] 
 
 It steamed slowly off, drawing the wrecked 
 packet behind it. Each side of the river was 
 lined wdth a speechless crowd ; the air was per- 
 fectly still ; there was the solemnity of death, and 
 silence that mio;ht indeed be felt. I louo;ed to ffo
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 49 
 
 with tliem, but I could not leave tlie friendly 
 duty I bad undertaken, and Henry Aggs, quietly 
 drawing my arm wiibin bis, took me back to the 
 Friends' bouse. 
 
 [Life bad to begin agaiu. Mr. Wrigbt bad lost 
 all, and tbe dausjbters looked out in good earnest 
 for situations as governesses. Mary obtained one 
 in a scbool in Essex.] - 
 
 I bad undertaken to teacb writing and cipher- 
 ing to all tbe school, as well as reading, besides 
 bearing all tbe usual lessons, and a quantity of 
 mending of stockings, &c. I was not afraid of 
 anything but tbe ciphering — that was my weak 
 point. My dear father engaged one of the tutors 
 in a school in Yarmouth to come and initiate me 
 before breakfast, but I w^as as much afraid of tbe 
 man as I was of the figures, so it did not pay. But 
 I got on, and nobody found me out ; and I was 
 a very pretty WTiter then, and could make good 
 quill pens, and as I had to make and mend about 
 forty every writing-day, I bad some practice. Tbe 
 mistress and her sister both liked me, and were very 
 kind, and after a while I felt pretty much at home — 
 as much as you can when the servants call you 
 familiarly by your name as if you were one of 
 them. I bad always been used to be called " Miss " 
 from the time when our governess first asserted our 
 dignity as young ladies. Dear Elizabeth went as 
 teacher to a family at Yarmouth, and dear Anna to 
 a Friends' family not far from me, and when we
 
 50 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 met or wrote, we made ourselves merry over little 
 things— whilst at home the way was very clouded. 
 My father's property was entirely lost, and my 
 dear brother John proposed that he should occupy 
 the small farm at Buxton— about ninety or a 
 hundred acres. This offer was accepted, and there 
 the dear people came, with Maria and Ellen, and 
 returned to old farm life, but oh, how different ! 
 I can never sufficiently admire the patient submis- 
 sion with which my mother again took to the irk- 
 some drudgery of a small farm-house, after the ease 
 and comfort she had enjoyed at Southtowu, with 
 her two competent servants ; now she had only one, 
 very inefficient. The many and various trials of 
 the first few years can only be realised by those 
 npon wdiom they especially fell. My father turned 
 to the management of his little farm with the 
 earnest, quiet energy of his character, and never 
 complained. We were scattered about, each of ns 
 with our own difficulties, every one doing their best, 
 no one adding to the other's burdens. My brother 
 John did all that the kindest son and brother could 
 do, alleviating the burdens and adding to the plea- 
 sures of the little crushed company ; and as time 
 went on, more sunshine came into the atmos- 
 phere, and continued to increase till the end, when 
 the home had long been the happy meeting-place 
 of sons and daughters, children and grand- 
 children. 
 
 I well remember the first Christmas holidays 
 when the scattered sisters met together again in
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 51 
 
 their new home. It ^Yas such a delight to us to 
 meet, and escape from our duties, — except for the 
 feeling that my dear mother — indeed all of them — 
 were making a great effort to make us this holiday, 
 and not to let us feel the straitened resources of 
 the house, with our youthful spirits, we enjoyed our 
 home ao'ain. 
 
 The great trial, to me, of this epoch, w^as that 
 your dear grandfather came forward again with 
 his proposition. . . . My heart had never been 
 entangled, and was not at all ready to put on 
 chains ; . . . but when I returned to my teaching, 
 a correspondence v/as decided on. 
 
 The holidays came again, but the way did 
 not seem to clear up ; there was no spark 
 upon the tinder. I was enthusiastic and sen- 
 timental — 
 
 [Here follows an amusing account of the way 
 in which the poetical maiden gradually became in- 
 clined towards her business-like lover.] 
 
 So I wrought myself up to saying, " Yes," and 
 I did not repent while I kept my castles in view. 
 When there came a fog, the wheels dragged heavily, 
 but they did drag on till they came to the wedding- 
 day. I was then twenty-two years old : lam now 
 ei(yhty-four, and looking back through the years, 
 I am sure I made no mistake — a kinder hus- 
 band or better father could rarely be found. Our 
 dissimilarity has probably introduced much more
 
 52 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 variety and interest into our lives, wliicli have 
 been any tiling but dull. 
 
 The weddinor took iilace in the little Meetino- 
 
 o 1 O 
 
 house at Lammas, and the wedding-dinner was at 
 my brother John's house. We went at once to 
 Cromer for a week, accompanied by my sister 
 Elizabeth. Wedding-trips were not so long and 
 adventurous then as they now often are. This was 
 many years prior to the opening of the first railway 
 in England, and travelling made easy. We had a 
 good horse and a chaise which held us three, and 
 before we turned ourselves to the little home j^re- 
 pared for us at Yarmouth, we visited Tivetshall 
 Hall, for many years the home of my mother's 
 brother, John Holmes, and his large family of sons 
 and daughters, with whom we were very intimate. 
 None of them are now remainino;-. 
 
 Our little house in the church trees close to the 
 large church was very diminutive, but large enough 
 to be happy in ; able to take in a friend, and to enter 
 on my first experience in housekeeping. Isaac's 
 father and mother, and his brother Abraham, with 
 his sweet and lovely wife Dorothy, at this time 
 lived in Yarmouth, and my sister Elizabeth was 
 still teaching Joseph Hunter's children (his wife, 
 Fulleretta, was sister to Isaac), so that we were very 
 happily placed among our relatives. Before many 
 months had passed, I found plenty of needlework 
 to do in preparing baby linen. There were then no 
 sewing-machines, and the Friends, at any rate, did 
 not go to ready-made linen shops. All the prepara-
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 53 
 
 tions for baby garments were made by loving 
 fingers at home, or by friends and relatives ever 
 ready to "welcome a little stranger." On the 30th 
 of March the little stranger came — ati unclouded 
 blessing — for fifty-eight years the perennial joy of 
 my life. 
 
 A few days after her birth, it was discovered 
 that Issac and his partner had been overreached 
 in taking the business — that it would not support 
 two families, and that my husband, as the younger 
 partner, must look out for another business, and 
 that speedily. The world was all before us, it is 
 true, but it was very difiicult to choose a place of 
 rest. We would much rather have remained in 
 Norfolk near our friends. I abhorred the idea of 
 London ; but William Sewell, Isaac's brother, led 
 by some unlucky genius — if we own such agents at 
 all in our affairs — found out a little street leading 
 out of Bishopsgate Street, having neither shops nor 
 trafiic in it. There he spied a small private house, 
 opposite a public-house where hackney-coaches, as 
 cabs were then called, stood waiting when unem- 
 ployed. The house consisted of an underground 
 kitchen, a room upon a level with the street, and 
 four stories above, each with one room. AVilliam 
 Sewell was considered by his brothers a man of 
 business, and when he was called upon for counsel, 
 his ideas were generally adopted, as they unfortu- 
 nately were in this case. He recommended turn- 
 ing the ground floor into a shop, chiefly with a 
 view to Quaker custom, as it was not far from
 
 54 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 tlie Meetino;-liouse. He left out of tlie calcula- 
 tion that within a very short distance there was 
 a long- established and well-supplied Quaker shop, 
 which would naturally engi'oss the custom of the 
 Friends. 
 
 At considerable expense, the requisite altera- 
 tioES were made. Whilst Isaac was staying in 
 London to superintend, I aiid my baby went to 
 stay with my dear father and mother. At Michael- 
 mas, when my little darling was six mouths old, 
 we started for London. My father and mother 
 Sewell accompanied us, as they had decided to 
 leave Yarmouth and live in the neighbourhood of 
 Loudon. I have always had good courage and 
 plenty of hope, and I was young. All these 
 advantages were needed for this enterprise, which 
 very soon manifested its character. As might have 
 been divined, the place was not known, and very 
 few customers came. It was a small new shop, 
 with no ability to look attractive. I made some 
 little fancy things to put in the w^indow : I forget 
 if they were sold. Whatever we might do, how- 
 ever, things daily grew worse and worse. The 
 want of I'resh air, the high stairs, the noise, and 
 incessant work began to tell upon me, though I 
 kept up my spirits. At last nohodij came to the 
 shop, and a council had again to be called. This 
 resulted in Isaac's going into partnership in a 
 much laro-er concern with a man who brouirht in 
 most of the money, and was very reckless and 
 unsound in his trading principles. We removed to
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 55 
 
 a large Louse with a number of assistants, and as 
 it was a long-established business it was expected 
 to answer wtII ; but before two years it was broken 
 up, and so was I. It was a miserable failure ; 
 Isaac lost everything he had. At ihis juncture 
 my Philip was born, a blessing to me every day 
 of his life to this self-same day. The doctor said 
 I must leave London, and lodoing-s were secured 
 at Hackney, where I went wdth the two children. 
 Whilst I was there, our furniture was sold by 
 auction. Tiiis w^e both gave up freely to pay our 
 debts. I must say I grieved a little over some 
 of my 'wedding -presents, especially the tea-urn 
 which my dear mother had given me. My dear 
 brother John and another friend bou2;ht in a small 
 quantity of our furniture, sufficient for a small 
 house which we took at Dalston. Here we lived, 
 I think, nine or ten years, and here the dear chil- 
 dren's happy childhood w^as passed. Isaac had to 
 begin life again without capital. He engaged himself 
 as traveller to a large lace manufactory at Notting- 
 ham. He continued in this some years, and then 
 became assistant to his brother, William Sewell. 
 
 It will be easily supposed that strict economy 
 had to be practised at Dalston, but there is no 
 hardship in plain, simple food and clothing. Trouble 
 often comes w^hen these are superabundant, but as 
 long as there is enough without carking care, there 
 is freedom ; and I believe this is the best atmos- 
 phere for a child's mind and body. I had only 
 one little servant, and we washed at home. As
 
 56 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 the children grew up, they shared with me in little 
 household occupations. They were always with 
 me ; we were workfellows and playfellows, and 
 wished no greater happiness. I think we were 
 exceedingly happy. Isaac saw very little of his 
 home ; he had to leave at eight o'clock in the 
 moruiug, and seldom returned till eight in the 
 evening. Sunday was a very happy time, when 
 we were all too-ether. 
 
 About this time I wrote my first little book in 
 words of one syllable.^ I wanted to earn money, 
 if I could, for the purchase of books to help me in 
 the children's education. I sold it for ^3, which 
 was a little fortune to me then, when all mv wants 
 were in subjection to our circumstances, and small 
 gifts and possessions were much prized. A happy 
 state ! the most enduringly healthy. The children 
 had very happy dispositions and fine tempers ; 
 we knew nothing about punishments — to have a 
 kiss withheld was too severe for either of them. 
 How beautiful their young lives seem to me now, 
 ns I look back upon those promising young plants ! 
 Even if I had not loved them so dearly, I should 
 naturally have been proud of them, for they were 
 fine, attractive children, and very intelligent. Anna 
 very early manifested her talent for drawing, and 
 they both delighted in natural history. It would be 
 almost ridiculous to mention the number of sciences 
 into which they took the first steps. Sometimes 
 their father would bring them home a shell ; by 
 
 1 " Walks with Mamma."
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 57 
 
 degrees they had a nice little collection, and would 
 occasionally visit the British Museum to learn their 
 names. Whilst on a visit at Folkestone they saw 
 the Blue Clay full of fossils ; this w^as a great in- 
 terest to them. Gerard Edward Smith, a great 
 botanist, was staying there at the time, and helped 
 much to foster their love of flowers, which ever 
 went on increasing:. 
 
 Entomology was delightful to us all, bub we 
 never compassed death to make a collection ; we 
 made one trial — that was sufiicient. I have always 
 been glad that we gave it up. I believe the habits 
 of the insects were observed much more accurately 
 than if the ambition of possessiug them had been 
 gratified. I often used to paint moths and butter- 
 flies that had been captured and kept under a glass 
 for a short period. We went on to many little 
 chemical experiments, and increasingly found the 
 world a very beautiful and interesting place to live 
 in. Their fellow-creatures with whom they were 
 particularly disgusted were men who shot birds for 
 amusement — they alw^ays designated them Boobies. 
 One day one of these shot a blackbird, which fell 
 into our front garden. The man came to the gate 
 to get possession of it. Anna rushed to the door. 
 With an obsequious smile, the man said, "If you 
 please, Miss, will you let me take my bird 1 " " No," 
 she said, " thee cruel man, thee shan't have it at all." 
 Cruelty or oppression of any kind roused all their 
 indignation. They were very unselfish. At the time 
 we lived at Dalston the potato flimine occurred in
 
 58 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 Ireland. We had been planning for some time for a 
 visit to the seaside, and I had been carefully econo- 
 mising so as to have sufficient money to meet the 
 expense. Our plans and conversation centred on 
 this trip. With rather a fainting heart I pictured 
 to them the sufferings of the Irish, and how much 
 money was wanted to buy food for them. I told 
 them I had no money to spare except the money 
 I had laid by for our trip. Would they be willing 
 to give that up and send the money to the Irish 
 people ? They both at once said they would. I 
 told them to think about it during the day, and 
 if at night they were of the same mind, the money 
 should be sent. At night they were quite deter- 
 mined that the money should be apj)ropriated to 
 the starving Irish. Eventually they gained more 
 than they had given up. Without knowing any- 
 thing of this act of self-denial, my husband s kind 
 brother William proposed to send us all to the sea 
 at Sandgate for some weeks, at his own expense. 
 This was a most delightful treat, giving us great 
 increase of knowledo^e, as I have said before. Philip 
 was about seven years old, Anna nine — old enough 
 for us together to explore and enjoy in all direc- 
 tions. Lucy Sewell joined us, and we were very 
 happy. 
 
 The first school that Philip w^ent to was the 
 Hackney Grammar School, where he won a very 
 good character from Mr. Ellis, the master. My 
 Anna did not go to school. She had a great deal 
 of courage and independence of character, never
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 59 
 
 burdened with auy kind of fear. As very little 
 children I accustomed them to playing in the dark. 
 Many a game of hide-and-seek have I had with 
 them in a room bordered by a dressing-room and 
 two closets, and admitting of all kinds of surprises. 
 They were never afraid of any kind of insect, 
 would handle beetles, spiders, earwigs, &c., with 
 pleasure, and were much amused if any one was 
 afraid of them. One of the "reat deliorhts of their 
 early days, and many later ones, was a visit to 
 Buxton. Buxton was the Paradise of children — 
 there they found the joy of unfettered freedom in 
 the country ; and, besides aunts and grandmother, 
 there was the grandfather, the central attraction to 
 all the grandchildren. When he was sitting, they 
 were sure to be round him ; when he walked, they 
 were by his side. There was never any noise or 
 boisterous play, but any one who watched could see 
 that the conversation was full of deep interest. 
 My father knew the heart of a child ; his own 
 nature was fall of hope and experiment — that high 
 temperature in which intelligent children delight to 
 dwell. My father was, as I have said before, an 
 enthusiast held in the fetters of circumstances ; 
 but it always remained latent, and he could kindle 
 it in the spirits of children. Swimming, shooting 
 and riding were all learned at Buxton : the shoot- 
 ing was, I think, confined to garden thieves — the 
 sparrows and blackbirds. Their Aunt AYright had 
 also a perfect fascination for children, with her 
 never-failing power of interesting them in natural
 
 6o LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 history. These were halcyon days, to be lield in 
 remembrance through life. A free, active, happy 
 childhood is the best foundation for a happy life, 
 and if they have as much responsibility as they 
 can cany without anxiety, they enjoy it, and it 
 strengthens the character. 
 
 Whilst living at Dalston we made the acquaint- 
 ance of Mrs. AY right, a very charming and superior 
 woman. She was fond of natural history, and 
 much encourao^ed the children's taste for it, John 
 Coppen's family also became our friends, also the 
 Georo;e Briohtmans and a few others. Whilst 
 living here my precious Anna dislocated her elbow, 
 which was some time in recoverino- its streno;th and 
 usefulness. In speaking to her aunt of this pain- 
 ful accident she said, " I bored it well ; " and so 
 she might have said of the many painful accidents 
 and suflerings of her life ; she always had a cheer- 
 ful, patient courage. They were both early accus- 
 tomed to the care of animals, and kept an accurate 
 account of ex^jenses — money was very precious in 
 those days. 
 
 I must not leave Dalston without speaking of 
 the Christmas hamper from Buxton, when every 
 gift tvas a gift. Children were not overwhelmed 
 with presents at that time, as they now often are. 
 The unpacking as well as the packing was all heart- 
 felt. The children stood round, and as every 
 labelled article came out, it was received with joy- 
 ful acclamations. Grandmother sent ducks and 
 sausages and mince-pies, and grandfather, apples.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 6i 
 
 pears, and walnuts, and things on which were 
 written, "For my dear boy," or ''For my little 
 maid ; " something from each aunt then at Buxton, 
 and letters — not very much in money cost, but oh, 
 how much in deep love ! 
 
 Whilst we were living at Dalston my dear sister 
 Anna w^as married to that excellent man Joseph 
 Crewdson of Manchester, a widower with six chilren. 
 
 As I linger on the life at Dalston, I recall many 
 occupations and interests. I was associated with 
 Sarah Brightman in the Anti-Slavery Association 
 and in penitentiary work at Shoreditch. At that 
 time there was much attention called to the suffer- 
 ings of little chimney-sweepers, and I found courage 
 to fro round the neighbourhood to beo^ monev to 
 purchase one of the brooms now in use. I suc- 
 ceeded in getting ^lo, the needed sum, and the 
 broom was successfully introduced in Dalston. 
 There was also a good deal of visiting the poor. 
 
 But our house began to feel too small, and Isaac, 
 who delighted in places which afforded scope for 
 alteration and improvement, spied an empty build- 
 ing which had been coach-house and stable to a 
 gentleman's house close by. The present tenant 
 needed only a house and a strip of garden behind 
 it, leaving four acres of meadow laud, a large fruit 
 and vegetable garden, and some outhouses. This 
 square empty building — I shall never forget the 
 morning when your grandfather first took us to see 
 it. The traces were there of what had been beauti- 
 ful when cared for ; it was now quite ruinous. A
 
 62 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 broad, straight piece of water, in which gokl-fish 
 were swimming, divided the garden from the mea- 
 dow ; the okl damask rose w^as growing wild ; 
 there was a fine acacia and tulip tree, besides 
 wahiut, apple, pear, and plum trees. I and the 
 children w^ere almost beside ourselves with delioht. 
 Of course the house-w^alls had to be filled w^ith 
 rooms, and a great deal besides to be done before 
 w^e could live in it. Uncle Philip Sewell lent the 
 money, and in about half a year it was finished 
 and w^e left Park Road and entered upon our new 
 life. Philip left the Hackney Grammar School 
 and went to a Friends' school at Stoke Newintrton 
 where we now resided. A private carriage-road 
 led from the main road to our house, wdiich was 
 quite secluded, and after the garden was laid out 
 and all made complete, it was a very pretty and 
 pleasant homo. 
 
 The great change to me w\as keeping cows. 
 Your grandfather's idea was, that our small income 
 might be increased by selling milk in the neioh- 
 bourhood. This involved keeping a man and his 
 wife to attend to them and carry out the milk. 
 Beside the cows, there w^ere pigs, ducks, hens, and 
 rabbits. The dear children here were very bus\^ 
 and very useful. Philip used to see the milk mea- 
 sured out in the morning, and often milked a cow • 
 he w^ould sharpen the knives or clean the shoes, or 
 anything to help on the general comfort of the 
 family. There w\as no idea of degradation beloijo-- 
 ing to work, but a great deal of animation, and time
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 63 
 
 passed most pleasantly as we worked together. At 
 this time my brother Richard, who had taken some 
 land at Enfield, came to live with us. With this 
 addition to the family, I could not find time to 
 help on dear Anna's education. There was a good 
 day-school within a mile of our house, and we 
 decided that she should be a day-boarder there. 
 Your grandfather's salary did not increase, and the 
 cows were not very remunerative. The strain on 
 our income became too great, and I decided to dis- 
 miss my servant and do the work myself, with a 
 little assistance in the morning, and all that the 
 dear children could give me when they were at 
 home. As I was alone all the day, there was 
 plenty of time to do the work, and the churning 
 and making the butter was a pleasure rather than 
 otherwise. I had no sense of hardship, and our 
 domestic interests and employments were many 
 and various. Natural history (practical) was still 
 a great pleasure, and there was some time for read- 
 ing. Wherever my children were, I was happy, 
 although prosperity never came. 
 
 When we had been at Palatine Cottao;e about 
 a year, your Uncle and Aunt Wright, who had 
 been staying at Sidmouth and Jersey, came to see 
 us on their way home. Aunt Wright was taken 
 ill, and in consequence their visit lasted seven 
 weeks. Uncle Wright was returning home full of 
 joy and peace, in the blessed realisation of salvation 
 through Christ's atonement ; he was always full of 
 praise and persuasion, and from that time he began
 
 64 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 that earnest, Christian, and beneficent life wLicli be 
 consistently maintained till the end. His simple, un- 
 compromising, courageous faitb helped to develop all 
 bis fine qualities — his high-principled morality, bis 
 generosity and kindness of heart, aud bis admirable 
 common-sense. He bad little imao-ination, and 
 sometimes failed to see all the bearinsjs that a sub- 
 ject migbt properly admit of; but bis thoughts and 
 plans always stood four-square, \vitb justice aud 
 truth at tbe foundation. He was always the friend 
 of the poor, a most kind son and brotber ; liberal 
 in all directions, at the same time most conscien- 
 tious and self-denying in all bis own expenses. I 
 often wisb somethino; could be written which would 
 do justice to bis fine character and that of his 
 excellent wife. You none of you knew Aunt 
 Wright, but I am sure you have never beard ber 
 mentioned without love and admiration. She was 
 a woman of unusual endowments. Without ever 
 baving any regular school education, she and ber 
 sisters, witb the help of their widowed mother, so 
 diligently availed themselves of every opportunity 
 and circumstance of advantage, that they were 
 always considered women of cultivated minds, espe- 
 cially Aunt Wright. Having no children of her 
 own, she bad more leisure to devote to study, 
 especially of natural sciences ; and being an enthu- 
 siast herself, she communicated ber animation and 
 delight to groups of children who would gather 
 round ber, attracted and entranced by ber charming 
 manner. She was one of the least self-conscious,
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 65 
 
 the least self-seeking, most artless and cliarming of 
 women I have ever met with. Guileless herself to 
 a degree, she never suspected guile in others. This 
 very guilelessness, however, prevented her having 
 a quick perception and understanding of human- 
 kind at large ; she always intended what was kind 
 and amiable herself, and gave others credit for the 
 same disposition. She was a great favourite in 
 society. In the near neighbourhood of Buxton, 
 a party was scarcely complete without her ; she 
 always went out with the thought of giving plea- 
 sure — only to gain herself by giving. She was not 
 at all handsome, but she had a very animated and 
 intelligent countenance. She had fine grey eyes, 
 with black eyelashes, eyebrows, and hair. She was 
 tall, and when becomingly dressed had a picturesque 
 appearance ; she had a full voice, and a very plea- 
 sant one. She could always chain the attention 
 of the rough boys at the Reformatory when she 
 addressed them, as she often did — no speaker was 
 listened to by them with so much attention and 
 affection. She had a beaming, pleasant smile for 
 every child and young person ; her delight was 
 with the young ; she was so young herself, in her 
 unaffected, cheerful sympathy. I wish you could 
 have seen her and known her ; you would have 
 loved her. My father and mother were very fond 
 of her ; the difference of their position, which in 
 many cases would have had a contrary effect, only 
 served to show out the intrinsic excellence of the 
 characters on both sides — the parents in the cottage 
 
 E
 
 66 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 in comparative poverty, and the son and daughter 
 in the large house, with all its fitting appointments — 
 no jars or jealousy ever arose. John was proud of 
 his father ; he loved him, and he loved his mother, 
 and the sound of his step was always music to their 
 ears. There was much that was very touching in 
 this position, better known to those who lived 
 there than to me, who was only an occasional visi- 
 tor ; it brought out beautiful traits of character all 
 the way round. 
 
 I must now go back to the time when your 
 uncle and aunt stopped seven weeks at Palatine 
 Cottage. It was a time of deep interest to me per- 
 sonally. I had for a long time been very unsettled 
 in my religious views. The Friends' preaching at 
 this time rarely entered upon doctrine, and was for 
 the most part silent on Justification by Faith. I 
 had not at all apprehended this doctrine ; on the 
 contrary, I had almost entirely adopted Unitarian 
 views, through reading the works of Channing, the 
 admirable American preacher and writer. It was 
 this doctrine of Justification through Christ which 
 had now become Uncle Wright's stronghold — the 
 one on which he daily expatiated, rather to my 
 annoyance ; but I saw it had given him a happiness 
 which I was very conscious I did not possess — he 
 had rest, peace, and joy overflowing. After they 
 left us, I set myself to read the New Testament 
 more critically than I had ever done before, with 
 earnest prayer that I might know the exact truth 
 which it was God's mind to impart through His
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 67 
 
 Word. I laid aside Clianiiing, and read day after 
 day and month after month, and I saw verbally 
 the truth of Christ's full atonement ; but it was 
 long before I believed it to the salvation of my 
 soul. The very reasonable and attractive views of 
 the Unitarians were difficult to escape from ; but 
 through God's exceeding mercy I did make a clean 
 escape. 
 
 At this time many Friends were feeling that 
 this doctrine of Justification by Faith was not held 
 with sufficient clearness by the Society generally, 
 and certainly was not preached. A little book of 
 Isaac Crewdson's, of Manchester, called " The 
 Beacon," brought the subject prominently forward, 
 and very many members left the Society. The 
 number in Manchester was considerable. For a short 
 time they formed a little company and met together 
 for worship ; but the larger number united in wor- 
 ship with other Christians, and some kept unat- 
 tached, feeling that the true bond was in Christ 
 the Head. The subject of sound doctrine was thus 
 brought prominently before the Society at large, 
 the views of many who remained were much 
 changed, and the ministry also, as well as their 
 published works. In a Society so peaceful and 
 exemplary as the Friends, this division was exceed- 
 ingly painful. It was at this time I left the 
 Society. It appeared to me then that the con- 
 fession of Christ by Baptism, and of His death for 
 us and His coming again as expressed in the Com- 
 munion service, was binding upon Christians, and
 
 68 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 I feared to neglect what I saw to be a duty laid 
 upon me. This involved (at that time) dismissal 
 or withdrawal from the Society of Friends. Your 
 dear grandfather preferred my withdrawing to 
 being dismissed. I sent in my resignation to the 
 monthly meeting at Gracechurch Street, of which 
 Stoke Newington was a part, and then I ceased 
 being; a Friend in name. It would be difficult to 
 express to you the exceeding pain which this sever- 
 ance cost me. Thinking and feeling as I did then, 
 I could not conscientiously have done otherwise, 
 but it was distressing in so very many ways, that 
 if the Lord had not given me abundance of peace, 
 I could not have gone through Avith it. It was 
 heart-breaking work not goiug with dear grand- 
 father to Meeting. I wished to have gone to the 
 Friends' Meeting one part of the day, and to 
 church or chapel on the other, but he did not approve 
 of this. Philip continued to go with his father, and 
 dear Anna, being lame, could seldom go anywhere. 
 Oh, I was very lonely — almost all my friends and 
 acquaintances were Friends, and there was, as might 
 be supposed, much misjudging. Some thought I 
 wanted more liberty, and that I was impatient 
 of the little distinctive peculiarities of Friends, and 
 I wished to get rid of the Quaker bonnet. So 
 far from this, it was quite a trial for me to give 
 it up ; for I thought then, and think still, that 
 the Friends' dress is the prettiest a woman can 
 wear. 
 
 Several families of Friends with whom we were
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 69 
 
 acquainted left the Society of Friends about the 
 same time ; so did your Uncle and Aunt Wright and 
 your aunts ; but we were far apart, and each had 
 to be led in a way and by a Wisdom higher than 
 their own. Your dear grandfather was exceed- 
 ingly kind and patient. He was not led to take 
 the same views which I had had pressed upon me, 
 and he remained a Friend to the end of his days. 
 Never bigoted or pronouncing harsh judgment on 
 others, his spirit was truly catholic and charitable. 
 But with all this, my experience leads me to say 
 that not to be fully united in external practical 
 religion is a matter, if possible, to be avoided in 
 domestic life. I made many mistakes through 
 ignorance, which I remember with much pain. 
 
 But I must return to Palatine Cottage and its 
 busy interests. Darling Aunt Anna and I papered 
 the house throughout, and did a good deal of the 
 painting. We never thought we could not do things 
 that wanted to be done. I now often wonder at 
 the difficult things I trusted and encouraged my 
 children to attempt. 
 
 There came a great discouragement to our hope 
 of swelling our income through the cows. The 
 milkwoman turned out to be a thief; she gathered 
 in the money and used it herself, saying that the 
 regular customers had put off the payment of their 
 bills. As they were all thoroughly respectable 
 persons, and many of them Friends, I was not 
 troubled about it ; but at last the delay seemed so 
 straneje to me, I mentioned it to one of the Friends,
 
 70 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 and found that her account had always been kept 
 close paid up. This led nie to inquire of others, 
 and I found the same story. A large sum I had 
 been reckoning upon to make ends meet was gone. 
 The woman in some way caught a hint of the dis- 
 covery, and before we could call them to account, 
 both husband and wife bad decamped, leaving no 
 trace behind them. Then we tried lodgers, but 
 this proved neither pleasant nor profitable. 
 
 We were now in troubled waters ; but the 
 worst had to come. Eeturning from school one 
 afternoon, a heavy shower of rain came on, and 
 my Nannie, having no umbrella, ran home very 
 fast. The carriage-road sloped rather steeply to 
 the garden gate, and just as she reached the gate 
 she fell and spi-ained her ankle. It was a very bad 
 sprain. She called out, and I helped her indoors, 
 little thinkino- that henceforth her dear life was to 
 be coloured by this event — 7iot c/wcoloured. I con- 
 clude now that the Blessed Lord saw that He could 
 make a more exquisite character out of that noble, 
 independent, courageous, capable creature by im- 
 prisoning it within the strictest limitations than by 
 giving it the play of a full development. But oh, 
 how often did my heart yearn over those apparently 
 wasted faculties ! how it bled to see the cramp of 
 those crippling fetters sometimes upon one faculty, 
 sometimes upon another, leaving her powerless to 
 execute what she could sec so clearly and do so 
 well ! Recurring again and again to the treatment 
 of this first injury, in which many mistakes were
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 71 
 
 made, how often have I unavailingly said, " Oh, if 
 I had done this / " " Oh, if she had not done that ! " 
 " Oh, if the doctors had been wiser ! " or, " Perhaps if 
 we try this or that, she may be cured." And we 
 tried everything, as far as our circumstances would 
 allow, for I always kept alive the hope that the 
 healing-time would come. And so the years passed 
 on, neither of us yielding to despair — she always 
 doing the most she could do, and doing all cheerfully. 
 Though she is now safe in heaven, with all her work 
 done, I can scarcely bear, even now, to recall the 
 beo^innino; of this life of constant frustration. But 
 God has given her the victory. All who knew her 
 loved her ; and she has left them an example of the 
 most persevering industry and cheerful patience. 
 Her sufTerinos never made 2;loom or a cloud in 
 the house. She never brooded over her loss of 
 power, or the loss of the changes or amusements 
 which others enjoy. Her own mind was always a 
 storehouse of refreshment to herself; it was a rich 
 garden, which circumstances never allowed to be 
 fully cultivated, but it was full of thought and 
 ready appreciation of the genius and talents of 
 others. She was my sunshine always ; there never 
 came the slio-htest cloud between us. Thank God. 
 I must o;o back to our circumstances. We could 
 not make both ends meet. The only plan we could 
 devise was to let the home we had made so pretty 
 and pleasant, and take a less expensive one. We 
 could let it to an advantage of ^20 a year — not 
 much, but something. A dear friend about to be
 
 72 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 married offered to take the Louse ; tins was a great 
 consolation, that our loss would be the gain of some 
 one we loved, and I experienced great pleasure 
 in fitting it up for him. We found a house at 
 Shacklewell, a very short distance off, where we 
 did not remain quite a year. This was to us an 
 eventful year. I left the Society of Friends, and 
 your grandfather decided to take the management 
 of the London and County Joint-Stock Bank, which 
 was to be opened at Brighton. He was considered 
 a thorough man of business. He had seen a variety 
 of business, was scrupulously upright and exact in 
 everything, exceedingly industrious and persever- 
 ing, and never saved himself trouble by throwing 
 it upon others. He was most considerate to all he 
 employed, and never made an enemy. He was 
 so skilful in training young men in the conduct of 
 bank business, that clerks intended for other banks 
 were often sent to him first. 
 
 On this year I attended for the last time the 
 yearly Meeting of Friends, which I have always 
 considered the most unique and interesting assembly 
 held in the country. From all the counties of 
 England, from Scotland, Ireland, and America, 
 came representatives bringing reports of the state 
 of the Society from all these parts, and competent 
 to speak u])Ou the report if needful. All the 
 ministers who could leave their homes attended 
 this gatherinor. Those who had friends in or near 
 London visited them. Many of the rich Friends 
 kept open house, and invited large companies to
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 73 
 
 dinner between the meetings. Mildred Court, 
 where Elizabeth Fry presided, w^as very popular. 
 A number of the ministers w^ent there, and often 
 spoke after dinner. 
 
 I never expect to see so pretty a sight again 
 as the Women's Meeting at Devonshire House — 
 perfectly unique. No colour was to be seen in it 
 except the varying shades from w^hite, silver grey, 
 every gradation of dove-colour, drab, fawn, and 
 brown, up to black, which usually was confined to 
 the bonnet. The Friends' bonnet was almost uni- 
 versal ; here and there might be seen a straw 
 cottage, but it was not considered genteel. The 
 young Friends were far from being indifferent to 
 their dress, and as they sat in quiet rows on the 
 forms, with their sweet, pure faces and modest 
 demeanour, it was a lovely sight to see. The 
 friendly, unimpassioned countenances of the elder 
 members gave a comfortable consciousness of being 
 safe amongst those who were and would be your 
 friends. The yearly Meeting w'as a grand time for 
 meeting acquaintances from far and near ; it was 
 quite a gala-time for the young men and women, 
 and many parties were made up for visiting exhibi- 
 tions of painting, and other London sights. The 
 experiences of the yearly Meeting were something 
 to talk about when they returned to their quiet 
 homes. Friends are so generally known to each 
 other, at least by name, that, more than any other 
 religious assembly, it had the feeling of a great 
 family meeting — and parting.
 
 74 LIFE OF MRS, SB WELL. 
 
 In the course of this particular yearly Meeting 
 occurred the discussion to which I have before 
 jilluded, and which resulted in my leaving the 
 Society. I felt it my duty to be baptized, and that 
 was contrary to the principles of Friends, and I 
 was no longer eligible as a member. To find my- 
 self suddenly cut adrift from so much that had 
 been precious to me all my life was more painful 
 than I can express. I was still one with Friends 
 in almost all my views. Almost all my relatives 
 as well as acquaintances were Friends, in whose 
 opinion, for the most part, I had now sadly fallen. 
 The heaviest part of the trial was changing the 
 place of worship. I bad not thought how difficult 
 this would be. Spiritual worship was the leading- 
 idea in Friends' Meetings, and the solemn silence, 
 broken only occasionally by solemn ministry or 
 prayer, favoured the idea of its general reality — 
 they were solemn assemblies. I left Friends so 
 suddenly, I may say unexpectedly, that I had never 
 given myself the time or trouble to search into the 
 opinion or opinions held by other religious bodies, 
 such a complete separation had existed in our 
 modes of worship. 
 
 I went first to church, and did not feel at all 
 at home. The Prayer-book was quite a puzzle, 
 and the continual up and down was a great dis- 
 turbance ; the rapid transition from prayer to 
 praise and confession was quite beyond the facility 
 of my mind, and whilst following hard to catch 
 the words of the service, I quite missed the spirit
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 75 
 
 of tlie worship. Oue thing struck me as pain- 
 fully irreverent. The children in the choir, a large 
 number of them, were placed in full view of the 
 consreo-ation. These children had to oro throuo-h 
 the whole of the service in an audible voice, whilst 
 a man with a long stick kept touching them up 
 to their duty. This struck me as nothing better 
 than mockery and hypocrisy, and I w^as greatly 
 shocked; and I cannot say I have ever become 
 reconciled to it, or could think it likely to promote 
 a spiritual mind. The preaching at this church 
 was very good, but I could not get at home with 
 the form of worship. I longed for silence, and to 
 mean what I said. 
 
 I thought I would try whether an Independent 
 chapel would suit me better. Kobert Philip, the 
 minister, had written several useful little books, 
 which your Uncle Wright very much approved. 
 Here I had much more peace than at the church, 
 and the extempore prayer and teaching seemed 
 like bringing me back somewhat to the old times 
 ao-ain : but the rest there did not continue lonsf. I 
 was seeking spiritual food, and I found high Cal- 
 vinistic doctrine, stern dogmatisna, and, it seemed 
 to me, little spirituality. By degrees I felt a 
 good deal discouraged by my want of success, 
 still fully believing that what I w\anted would 
 certainly be found. Philip went to Meeting with 
 his father. Anna sometimes, when she was able, 
 went with me. She never liked silent meetings ; 
 she chafed against them as purposeless.
 
 76 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 The time was a;ettiiicr near for goino- to Briojliton. 
 The winter of [ ] was extremely cold. 
 
 Here the pen was laid down, and not again 
 taken ujd, and the dear grandmother's letter to 
 her beloved grandchildren remains unfinished.
 
 ( 77 ) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 
 
 " Little else is so worthy of study as the incidents in the 
 development of a soul." — Browning. 
 
 In the foreeoino; " little Memoriam " we see how 
 
 " Close comprest 
 The Present holds the Future." 
 
 The spirit of the child was in the father who 
 pulled up a boulder to plant a seed, that he 
 might see one cornstalk growing among the life- 
 less walls and paving-stones. Not less clearly 
 may be traced, in IMrs. Sewell's life and writings, 
 the stern, uncompromising morality of " Grand- 
 father Holmes." The same hand which could draw 
 such pretty pictures of the happiness of goodness 
 in all creatures, — boys and girls and birds, — drew, 
 without flinching, "sorrow dogging sin." It is 
 rather striking that one so full of intense sym- 
 pathy with the erring and fallen could be so 
 merciless, not only on cruelty and oppression, but 
 on easy, slippery faults — laziness, bad work, waste- 
 fulness, and every sort of giddy way that tends to 
 break the hedge of modesty and reverence. As 
 child, wife, and mother, the writer had drunk so
 
 78 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 deep herself of pure home joys, there were no 
 words strong enough to express her indignation 
 against whatever tainted and destroyed them. In 
 these days, when the voice of sympathy is some- 
 times too apt to drown the voice of warning, a 
 good many of her verses give us cause to say, 
 "Thank God for Grandfather Holmes." 
 A young friend writes : — ■ 
 
 " I remember Mrs. Sewell's pulling me up sharply for 
 advocating forgiveness of a personal injury which involved 
 cruelty to an animal. 'Forgive him !' she said. 'I'd have 
 roused the toM^n against him.' She was very conscious of 
 her own tendency to speak sometimes more strongly than 
 she intended, whether in criticism or rebuke, and had a 
 kind of despairing admiration for those who could keep 
 the iron hand in a velvet glove, — ' So different from me,' 
 she would say; but her strong words reminded one of 
 
 what Miss says of her father: 'His open, hasty 
 
 rebukes did not put me out nearly as much as some of 
 dear mother's attempts to restore us in the spirit of meek- 
 ness.' She has been very plain-spoken in her criticism 
 both of me and of my work, but I cannot remember a word 
 that rankled ; one felt so entirely that she only cared to 
 make both work and character as perfect as could be. 
 She would not allow that any of my faults were neces- 
 sary infirmities ; they were to be stamped out. When 
 those firm lips were closed for ever, my deepest sense of 
 personal loss came with the thought that no one else 
 would ever be as willing to hurt me for my good." 
 
 Her own narrative leaves nothino- more to be 
 said of her inheritance from her father. The tones 
 of her voice come back to us again as she would 
 say, " I never see anything very good and beauti- 
 ful without thinking of my dear father ; he lives
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 79 
 
 in my mind with everything of the highest and 
 the best." Once she said, " I have kept all my 
 life the feeling in my mind that his love for me 
 has outlived death. In times of spiritual darkness, 
 or in ofreat calamities, there have been moments 
 when I have felt his hand placed tenderly on my 
 head again — not so much in any way of deliver- 
 ance, but as if to say, ' I am walking with thee 
 through this valley.' Oh, how all this has helped 
 me to understand the Fatherhood of God ! He is 
 ' very pitiful and of tender mercy,' and so was my 
 dear father." 
 
 Perhaps no period of Mrs. Sewell's life was more 
 trying to her than the two years spent in London. 
 She little dreamed what was to result from this 
 residence 
 
 " Amongst the narrow courts and lanes 
 Where toiling people poorly dwell." 
 
 In "Thy Poor Brother" she writes: — "I was a 
 young married woman then, and had come to live 
 in London — in the very heart of the great city. 
 I was taking my first lessons in fog, dirt, noise, 
 and distraction. Till then I had lived in the 
 country, and loved it with the ardent love of 
 childhood and youth. I was a most rebellious 
 scholar. I loathed and hated the place, and I 
 was nearly a stranger in it. I thought it would 
 be impossible for me to bring up my little giii 
 among black houses and dirty streets, with never
 
 So LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 a flower for her little hand to gather, nor a bird's 
 song for her to hear. I used to sit and look over 
 the roofs of the opposite houses at the floating 
 clouds and bits of blue sky, and cry like a child. 
 Great London was to me like a huge cage with 
 iron bars — so did I torment myself, and was almost 
 wickedly discontented with my lot." 
 
 Only a very few years before her death, when 
 speaking of this period, she said, " There is nothing 
 in my life which I look back upon with so much 
 regret as the time I have wasted in wishing things 
 diff'erent from what they were." 
 
 We had been speaking on the previous evening 
 of the epitaph Theodore Monod said he would 
 choose for his tombstone : " Here endeth the first 
 lesson." Mrs. Sewell said, " I have been thinkinor 
 of this almost ever since. The lessons of life come 
 to an end, whether we have learnt them or not, 
 and I can't help thinking it may be a lasting loss 
 to us to have grumbled over our lessons instead of 
 learning them. I ivas rebellious at having to live 
 in that dingy place in London. I only existed on 
 the hope of its coming to an end, and yet I am 
 sure I should never have understood the poor and 
 been able to help them as I have done, if I had not 
 had that experience. The depths I was taken 
 down to during these two years taught me more 
 than any number of years of looking on. And yet 
 how I hated it ! I blotted my lesson-book with 
 my tears." 
 
 " I wonder," she added, " if the love which puts
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 8i 
 
 away our sins also does away with their evil conse- 
 quences, or must our second lesson suffer loss, be- 
 cause the first was so imperfectly learnt ? " 
 
 I have ahvavs tliouj^ht that one of the sweetest 
 lessons to be learned from my dear friend was 
 her indifference to wealth as an adjunct of refine- 
 ment; it was not necessary to it in her eyes. 
 She could exceedingly enjoy the sight of things 
 superb and rich, and there was no period of her 
 life when she would not have liked to have had 
 more money to give ; but had it been her lot to 
 have no more than a hundred a year to spend, 
 she would have managed, witli the most simple 
 and inexpensive materials, to have given to her 
 surroundino;s as true an air of refinement as if 
 she had been livinoj on ten times that income. 
 I have heard her say, " In my days of poverty, 
 one of my great pleasures was that I had to do the 
 waitino; on friends who came mvsidf; it seemed 
 a sweet addition to the welcome of words, to add 
 the deeds. ' By love serve one another,' is like 
 other things the Bible tells us to do, just some- 
 thing to add to our happiness." 
 
 And again, " I shrink more than I can express 
 from the thought of abject poverty ; it seems to 
 me like havino; to live in a vault instead of under 
 the sky ; but to be deprived of the power of 
 surrounding ourselves with luxury need be no 
 calamity at all ; indeed I often think whether our 
 well-paid working friends (and there are still 
 many of this class) who know how to make a
 
 82 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 •riglit use of their meaus, might not really he 
 reckoned among the happiest of people — wealth 
 brings with it so many cares which they are 
 exempt from." Or again, " That good and perfect 
 life once lived on earth, always healing, always 
 blessing, had no luxury in it. . . . How well our 
 earthly life must have been understood by who- 
 ever it was who offered that prayer, 'Give me 
 neither poverty nor riches ' ! jNIy unspeakable 
 hatred to our liquor laws, and all that pertains 
 to strong drink, is, that drink has done so much 
 to fill our country with these two extremes — on 
 one hand, the vulgar pride of wealth, and on the 
 other, the most abject, degrading, soul-destroying 
 poverty." 
 
 To each, perhaps, Jane Taylor's lines may 
 apply :— 
 
 "Such is his household, such, perchance, thut he 
 Would blush to ask the Apostle Paul to tea." 
 
 A young friend who visited Mrs. Sewell in her 
 latest years has sent me a few interesting reminis- 
 cences of conversations with her, taken j^artly 
 from notes made at the time. The folio win er 
 refer to parts of her life included in the Auto- 
 biography : — 
 
 " We were talking one day of conversion, and of those 
 blessed cliildren who seem never to require it, and Mrs. 
 Sewell told me of her own first conscious sense of the 
 touch of tlie Almighty. It was on a calm, still summer 
 evening: she was a little child, standing on a broad, flat 
 stone which made the step to her father's front door. The
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 83 
 
 sky above was full of the sunset glow, and a great tree 
 on the grass plat stood out solemnly against it. 'And 
 it seemed as if all the beauty and the stillness flowed 
 into my little heart and filled it,' she said, 'and I felt 
 God there.' 
 
 " From that time she knew Him as her Father in crea- 
 tion, though many years passed before she learned to 
 take the place of a child redeemed. The great joy of this 
 later lesson carried her through the heavy trial which 
 followed soon afterwards, when she felt it her duty to 
 leave the Friends. I cannot remember the little series of 
 circumstances — rather striking ones, I think — wliich gave 
 her an opportunity of speaking in confidence to Benjamin 
 Wills Newton, whom she had heard preach : he was then 
 taking the place of a pastor in the neighbourhood who 
 was absent. She told him her convictions, and he felt no 
 doubt that it was her duty to act upon them. 
 
 " ' But I do not know where to go,' she said, ' and I have 
 no one to be with me.' 
 
 " She felt it right to be baptized by immersion. There 
 was a baptistery, I think at the chapel where Mr. Xewton 
 was then preaching, and he said, ' I would baptize you, and 
 my wife could be with you, if you liked.' 
 
 "All that remained now was to ask her husband's con- 
 sent. He was often late home : he M-as very late that 
 night. Mrs. Sewell w^ould not begin the subject till he 
 had had his supper, and she felt it would be impossible 
 to sit by him with this upon her mind unuttered ; she 
 left all ready, and went up to her room, where she sat 
 in the dark, listening for him. Ten o'clock passed ; at 
 last he came. She heard him go into the room where 
 his supper was laid: presently he came upstairs. It 
 was dark, but he knew by the first sound of her voice 
 that something had happened, and asked, ' What's the 
 matter ? ' 
 
 " She said, ' Let us kneel down together beside the bed, 
 and I will tell thee.' 
 
 "They knelt down side by side. In telling of it she 
 said, with streaming tears, 'His kindness to me I shall 
 oicvei' forget.'
 
 84 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 " The step was taken, and thenceforward Mrs. Sewell 
 had no outward home on earth, in spiritual things : she 
 never gave her heart to any other denomination. ' If I 
 ever joined any religious body again,' she said, in her old 
 age, 'it would be the Friends — though I've left them.' 
 She thought no other system of government comparable 
 to theirs. I was so ignorant as to ask whether that of the 
 best type of Plymouth Brethren resembled it. She was 
 indignant, and eagerly described the balance of liberty 
 and control, the elastic, self-acting machinery, simple and 
 yet so complete, which regulates the life of the Society. 
 She believed that she owed much to individual Brethren, 
 but their system was not to her mind." 
 
 Many years afterwards, in speaking of the time 
 of her baptism, Mrs. Sewell said, " I never read 
 those verses in Matthew about the baptism of 
 Christ without remembering the great happiness I 
 had then. I think I may truly say that I was 
 influenced, as He was, by the wish to 'fulfil all 
 righteousness.' I dreaded lest by any disobedieuce 
 1 should miss the fulness of the blessing. And 
 when it w\as done, I shall never forget the peace 
 that followed. The heavens were opened to me as 
 never before, and the Spirit of God filled my lieart 
 with indescribable joy." 
 
 Amongj the letters of her old a2;e is the follow- 
 m(j[ : — 
 
 " More than forty years since, when my chains were all 
 broken, and I became enamoured of Christ's beauty, desir- 
 ing above all things to retain the joy of His presence, this 
 text was impressed on my mind, and the impression has 
 continually grown deeper, ' If ye keep my commandments 
 ye shall abide in my love, even as I have kept my Father's 
 commandments and abide in His love.' I immediately
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 85 
 
 took the Testament and began to write down all the 
 commandments and precepts I could find. But I quickly 
 saw that these were not so much to be learnt by heart — 
 they must be in the heart, shewn by daily obedient prac- 
 tice, whilst living among my fellow-creatures and amidst 
 all the various surroundings of my life — not drawing me 
 away from life and duty into selfish isolation — not seek- 
 ing crosses for myself, but taking up those that came in 
 the way. 
 
 " I have often felt it a great advantage to have been 
 brought up as a Friend or Quaker. I believe practically 
 in the quickening, teaching, guiding power of the abiding 
 Spirit. When, added to this, the Word of God has been 
 diligently hidden in the heart and memory, He will act 
 both upon the will and the understanding, making them 
 alike quick in the fear of the Lord." 
 
 Before passing on to the next period of Mrs. 
 Sewell's life, I will copy extracts from old faded 
 papers, looking as if they had not seen the light 
 for manv a lono; dav, which form an amusini]^ com- 
 ment on the euloo-istic account of her children 
 written for her grandchildren's benefit. The papers 
 are headed either "Anna Sewell's Birthday" (with 
 date), or '•' Philip Sewell's Birthday." Tw'O passages 
 will serve as specimens of the rest. 
 
 "12 Tark Road, 2,0th of yd month, 1S29. 
 
 " Anna Seweil has this day completed her ninth year, 
 and is in many respects a delight and comfort to her 
 mother, who, that she may be able to test her progress 
 from year to year, wishes now to write a short account of 
 her attainments in her learning, and of the qualities of her 
 mind, &c." [Then follow entire approbation of her truth 
 and candour, and her progress in some branches of learn- 
 ing. But the mother, with her intense love, has withal a 
 high standard of perfection, not easily satisfied. She goes on
 
 86 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 to speak of Anna's want of persevering industry.] " Much 
 disposed to idle over lessons and work. She needs to get 
 the habit of a cheerful surrender of her own will — to give 
 up entirely telling tales of her brother. She begins to be 
 useful to her mother, but is not tidy. In everything her 
 mother hopes she will be improved by another year." 
 
 Of Philip, she says : — 
 
 " j\Iore persevering in play than in work : he has an 
 awkward habit of repeating what other people say ; can 
 neither sit nor stand still; takes no pains to speak dis- 
 tinctly. Altogether he is a nice little boy, and his 
 mother hopes by this day twelvemonths he will have lost 
 all his bad habits, and increased his <iOod ones." 
 
 I looked on to the next year's papers with 
 some curiosity, to see if the mother's wishes were 
 realised. Instead of improvement, the faults and 
 failiuQ-s recorded are more numerous tlian before. 
 Far from being blind to her children's faults, she 
 wns keenly alive to them. Her desires for her 
 children were such that nothing short of the highest 
 and the best could satisfy her motherly ambition. 
 
 Eemoval to Brighton in 1835 brought new 
 and varied interests. Anna's lameness continued, 
 and one of the remedies tried proved worse than 
 the disease : while on a visit away from home, she 
 fell into the hands of a doctor who bled her severely. 
 To this draining-away of life, her mother attributed 
 the many disablements which afflicted her — fluc- 
 tuating while youth was strong, with intervals of 
 " better " as well as " worse," but as time went on, 
 gradually multiplying and increasing till, one after
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 87 
 
 another, her loved employments had to be laid 
 aside. In the Brigliton days, however, she must 
 have had, at times, some considerable amount of 
 walking power, as in a journal written there in 
 1844 she speaks of pleasant walks with her friends, 
 visits to London to see picture-galleries, and other 
 things which imply a measure of activity. The 
 brother and sister grew from cliildhood into youth, 
 and the mother felt her own interest in life con- 
 tinually expand with theirs. One source of profit 
 and enjoyment to them all, which Mrs. Sewell 
 would often gratefully refer to, was the ministry of 
 the Eev. C. Maitland, a clergyman of the Church 
 of England. He was truly a pastor as well as a 
 preacher, and watched over these members of his 
 Hock, although they never definitely entered its 
 fold, Philip continuing his father's faithful com- 
 panion at Meeting on First-day. 
 
 As the young people developed, they made 
 friends of their own, and each one of these had 
 an individual place in the mother's mind or heart, 
 and opened new vistas of interest. She would often 
 speak of the delight brought into her life by her 
 son's long friendship with Henry S. King (connected 
 with the firm of Smith, Elder, & Co.), who even- 
 tually married the lady known to the world as the 
 author of " The Disciples." He was a very inti- 
 mate friend of Kobertson, and inspired Mrs. Sewell 
 with his own ardent admiration for his friend's 
 character, but I do not think she ever attended 
 Robertson's church.
 
 88 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 The restless, beautiful sea never made up to 
 Mrs. Se\Yell for tlie loss of fields and flowers. "It 
 was all dead in Brighton, houses and stones," she 
 said, and her husband would sometimes make time 
 to go with her by rail to some country place where 
 they could feast their eyes on copse and stream. 
 In the sketch prefixed to the collected poems, my 
 daughter mentions one of these little excursions 
 when they lost their way in a wood. They had 
 passed a woodman some time before, and Mr. 
 Sewell went to try and find him, to inquire the 
 way. While he was gone, his wile came upon a 
 bank of wood-sorrel, the slender flowers trembling 
 in the soft air. " It was so heautiful,'' she said, 
 " I stood before it, and could scarcely help praying 
 that Isaac mightn't find the man, that we might 
 ]je lost, and have to stay there all dny long and 
 look at it." 
 
 All through her long life it was her custom to 
 be out before breakfast, listening to those " morning 
 hymns " 
 
 " winch people might hear, if they -n-ould liut arise 
 When little birds first tune their notes to the sides." 
 
 The cry of the sea-gull was a poor exchange, she 
 thought, but the following passage from " Tliy 
 Poor Brother" shows that she kept up the 
 practice : — 
 
 " j\Iany years ago, when we lived in T) , it was my 
 
 habit to take an early morning walk upon the end of the 
 chain-pier, and at that time I was commonly the only
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 89 
 
 occupant, and had the lessons of the winds and the waves 
 all to myself. One morning, I especially remember, I had 
 risen earlier than usual, for I had many troubles on my 
 mind, and I wanted to be alone. A thick gloom was 
 spread over the wdiole face of nature ; the wind was wild 
 and cold, the sky a leaden grey, and the sea rolled its 
 heavy, discoloured waves with au angry growl upon the 
 shore; the jarring creak of the chains beneath the pier, 
 and the cold dash of waves round tlie buttresses, were all 
 in harmony with each other, and in harmony with my 
 oppressed spirit. Nothing spoke of hope ; all spoke of 
 discoirragement, and my thoughts grew heavier, and my 
 heart sank lower ; but whilst I turned and returned upon 
 my path, I observ^ed a large flock of wild ducks leaving 
 the land; and regardless of frowning sky, stormy wind, 
 and surging sea, without chart or compass to direct them 
 on their untrodden way, with the wind directly ahead, 
 they boklly steered off for the land to which faith or in- 
 stinct drew them. I watched them with intense interest, 
 as, in a compact squadron, their wings cleft the air ; pre- 
 sentlv, I observed one of them lagging behind — furtlier 
 and further behind — it must have been a feeble one — 
 further and further — and then I saw it suddenly full to 
 the surface of the waters. ' Oh ! ' I exclaimed, ' it will be 
 left behind, it will never overtake those strong flyers.' 
 Presently, however, I observed it, flying along, just above 
 the crest of the billows, and there, out of the force of the 
 wind, it made rapid progress. Again I lost it. Had it 
 given up the journey ? No ! I discerned it again far 
 ahead, and soon, it rose into the air, and, as if invigorated 
 by its lowly solitary travel, it darted forward with in- 
 creased speed, and gained rapidly upon its disappear- 
 ing companions; and though I did not see it overtake 
 them, I felt sure that it would do so. I turned my steps 
 homeward my faith confirmed, that He who guided 
 these trustful voyagers across the billows to their 
 haven of rest, would assuredly guide His children across 
 the rough billows of their life's journey, and not 
 suffer the feeblest amongst them to fail, or be over- 
 ^^■helmed."
 
 90 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 We have uo clue to the nature of the troubles 
 which made the writer feel the need of that lesson 
 just then — whether they belonged to the natural 
 course of chequered life, or were part of the cross 
 she bore for others, or arose in the inner life ; but 
 she has left some record of sorrows there, belonging 
 to this period. 
 
 " We came into a world of very varied interest 
 at Brighton," she once said, "and I w^as not as 
 quick as I might have been, to see that all is not 
 ii'old that frlitters. I am afraid I wasted a oood 
 deal of my time on people and theories that gave 
 me nothinof w^orth havino^ in returu." 
 
 I told her a story which I had heard from a lady 
 addressino; a Mothers' Meetino". In a certain town, 
 some placards appeared on the walls, announcing a 
 Socialist lecture, which, it was said, would explain 
 the absurdities of religion, and so enable people to 
 live much happier lives. Admission, Threepence. 
 
 There was a larQ-e attendance. Anion 2^ the audi- 
 ence was an elderly woman wdtli a large cotton 
 umbrella — she sat at the end of the room, and 
 ])aliently heard the lecture through. Directly it 
 was over she rose and made her way up to the 
 platform, and without waiting for permission to 
 speak, said (emphasising each sentence with a 
 knock on the floor with her umbrella), " I have 
 come up here to say I'll have my threepence back 
 airain, for 1 haven't sfot nothino- in the world for it. 
 Talk about teaching us a better way indeed, and 
 tliat w^e can o-,>t on without God — I never heard
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 91 
 
 sucli nonsense talked in all my life ! Why, years 
 agone, when I was lefc a widely with four children, 
 it wasn't these people as come and helj)ed me — it 
 was the Lord Jesus, and He have come along with 
 me all the way, and provided for us wonderfLd. 
 I ain't agoing to stand by and hear anything said 
 again' Him. No ! I'll stick to my dear Lord Jesus, 
 and have my threepence back again." 
 
 Mrs. Sewell was much amused wiih this story. 
 "I have a great sympathy with the audience who 
 went to hear that lecture," she said, " I am so 
 ready to believe there must be something to learn 
 from those who profess to teach. I have been 
 rather o-iven to listen to ' Lo heres ' and ' Lo theres ' 
 in my time, and pay my threepence, or whatever 
 it might be. And / have been bitterly dis- 
 appointed, many times ; but it never occurred 
 to me to have my threepence back again. I took 
 the loss as a punishment for my folly." 
 
 A valued friend of Mrs. Sewell's writes : — 
 
 "One of her chief cliaracteristics was the power of 
 growth ; she must have grown all her life. Certainly, in 
 the years I knew her, she was always growing. She never 
 lived in a groove, which saintly old ladies are apt to do, 
 and this power gave her a wonderful sympathy. It did 
 not matter to her that people were not like herself. I 
 think a difference was rather an attraction — she could at 
 once throw herself into the minds of others, ready and 
 eager to absorb whatever her heart and mind recognised 
 as admirable." 
 
 Every virtue has its attendant fault — every 
 power its danger, as surely as light casts a
 
 92 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 sliacIo\v, and before this eao;er readiness to learn 
 was chastened by experience, it led its possessor 
 into some thorny paths. There came to Brighton 
 one who professed to have received direct teaching 
 from Heaven, and to have fresh light to impart, 
 especially concerning the work of the Holy Spirit. 
 Always thirstiug for more light, Mrs. Sewell and 
 Anna attended his services for a short time, expect- 
 ing much, and \Ycre proportionately disappointed 
 when the disencliantment came. 
 "Oh," she said, "1 have 
 
 ' Made idols, and have found them clay, 
 And have bewailed that worship.' 
 
 NothiDo; makes mc more sure that the crood 
 hand of my God has been upon me, than the way 
 He has guarded me from receiving errors, just as 
 He did that o-ood woman with the cotton umbrella. 
 I have come out of all these ' advanced theories,' or 
 whatever they may be called, more heart-satisfied 
 than ever with 'my dear Lord Jesus.' Our souls 
 crave for liviiig^ loving sympathy, and theories 
 dont give it." 
 
 In one of Carlyle's letters, he writes : — " Yester- 
 day there came a paniphlet by some moral philo- 
 soplier named Julian, which, in looking into, I 
 find to be a hallelujah on the advent and discovery 
 of atheism. . . . The real joy of Julian was what 
 surprised me — sincere joy, you would have said — 
 like the shout of a hytena at finding that the whole 
 universe was carrion."
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 93 
 
 For a moment we may look at the great pliilo- 
 soplier and the tender-hearted woman as standing 
 side by side ; the first thought with each was the 
 intense degradation to humanity involved in such 
 a theory. If star after star must go out, till all is 
 night, then what is there left but the profoundest 
 sadness ? 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry for people who will shut 
 God out," Mrs. Sewell would say, " for there is no 
 other ' exceeding joy ' left for them. It used to 
 trouble me so, in walking the streets of London, to 
 see so few happy-looking faces. So many people 
 seemed to be carrying burdens too heavy for them : 
 they looked crushed, and I wanted them to be 
 comforted." 
 
 The folio win(]j extract from a letter addressed to 
 the editor of the Labourer's Chronicle probably 
 belongs to a later period, but is inserted here as 
 bearing on this subject. It bears no date, nor any 
 mark to say whether it was ever printed : — 
 
 " It is a serious thing to endeavour to shake the faith 
 of our fellow-creatures in God when we have nothino: to 
 give them in its place. I would entreat you, dear Sir, 
 whatever your opinion may be, that you do not carelessly 
 take away from the suffering, ignorant, perplexed people 
 their instinctive confidence in the protecting providence 
 and guiding hand of the great and good Father. At 
 present we are blind, and cannot see afar off — our comfort 
 and strength is to believe that God our Father knows all ; 
 that He is with the right and not with the wroni? — with 
 the oppressed and not with the oppressor, and that He 
 who came to break every yoke has said, ' For the crying 
 of the poor and the sighing of the needy, I will arise, and
 
 94 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 set him in safety from him that puffetli at him.' Let, 
 then, our poor labourers, while using every lawful means 
 to improve their condition and lessen their hardships, 
 earnestly cry to God and lieartily put their trust in Him. 
 Unfair charges, bitter invectives, sweeping accusations, 
 are dangerous two-edged weapons to use. A house 
 divided against itself cannot stand, and whichever part 
 falls will wreck the other in so doing." 
 
 Very often was it our dear friend's privilege to 
 comfort those who were crushed, and perhaps at 
 no time in her life more frequently than during 
 her residence at Bris^hton. In workinnj amono- the 
 poor and sorrowful, she had the great advantage 
 of being able immediately to secure the confidence 
 of those she visited. She speaks in " Thy Poor 
 Brother " of the folly of setting young lady visitors 
 to ask questions " which only an angel or a govern- 
 ment otiicer could ask without oivino- offence." 
 For herself, she was seldom tempted to err in this 
 way. No time had to be spent in soliciting con- 
 fidence; it was at once poured out, freely, joyfully, 
 gratefully, the sufferer only too thankful to get 
 the ear of one in whom it w^as so pleasant to con- 
 fide. Many instances of this might be given, did 
 time and space permit. We must content our- 
 selves with giving the narrative, told in her own 
 simple way, of her visit to a ward in the Brighton 
 Workhouse. 
 
 " ]\Iany years since, a young girl came to me, begging 
 I would get her into a penitentiary. On conversing with 
 lier, I learned that she had just come out of the Work- 
 house, and that several other young persons of the same
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 95 
 
 character were now there, who, when their health was 
 restored, would probably return to their former sinful 
 course of life. 
 
 " I learned from her that the ward the)' were in was 
 the general receptacle for the miscellaneous cases of sin 
 and poverty, which could not readily be classified and ad- 
 mitted into the other wards. It was looked upon as an 
 ignominious place of punishment. The chaplain did not 
 often visit it, and there were frequent cases of insubordina- 
 tion, which terminated in the correction of the black-hole 
 — a little bare cell underground, not entirely dark. 
 
 " Upon hearing this relation, I applied to the chaplain 
 for permission to visit this ward. He dissuaded me from 
 it ; he did not think it would be safe for me to do so ; he 
 hardly thought it safe for himself; he would be glad to 
 have my help in any other part of the house where there 
 would be some hope of doing good and being gratefully 
 received. He gave me alarming accounts of window- 
 smashing, of fighting and swearing in this ward, and the 
 governor and matron fully corroborated his statements, 
 and advised me not to adventure myself into it. But I 
 was not discouraged ; I had faith in the help of God, and 
 believed that love would make its way all but every- 
 where ; and I at last obtained the chaplain's consent and 
 an offer to introduce me, which I declined. 
 
 " I went quietly up the stairs, and walked into the 
 middle of the room. It was a large, bare, barn-like look- 
 ing place, with no furniture but two rows of beds. ' Dear 
 friends,' I said, ' I have heard that many of you are in 
 trouble and difiiculty. I have come to see if I can help 
 or comfort any of you. I have been advised not to come ; 
 it was thought you would not receive me well ; but I did 
 not believe that.' An old woman instantly interrupted 
 me — ' Oh dear ! my lady, we would not mislist you upon 
 no account ; we are very glad to see you.' ' Come, then,' 
 I said, ' let us sit down and talk together ; tell me your 
 troubles, and let me see if I can help you.' They made a 
 cluster round me in the centre of the room, sitting on the 
 beds, and many a perplexed and sorrowful story did I 
 learn from them, requiring indeed a friendly helper. After
 
 96 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 a long conversation, I read to them a portion of the Scrip- 
 tures, and then they knelt down with me, M'hilst we prayed 
 God to help us all, and at their earnest solicitation I pro- 
 mised to come attain. 
 
 " I visited this place regularly once a week for a long 
 time, and by degrees became acquainted with the indi- 
 vidual cases of trouble. Some poor girls were assisted to 
 go to a penitentiary. Others were prevailed on to return 
 to their parents, or their parents to receive them. Some 
 required to have letters written to their friends. Some 
 wanted to have explanations made for them to the over- 
 seers in distant parishes ; all wanted something, and many 
 could be effectually helped. There was one Irish-woman 
 who long withheld her confidence from me — her tale was 
 too sad to be told in public. I noticed her listening always 
 wdth earnest attention to what I said, and especially when 
 I read and explained the Scriptures — then she would sit 
 and rock herself to and fro. At last she drew me away 
 into a corner of the room, and told me she was a Eoman 
 Catholic; that she had been a widow some months ; that 
 her poor husband's soul was in purgatory, and she had no 
 money to give to the priest to get it out — this evidently 
 preyed upon her mind. Her only child, a boy, was now 
 in prison, having been led into crime by a band of young 
 thieves. Her intense love and commiseration for this poor 
 entrapped boy were most touching — she was truly a widow 
 and desolate. She had no parish from which she could 
 claim relief, and she would not return to Ireland till her 
 boy was dismissed from prison. She had been a servant, 
 and thought she could take a cook's place with a little 
 more instruction. Perhaps you will think me rash, but 
 this poor destitute mother threw herself upon my sym- 
 pathy, and I could not leave her there. I knew there was 
 help stored away for the widow, which some one miglit 
 be privileged to render; and as 1 was changing my cook, I 
 gained permission to take her home with me, and not 
 being a bad cook myself, I determined to instruct her ; 
 and never was a more apt or grateful scholar. When her 
 boy came out of prison, some kind friends obtained a service 
 for him on board a ship, as he wished to go to sea ; and I
 
 LIFE AT BRIGHTON. 97 
 
 found a place for her as cook in a clergyman's family. I 
 had every reason to believe that she became a sincere 
 Christian. 
 
 " I visited all the wards in the Workhouse afterwards, 
 but my deepest interest lay in the bad one. More than 
 once have I sat upon the floor with a culprit in the black- 
 hole, and found penitence more apt to follow upon kind- 
 ness than upon correction." 
 
 G
 
 ( 98 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 
 
 " Often have sensitive natures been withered, often have fine intellects 
 been stunted, because a well-meaning and ambitious teacher has never 
 tried to understand how much a child's heart can feel, and how little 
 a child's brain can bear." — Mes. Pennepather. 
 
 In 1845 tlie Sewell family left Brighton, but Mr. 
 Sewell continued to go there daily from the new 
 home at Lancing, about ten miles off. A pony- 
 chaise was now a necessary part of the household 
 stuff, and Anna unconsciously studied for "Black 
 Beauty" in driving her father to and from the 
 Shoreham station. Brighton was still the centre 
 of interest outside the home, although distance 
 made it impossible to keep up the work formerly 
 done there. In looking backs Mrs. Sewell used to 
 include what happened at Lancing in her recollec- 
 tions of " Brighton days." 
 
 In 1846 she went to Germany with her son and 
 daughter, accompanied by her youngest sister. 
 Anna remained behind for a time. On their return 
 Miss Wright had a very severe illness at Brussels, 
 so that the pleasure-trip ended sadly. 
 
 The reminiscences before quoted say : —
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 99 
 
 " The times which Mrs. Sewell seemed to look back on 
 as the very brightest in her whole life, were the evenings 
 when her son and daughter, and her future daughter-in-law, 
 sang together. I believe it was the only time in her life 
 when she had her fill of music, and she used to speak of 
 the happiness of those evenings as something so heavenly, 
 the like of it could never come again. The only descrip- 
 tive word I remember her using of her son's wife, in looks 
 or mind or voice, was ' lovely.' ' Sarah was very lovely.' 
 After Mr. Philip's marriage, Mrs. Sewell and her daughter 
 were more than ever all the world to each other as com- 
 panions. Mr. Sewell was away all day, and though he 
 sympathised in all their works of kindness, I do not think 
 he cared much for the books they read. I have sometimes 
 wondered how much his downright, matter-of-fact view 
 of things had to do with the intensely practical turn of 
 some of Mrs. Sewell's poetry. But he must have been an 
 example of acting on Sir Arthur Helps' maxim that 'a 
 domestic ruler should not attempt to regulate the pleasures 
 of others by his own tastes.' I once quoted some obser- 
 vation about the selfishness of 7?ia?ikind, and said it did 
 not agree with my experience. 'Nor with mine,' Mrs. 
 Sewell said. ' I have known great unselfishness in men ; ' 
 and after a pause, she added, ' Isaac was very unselfish,' 
 and told me touching little instances of his self-denial." 
 
 Mr. Philip Sewell's marriage took place in 1 849, 
 and in the same year his father removed from 
 Lancing to Hayward's Heath. The next move 
 was to Grayling Wells, near Chichester, in 1853. 
 Very little record remains of this time. In 1850 
 Mr. P. Sewell undertook important engineering 
 work in Spain, and went to live tliere with his 
 family. The following year brought a sorer part- 
 ing — Mrs. Sewell lost her beloved and honoured 
 father. She has told us what he was to her. One
 
 loo LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 cannot but think she had him in her mind when 
 she wrote " The Funeral Bell — A Lament for 
 Adam Hope." 
 
 "Alas for the village ! alas for the day ! 
 
 The church bell is tolling a funeral knell, 
 Adam Hope from the parish is taken away, 
 And a sorrowful sound has the funeral bell. 
 
 " Oh ! toll for him — toll for him, funeral bell ! 
 Fall sad on the heart, as you fall on the ear ; 
 Good neighbour, good master, good Christian — fiirewell ! 
 Good husband, good father — in glory appear ! 
 
 " Oh ! what will become of the destitute poor 1 
 
 He was eyes to the blind, he was feet to the lame ! 
 To the fatherless orphans he open'd his door, 
 And the widow's heart sang at the sound of his name. 
 
 'o 
 
 " He put down oppression, he righted the wrong, 
 The cause of the helpless he made it his own ; 
 He wrested the weak from the grasp of the strong ; 
 His conduct was led by his conscience alone. 
 
 " Good measure pressed down to his bosom return'd, 
 Well shaken, o'erflowing, till room there was none ; 
 Whilst brighter and brighter his light ever burn'd, 
 Then sank like the glow of the evening sun, 
 
 " To rise where the faithful, apparell'd in white, 
 
 Stand round by the throne of their Saviour and King, 
 To work in His service witli growing deliLrht, 
 Whilst the waves of eternity circle and sing. 
 
 " But toll for him— toll for him, funeral bell ! 
 Fall sad on the heart, as you fall on the ear ; 
 Good neighbour, good master, good Christian— farewell ! 
 Good husband, good father, in glory appear ! " 
 
 Mrs. Sewell was conscious that, next to the
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. loi 
 
 work of tlie Spirit iii her heart, her father's in- 
 fluence over her was the strongest motive-power 
 of her life. ''Oh, what a thing it is," she said, 
 " to have looked back, all one's life, on parents 
 whose walk was perfect ! " To have the Invisible 
 reflected in the visible is just what the mind of a 
 child needs, and can grasp. As time goes on, and 
 the growing spirit demands to " see greater things 
 than these," the transition from the earthly parent 
 to the Heavenly is easy and natural — it is the 
 expansion incident to steady growth. 
 
 In one of her letters to District Visitors, Mrs. 
 Sewell says : — 
 
 " The metal of a child's character must be formed early. 
 The soul must be trained to govern the hody, and not to be 
 its slave. A noble life of truth, humanity, and reverence 
 should be lived before him, and its influence will fall upon 
 the ductile nature that is gathering in its character, and 
 moulding itself after the pattern of its surroundings." 
 
 After commenting upon the fact that gardeners 
 expend much more judicious care upon their plants 
 that many parents do upon their young children, 
 she goes on to say : — 
 
 " I think I hear you say, ' But our little human plants 
 are not like those in the conservatory ; they have the taint 
 and root of sin in them.' They have, dear friend ; there- 
 fore the more need of care to check its development, and 
 to nourish the heavenly affinities of the soul by keeping 
 them constantly under the influence of the waiting Spirit, 
 ever, I believe, watching to draw little ones into the ways 
 of love and peace."
 
 102 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 The following letter from a clergyman in Dev^on- 
 sliire is a specimen of many which have come to 
 hand, addressed to Mrs. Sewell by persons in 
 various positions of life, entreating her to put her 
 thoughts on education into some form fitted for 
 
 o 
 
 general circulation : — 
 
 "... I am glad that poetry has not had your un- 
 divided attention, and now that you have engaged in prose 
 writing, I do trust you will seriously think of a work I 
 have mentioned to you before, as being one in which you 
 would do much good. If you will only tell us how to 
 bring up our little ones, you would benefit both rich and 
 poor, and I know one household where your advice would 
 ho, followed very strictly. I am sure it is a most important 
 question, and one which the present age does not work 
 out very satisfactorily. Some suggestions that have come 
 from you are carried out in my own household, and I 
 for one shall feel truly grateful if you will give the world 
 the benefit of your thought and experience." 
 
 This letter, and the others referred to, of course 
 belong to the period when Mrs. Sewell had be- 
 come known as a writer, but it is quoted here 
 because it was while at Chichester that she seems 
 first to have expressed her thoughts on education 
 connectedly, in a series of letters written at the 
 earnest recjuest of a friend who visited her there, 
 and was herself the mother of a little boy and 
 girl. One of these children has still a vivid 
 recollection of the old-fashioned country house 
 at Grayling Wells, standing in its large garden, 
 where bulrushes grew in the pond, and there 
 was a crab-apple tree laden with bright-cheeked
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 103 
 
 fruit. Besides these letters, kindly placed at my 
 disposal, I find an undated manuscript, written 
 apparently with some idea of publication, but un- 
 finished, and evidently unrevised. 
 
 I have thought it mio;ht best meet the wishes 
 of those who desire to be made acquainted with 
 the plans of this successful teacher, if I copy as I 
 find them portions from this paper and the letters 
 mentioned above, as well as recollections of diS'erent 
 conversations on the same subject. The efi"ect pro- 
 duced in this way must unavoidably be somewhat 
 desultory, and may perhaps remind us of a string 
 of beads, threaded by a child without reference to 
 size, colour, or shape. Still they w^ill be all heads 
 — the genuine thing. 
 
 I fear it may be impossible entirely to avoid 
 repetition. Some of her favourite thoughts on 
 education were often repeated, but illustrated and 
 enforced in diS'erent ways. Always to attempt to 
 separate the new from the old would require an 
 amount of editorial interference prejudicial to the 
 individuality of the waiter. 
 
 "All who have had to do with little children know how 
 wearing it is to the temper of mother or nurse to have to 
 listen to children's drawling exclamations and questions — 
 ' What shall I do ? ' 'I don't know what to play at.' ' Give 
 me this or that,' &c. It is a great point of wisdom so to 
 arrange the periods of the day that this weary time never 
 comes : for this purpose, habitual regularity is invaluable. 
 At stated times the child should be set up at the table to 
 amuse itself quietly, without any assistance except being 
 furnished with its amusements for the time, and these
 
 I04 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 should generally be tlie same. Children should not be 
 accustomed to too much variety; they do not need it, 
 and it is a waste of our resources. A child will amuse 
 itself for a very long time in stringing beads, putting 
 different kinds of seeds or beads into different divisions 
 of a box, drawing, cutting, &c., &c. There should be a 
 degree of perfectness, and even something approaching to 
 business habits, encouraged and expected, even in these 
 little amusements, to give a worth and interest to them. 
 Perfect play is the anticipation of perfect work. Habitual 
 restraint and self-dependence for an hour once or twice in 
 the day will be invaluable as habits for the child, and a 
 great relief for the parent. 
 
 " It is surprising how soon a little child will accommodate 
 itself to, and expect a routine, if it be invincibly regular. 
 When the clock strikes, let the child be laid down in his 
 bed, or set up at the table ; when it strikes again, let him 
 get up. It is irregularity and uncertainty that fret a 
 child and put his obedience to the test, and bring the will 
 of the parent and child into collision. It is more humane 
 to make obedience a virtue through habit than through 
 trial. Let every good thing that admits of it be easily 
 and pleasantly acquired. ' A child will inevitably have its 
 little trials, springing out of its conditions and suited to 
 its strength ; no need for parents to devise plans for 
 exercisinfT self-denial. Obedience that flows as it were 
 naturally out of regularity and habit should satisfy 
 them.^ 
 
 " In the faith that evident spiritual conversion of heart 
 belongs only to God, we are apt to give up human nature 
 
 ^ " When the colt has been taught to let you mount him, take a few turns 
 round the yard or shed, and then get off his back and lead him, or drive 
 him with the reins, a mile away from home, and then get on him and ride 
 him home at a walking pace. Be sure that you do not at first attempt to 
 ride him away from his home, his stable, his company, or any strong 
 attraction, as it may lead to a fight in which you may not be master. If 
 such a fight is carefully avoided at first, it will not take place after he has 
 learned thoroughly to understand all your signal.^, and acquired, as he soon 
 will, the impression that he must obey them." — "Our Horses," by Alfred 
 Saunders : Sampson Low & Co.
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 105 
 
 altogether, and because the direct power of conversion is 
 not in our own hands, to neglect and despise the great 
 work with which we are entrusted — the buildincj of a 
 beautiful natural temple which the Blessed Master may 
 irradiate with His own light, and invest with His own 
 life, at whatever time He may please to enter and appro- 
 priate to Himself that which has been dedicated with 
 faith and prayer." 
 
 This subject is continued best in the following 
 letter : — 
 
 " The first thing to teach a little child is that he has a 
 Father in heaven who loves him and wishes him to be as 
 happy as he can be — as happy as the little birds that sing 
 and fly about ; as merry as the lambs that frolic with one 
 another, and eat the grass that has grown for them, and 
 lie down in safety by their mother's side. 
 
 "Do not too early impress upon the mind of a little 
 child that he is a sinner; let him discover this by his 
 own experience. When he has done wrong, let the 
 natural consequences of wrong-doing fall upon him. Do 
 not shield him from the consequences of ignorance or 
 disobedience; let them fall with their full w^eight, but 
 let them be the only penalties. Let him distinctly feel 
 in himself the difference between obedience and disobe- 
 dience. Cultivate a quick and tender conscience. Ee- 
 quire prompt obedience. Eefer constantly to the happiness 
 and obedience of the insect and animal world. 
 
 " Do not let the atonement for sin through the sacrifice 
 of our adorable Saviour be presented early to a child — he 
 is not at first able to conceive of the malignity of sin, 
 which made the extremity of sacrifice needful. Presenting 
 it to him wdien it is impossible for him to feel it properly, 
 can hardly act otherwise than to make both sin and sacri- 
 fice appear light matters. God begins in His first teach- 
 ing to the human race with the law. By the law is the 
 knowledge of sin. We must be£rin as He begins. Never 
 think to low^er the standard of the law by way of bringing
 
 io6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 it nearer the capacity of the child. The law is God's ap- 
 pointed schoolmaster to bring us to Christ. It is through 
 
 ' The broken vow, tlie frequent fall,' 
 
 we learn our need of the righteousness of Another. 
 
 " Self-denial, the milder form of sacrifice, may be 
 touchingly and effectively taught, by various examples 
 from the animal world, by facts and anecdotes, and when- 
 ever possible, from living human example. Let the Bible 
 be always at hand, also books of natural history with 
 good pictures. Both from God's Word and His works let 
 the truth be ever impressing itself on the mind of the 
 child, that every living thing around him belongs to the 
 great family of God, and that He watches over all. Gradu- 
 ally let him understand his responsibility for the power 
 he possesses, in God's creation, for making happiness or 
 misery, and that all cruelty or injury inflicted is displeasing 
 to Him who made His creatures to be happy, and who 
 has provided for their being so. 
 
 " Let punishment as much as possible be felt to be the 
 natural consequence of misconduct. If a child soils him- 
 self unnecessarily, let him be excluded from the clean 
 party. 
 
 " Chastisement should aim at the same end at which 
 our Heavenly Father aims — to make His children humble 
 and grateful." 
 
 To return to the MS. — the part wliicli follows 
 relates chiefly to the cultivation of the mind in the 
 earliest years. 
 
 " I should be very glad to see the art of drawing from 
 nature more systematically and thoroughly carried out 
 in the education of young girls. I have often thought 
 if half the time were given to that which is now all but 
 exclusively devoted to music, it would prove, if not a 
 more valuable acquisition, at any rate to the full as 
 valuable — I think far more valuable to those who are
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 107 
 
 likely to have the care of children, which all may expect 
 in some way, A lady who has a free use of her pencil, 
 and able to make a ready sketch of any living thing she 
 sees, is sure to attract a group of delighted children round 
 her. Scarcely anything pleases children so much as to 
 see graphic sketches of men and animals growing under 
 the pencil of a lively artist. I admire pictures that are 
 painted and framed and hung on walls, but far, far before 
 these the constant lively succession of dogs, cats, horses, 
 birds, beetles, frogs, &c., &c., that follow one another on 
 a slate with a company of animated, rejoicing little artists 
 round it. A mother who has this facility would have 
 her slate with pencil and sponge attached to it as con- 
 stantly on the table as her workbox. I will just give 
 a little practical sketch of its use. A little boy — we will 
 say about four years old, runs from the garden to his 
 mother. 
 
 '" Oh ! mother, do come and look at this beautiful thing 
 on the rose-tree. I want to know what it is.' 
 
 "'I am busy now, Charles. Tell me what it is like. 
 What colour is it ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh I think it is red.' 
 
 " ' Oh I suppose it is a ladybird.' 
 
 " ' Oh no, it is a great deal bigger than a ladybird.' 
 
 "'Well, perhaps it is a tiger-moth, that has two red 
 wings. Look — like this,' and the mother slightly sketches 
 the tiger-moth on the slate. 
 
 " ' Oh no, it is not at all like that.' 
 
 " ' Is it this colour ? ' 
 
 " ' No, it is not so red as that.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps it is the colour of this mahogany chair ? 
 
 " ' No, not just like that.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps like this nut ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, it is very much like that.' 
 
 " ' Well, this is light brown, not red. But what shape is 
 this beautiful creature ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, I think it is round.' 
 
 "The mother draws a round figure on the slate. 'Is 
 it Hke this ? ' 
 
 " ' No, not so round.'
 
 io8 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 " The mother makes a lon^i, thins in the form of a long 
 caterpillar. 
 
 " ' No, it is not so long.' 
 
 " The mother then draws an oval. 
 
 '■' ' Yes, it is very much like that.' 
 
 " ' And has it no feet ? ' 
 
 *"I think it has some feet.' 
 
 " ' How many ? I suppose two feet like the birds. Are 
 they like these ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh no, I am sure they are not like those.* 
 
 ** ' You had better go and look at it again, and come and 
 tell me.' 
 
 " ' Mother, it has six legs.' 
 
 " The mother draws two on one side and four on the 
 other. ' Is that right ? ' 
 
 " ' No, it has three on each side.' 
 
 " The mother corrects it. ' Is that right ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, that is really right.' 
 
 " ' And what sort of a head has this wonderful creature ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh mother ! its head is like the branches of a tree.' 
 
 "The mother immediately attaches a small branch of 
 a tree to the body, with several twigs, not forgetting a few 
 leaves. ' Is it like this ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh no, it has no leaves.' 
 
 " She rubs out the leaves. 'Like this, then ? ' 
 
 " The child looks at it intently. ' It has not so many 
 little twigs.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps you had better go again and see how many 
 twigs there are on the branch.' 
 
 " ' It has two branches, and one little twig on each.' 
 
 "The mother then carefully sketches the stag-beetle, 
 and a rapturous burst of applause follows ; and the mother 
 turns to her ' natural history,' shows the delineation, and 
 ends its history. 
 
 "You will see by this example how much of accurate 
 observation this lesson will have taught the child. Chil- 
 dren will never weary of this sort of instruction, and it is 
 impossible to calculate how much the child will gain : 
 very soon he will endeavour to guide his mother's fingers 
 to the correct form, and next endeavour to form the
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 109 
 
 figure himself. The value of the habit of accurate obser- 
 vation is not to be told, nor the unceasing occupation and 
 interest it has given to children. In this way a child 
 obtains the power of using his own mind, and he learns 
 the value of correct language and description. There 
 would be no end to lessons of this kind, including all 
 natural and artificial objects, and each one bringing fresh 
 knowledge and, if the teacher be skilful and cheerful, both 
 moral and spiritual instruction. Had the mother simply- 
 complied with the child's request, and gone into the 
 garden, and said ' That is a stag-beetle,' the subject would 
 have been closed and the child's interest quenched. Had 
 a servant been with the child, she probably would leave 
 the question thus — ' Oh, that's a nasty beetle ; don't touch 
 it or it will kill you with those great nippers : come away 
 from it : ' then the child would not only have its interest 
 quenched, but fear created, and the creature would become 
 an object of disgust. 
 
 " Children led on after this manner will daily become 
 less troublesome and more interesting : they will find 
 their own amusements, and the more they learn, the more 
 independent will they become of toys and nursemaids. 
 Do not help too much. If they are utterly at a loss, 
 suggest and hint, or furnish a clue which, through their 
 previous knowledge, you believe they will be able to 
 follow; but let them come to the end of their capacity 
 before you give direct information : this will teach them 
 their own ignorance, and increase their sense of your 
 superiority, and their confiding trust in your wisdom. 
 What little things will make fairy days of enjoyment for 
 children ! Take two intelligent little children who have 
 been accustomed to prove all things as far as they can, 
 and give them a chaffinch's nest and a summer afternoon 
 to collect materials similar to those of which it is com- 
 posed, and then try their skill in making one. I would 
 say again and again, foster in bringing up children a 
 courageous, independent spirit : make them free of woods 
 and fields as early as the little cottager — and then imagine 
 the delight of that search for wool, moss, hair, grass, &c., 
 &c. ; fancy the many thoughts that will occur to them
 
 no LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 as to where these things are to be found ; fancy the eager 
 eyes questioning every nook, collecting enough to make 
 twenty nests if it could but be matted together ; fancy 
 the joy over a hair or feather, a tuft of wool gathered 
 from a thorn bush, and the little sprigs of velvet moss. 
 Life may have many joys afterwards, but that long 
 summer afternoon will stand out radiant amongst them. 
 And then the nest-making — the ineffectual attempts, the 
 bungling performance, and then a lesson upon the ex- 
 quisite faculty of instinct preparing the way for a hundred 
 thousand more. Natural history may always be made to 
 lead happily and gracefully and tenderly to God the 
 Creator and Father, not through sermons, but through the 
 things that He has made. The happiness of birds and 
 insects, and all creatures living a natural life, should be 
 often brought before children. Their hearts are always 
 in sympathy with happiness — that is, if they have not 
 been roughly thrown out. I believe some persons would 
 immediately say that children are naturally cruel. To 
 this I would answer, it is when the education in this par- 
 ticular has been neglected. 
 
 " Bring your little children into harmony and friendship 
 with all God's works ; and keeping this tender relationship 
 in view, never suffer them to make collections of insects. 
 I say never, for directly the greedy spirit of acquisition 
 finds place in a child's mind, the whole range of their 
 feelings is changed towards the creatures which they had 
 Ijefore admired with sympathy and something approach- 
 ing to love. Now, it is only to possess: directly any 
 lovely creature meets their eyes in sun or shade, to 
 capture, to destroy, to appropriate, is the sole object; all 
 desire to know or observe them is gone, all sympathy 
 with their innocent enjoyments is fled. When persons 
 grow older, these collections may be made with less 
 damage to character; but the effect is baleful to the 
 character of little children, in whom one should endeavour 
 to form an open heart of love towards all God's creatures. 
 The accounts of naturalists' murderous tours have been 
 often very revolting to my mind ; but the plea of scientific 
 discovery turns black to white.
 
 THO UGHTS ON ED UCA TION. 1 1 1 
 
 "Again, give them a piece of quicklime and a little 
 water, a handful of sand and the same, a lump of clay, 
 and so on. Draw their attention to effervescence, absorp- 
 tion, moulding, &c. Show them then the effect of an acid 
 on an alkali ; give different simple experiments in dyeing, 
 extraction of colour, going on step by step (for you can 
 scarcely set one intelligent step in natural history but 
 another must follow it), and before you are aware, your 
 little ones are on the borders of science — yes, they have 
 got their little feet within the charmed line before they 
 can even read. 
 
 " Weighing and measuring are quite within the compass 
 of a child under eight years old, and with scales and 
 weights and a marked measuring line, and a little, a very 
 little, calm distinct help, they will learn the rudiments 
 of long measure and avoirdupois weight much more de- 
 lightfully and intelligently than in the vi-sionary tables of 
 Aveights and measures submitted to the jaded memory. 
 The relative wei^dits connected with the bulk of different 
 materials would amuse children for many an hour. 
 
 " I would earnestly say. Do not be in haste ; do not 
 crowd one thing upon another : let the first steps be true, 
 and then, by continued repetition, be trodden in till they 
 become a practical fact to the child's eyes and hands — what 
 he has seen, handled, and experienced, and can describe : 
 on this I would lay great stress. Do not be content with 
 confused description. Let the child do his very best first, 
 then supply him with the words he needs to make his 
 detail accurate and complete. Children are delighted to 
 use their minds if you do not push them on too fast or 
 too far, or miss the steps or links by which the mind 
 travels with a comfortable firm foothold. There is no need 
 to hasten : one foundation-stone well laid will bear a "reat 
 weight laid upon it in the general building." 
 
 In the training of children in town, Mrs. Sewell 
 acknowledges there is more difficulty. Wherever 
 possible, she recommends that a good-sized, airy, 
 uucarpeted room be given up to the children,
 
 112 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 where they can try their experiments without fear 
 of injury to furniture or annoying any one with 
 the sound of hammers and nails ; can grow seeds 
 in saucers, plants in pots, and keep a few pets. 
 She goes on to say : — 
 
 " If expense is an object, instead of buying feathers for 
 the children's hats, take railway tickets to the nearest 
 country station. This would bring bloom to the cheeks 
 of the little ones, and sunshine to their spirits; you 
 would find it as ' bread cast on the waters, to be found 
 after many days.' These would be the days which the 
 children would look back upon in after life. They would 
 remember them as festivals when they sat upon the green 
 grass under the spreading trees, eating their buns and 
 making all kinds of discoveries among things whose 
 beauty never wears out. It was through the beauty of 
 nature that God first spoke to my own heart when I w^as 
 a child of not more than four years old, and I believe if 
 parents can reverently and lovingly turn over the pages 
 of God's book before the charmed eyes of their little ones, 
 they will find a natural and happy response." 
 
 Extracts from Letters to various Friends. 
 
 "There is one thing in which I think parents of the 
 present day err so frequently — it is in making children 
 so very dqiendcnt. My idea is, that children should be 
 made as independent as possible, consistent with their 
 personal safety. In this way they gain so much more 
 real experience, and they learn the natural effects of 
 temper and principle. If children are continually with 
 servants when not with their mother, every little thing 
 is done for them, all their little quarrels are set right for 
 them, and they are never, as it were, acting on their own 
 foundation and receiving the natural rewards of their 
 conduct. There are appeals and interferences which pre- 
 vent a child from seeing cause and effect simply, and
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 113 
 
 also from gaining an independent mastery in many little 
 matters suited to their abilities. For instance, if you 
 wish to be alone or to go out, I would not give over the 
 children to others, but leave them together, with what 
 ou^rht to be sufficient amusement. Ic is their interest 
 then to make themselves agreeable to each other, and 
 also to call forth all their ingenuity for their own amuse- 
 ment. ' Don't do this,' and ' Give your brother that,' and 
 ' I'll tell your ma,' — all these ill-working speeches are done 
 away with. However excellent a servant may be, she 
 can never stand to a child in the place of unquestioned 
 rule and authority, and that invaluable virtue of simple, 
 unquestioning obedience in a child's mind is necessarily 
 impaired." 
 
 I am afraid this passage requires the commeDt of 
 the following extract from the published sketch : — 
 
 " Mrs. Sewell was speaking of the idea that every human 
 being (not only motherless crossing-sweepers) receives the 
 whole care of one angel. She said, ' I don't think I could 
 believe it. We are so untoward. Think what a weari- 
 some job they would have with us ! ' 
 
 " ' But when you were entirely devoted to the care 
 of two human beings, you did not find it wearisome,' I 
 replied. 
 
 " ' Ah ! but I had nice little toward children,' she said, 
 as if unconscious that her own management had anything 
 to do with this ' towardness.' " 
 
 It sometimes happens that nervous, delicate 
 children, by no means singularly " untoward," 
 will come to stages when the discipline they give 
 to each other, if long left to themselves, works ex- 
 tremely ill. No doubt more aiming at indepen- 
 dence from the first midit obviate this often, but 
 not invariably. In after years Mrs. Sewell learned 
 
 H
 
 114 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 the power of a ^vise and careful nurse through 
 one who entered her son's househokl as a girl 
 of eighteen, brought up all the family with de- 
 voted care, and still remains their loved and 
 honoured friend. The reminiscences quoted above 
 say — " When Mrs. Sewell began talking of J.'s good- 
 ness, she did not know how to stop." Mothers 
 who have not the means to secure such priceless 
 help, however, may find much encouragement both 
 in the foreo-oinsj letter and in the folio win 2; : — 
 
 " What strikes me as the defect of Taylor's ' Home Edu- 
 cation ' (it is long- since I read it) is its impracticability. 
 The child is to be constantly surrounded with perfect 
 teachers ; he is to be supplied with everything, and to 
 battle with nothing. I cannot think such a system could 
 form a dauntless, persevering, independent character. I 
 remember this was my impression when I read it. I 
 thought there were invaluable things in it, but that as a 
 whole it was impracticable and undesirable. The book I 
 value above all others as a help is Edgeworth's ' Practical 
 Education.' It has nothing to do with the religious for- 
 mation of character, but simply moral and intellectual 
 traininrj." 
 
 o 
 
 " In education, it is a child's moral nature you train. 
 Virtue, the highest, purest, loveliest, is what you want to 
 train them to. Now, I believe this is very much done by 
 expecting it — in feeling sure they will be what is good 
 and beautiful: — to raise a high ambition after beauty, 
 truth, honesty, &c., &c., by showing them how intensely 
 you admire and approve of it, how earnestly and hope- 
 fully you believe and expect that they will be everything 
 you wish. Let everything be stimulating, animating, 
 affectionate, nothing depressing. Oh ! children do answer 
 to this treatment: their simple hearts are made to glow
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 115 
 
 and stretch out towards a uoble, loving discipline. Ex- 
 pansion is the law of their nature ; they delight in it." 
 
 In the same line of thought, though not applying 
 only to children, is the letter that follows : — 
 
 " Never let any one leave you discouraged ; if you do, it 
 arises either from cowardice, selfishness, carelessness, or 
 meanness. We sliould always jdume each other's wings, 
 if there are any visible ; if not, find them out. Find out 
 their inner Lias, and let them know you have found it 
 out. Never flatter or feed self-satisfaction, hut as far as 
 you honestly can, show an appreciation of the work of 
 others. This feeds growth, hope, power, and happi- 
 ness. Horses and cows bite one another for comfort and 
 sociability. 
 
 " Let praise be distinctive, not general. If a woman 
 has bravely passed through a great trial, call her brave. 
 If you come in contact with a man who cultivates his 
 garden well, give floM^ers and seed, and beg some of his — 
 acknowledge a mutual taste. To a little worker toiling 
 with unaccustomed thimble and needle, select for especial, 
 hopeful admiration the best stitches. The same with 
 writing. In a copy-book, be sure you find out one good 
 letter. Don't be mean ; notice it, and point out its beauty 
 — put a mark under it; others will be made like it. Let 
 nothing good pass unnoticed ; do not fear giving a full 
 measure of commendation. A general slur, or merely 
 indiscriminate praise, will beat down, not up. 
 
 " The power of generous appreciation has to be de- 
 veloped in oneself; to be an efficient power, it must be 
 discriminating. The words you speak must have their 
 roots in your ow^n heart, or they will be only barren 
 words. Mere formal speeches may depress, — they never 
 exhilarate, and for all good, they leave things as they find 
 them. Do not lose the key that might be used to open 
 prison doors, and not only open the doors, but unfasten 
 the chains. 
 
 " We are too apt to freeze in imparting knowledge.
 
 ii6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 We are told that the sweetness of the lips increaseth 
 learning, and that pleasant words are as an honeycomb, 
 sweet to the soul and health to the bones, adding both joy 
 and strength, hope and power." 
 
 No one acquainted ^\'itli Mrs. Sewell will say, 
 in reading the above, that she preached what she 
 did not practice. How many on the brink of 
 despair she has been the means of bringing back to 
 trust and hope ! I remember her sayijig, " We are 
 too much afraid of praising people— I mean appre- 
 ciative, really deserved praise. Life in this diffi- 
 cult world has great discouragements. I have met 
 with many more people who need lifting up than 
 taking down.' 
 
 In conversation she was careful not to smother 
 the thoughts and observations of people with w^hom 
 she W'as conversing ; on the contrary, they so grew 
 in her hands that under her management they 
 seemed to go on gathering in importance. This 
 was the more observable when she was with chil- 
 dren, or comparatively ignorant people. Her quick 
 sympathies enabled her to discern w^hen there w^as 
 more on the speaker's mind than he had the power 
 to express. A few judicious questions would bring 
 to the surface that wdiich had been vainly strug- 
 gling for existence. Young people would leave her 
 with bright faces, rejoicing in their new-found 
 capacity of making themselves understood, and 
 the ignorant would be cheered and encouraged by 
 the thought that though they were ignorant now, 
 they need not remain so for ever. There are few
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 117 
 
 things for which the poor and the young will feel 
 more grateful than for any revelation we can make 
 to them of powers of their own, which a little more 
 courage and industry on their parts would enable 
 them to put out to advantage. 
 
 Over and over again, in letters to parents and 
 teachers, come entreaties that they will C[ualify 
 themselves to make children acquainted with 
 Nature, and descriptions of the pleasure of walks 
 with open eyes, and little basket ready to bring 
 home treasures for examination, "so unlike the 
 poor little things who walk hand in hand and see 
 nothing^." 
 
 "When children have once got hold of Nature, and 
 their mother will animate and help them, they want no 
 toys. It is such a delightful task that I really almost 
 envy a mother who has it for her work and duty." 
 
 " Self-denial for some special object which a child can 
 understand as worthy of it, is an excellent discipline for 
 him." 
 
 "A handful of good life is better than a bushel of 
 learning." 
 
 " I have no doubt myself that it would be good for boys 
 generally if they were, up to ten years of age, under the 
 care of good, intelligent women. They need the affec- 
 tions trained and developed to make good domestic men. 
 The training in boys' schools is in most cases antagonistic 
 to this." 
 
 I add fragmentary recollections of conversation : — 
 " I do not remember ever having to give my
 
 ii8 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 cliildren a more serious pimishment than tlie witli- 
 holdincr of a kiss at niobt. That was enou2[h to 
 send them to bed with tears and sobs. When it 
 happened — it was very rarely — as soon as I conLl 
 swallow my own grief, I think my uppermost 
 thought was the earnest desire that they should 
 grieve as much to break God's commandments as 
 they did to break mine. I used to try and im- 
 press upon their minds that trouble must always 
 come of living: at variance with anv of His com- 
 mandments. Because He wants us to be always 
 happy, He could no more allow disobedience in His 
 family than mother could in hers." 
 
 "No true parent will ever doubt that our 
 Heavenly Father 'delighteth in mercy,' and that 
 judgment is 'His strange work.' AVhen I have 
 been reading in the projDliecies of the heavy judg- 
 ments on His 'rebellious house,' I have watched 
 with Him, as it were, more than one hour, in deep 
 sympathy with all the anguish this needed severity 
 must have cost Him. K we had no written word 
 for it, my mother-heart would make me quite sure 
 that ' He will not always chide, neither keep His 
 anger for ever.' " 
 
 " We sometimes see a pathway closed to the 
 public, and a notice put up that whoever attempts 
 to use it will sulFer a penalty, — by order of tlic 
 owner. A child might easily have it so impressed 
 upon him not to go there, that, with the fear chil- 
 dren have of policemen, he would scarcely dare to 
 turn his head that way as he went by.
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 119 
 
 "How many of Satan's by-patlis, which canntjt 
 be entered without disaster, are forbidden ' By 
 order of the lovini,^ Father who is on the watch 
 that His children shall do themselves no harm ! ' " 
 
 "The Book of the Law must be oue of our 
 earliest lesson-books with children. Under the 
 Spirit's guidance, practical illustration will rivet a 
 child's attention, and every lesson will deepen the 
 feelinor that it is an evil and a bitter thinsf to sin 
 against God. Tell him, too, that the lesson he is 
 learning to-day will never be changed, even if he 
 should live to be as old as grandfather; he is learn- 
 ing something for all time. And let the example 
 of Christ be kept before him as the model of per- 
 fect obedience to the will of the Father." 
 
 One morning, in looking over an American paper, 
 (I think the Sunday-Scltool Times), we came upon 
 a story telling how the hymns and Scripture taught 
 by a Christian mother who died when her little 
 boy was ten years old, came back to his memory 
 w^heu he was ninety, with a force that made him a 
 new man, without the help of another word from 
 human lips. Mrs. Sewell remarked that this was a 
 literal fulfilment of the promise, " When he is old 
 he will not depart from it," and went on to say that 
 it was with her children at her side that she first 
 woke up to see the wonderful adaptation of Scrip- 
 ture to meet every want and impress every duty of 
 life. She said, " Whenever I wanted to correct 
 anything wrong, or to help them on to some higher 
 level, I tried to put everything I said upon some
 
 I20 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 fouutlation truth from the Bible. Sometimes I 
 had to wait for it. I have tarried before God da^ 
 after day, asking Him where I shoiikl turn for the 
 light and teaching I needed, and with all my heart 
 I testify that ' they who wait on the Lord ' not 
 only 'renew their strength,' but find what they 
 seek. Then when I spoke to my children about 
 what God wished them to do, or not to do, they 
 knew that the God who was telling^ them to ' do all 
 things without murmurings and disputiugs ' was 
 the same who had taught the little bee to hum, 
 and painted the flowers in such lovely colours ; and 
 the teaching from His Word came to them in the 
 way of its being an honour and a privilege that the 
 great Lord and Giver of Life should remember to 
 tell us how to behave to one another; — and what a 
 happy thing it was that we could really know for 
 certain what He would like us to do." 
 
 "1 always felt such confidence in teaching from 
 the exact words of the Bible, because the Spirit 
 that all true life comes from, can honour His own. 
 Catechisms and Creeds always seemed to me like 
 bones separated from the flesh ; they may be well 
 enough in their way, but I could never get on with 
 them, nor feel the need of them." 
 
 " Then do you think we could dispense with 
 Catechisms and Creeds ? " 
 
 " I would not say that. I am not so much 
 talking against them as saying that there is some- 
 thin i^ better." 
 
 " But how many mothers do you think there are
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 121 
 
 w'lio take up tlie Bible as you Lave done, and make 
 a kind of lesson-book of it, without needing any 
 otlier help ? " 
 
 " Oh, I hope there really are a great many ; but 
 my heart is always crying to God that He would 
 send us many, many wiser, holier mothers, who 
 will not make over teaching their children to other 
 people, but count it the highest of privileges to do 
 it themselves. I am afraid the world will never be 
 much better than it is until God sends us more 
 Heaven-tauo-ht mothers." 
 
 O 
 
 And after a pause, " Yes, I suppose we must 
 have Catechisms while there are comparatively so 
 few mothers w^ho think for themselves, and wait 
 upon God for light and power. But I think, if I 
 had to use a Catechism, I would rather have oue 
 written by a mother than by a Westminster 
 divine." 
 
 This conversation expresses to what was perhaps 
 the deepest longing of Mrs. Se well's heart. More 
 good mothers she desired above every other good. 
 AYhen some allusion had been made to what she 
 considered our national crime, in allowing tempta- 
 tions to drink to multiply under the full protection 
 of the law, she said, " If there were better mothers, 
 my dear, there would be better statesmen." She 
 used to say that if our systems of national educa- 
 tion were as perfect as an angel from heaven could 
 make them, the material on which they had to 
 work was so hopelessly gnarled and twisted in its 
 early home growth, that to persuade it to take a
 
 122 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 new direction was little short of a miracle. A 
 manufacturer determined to send out the best 
 goods selects his material with great care, promptly 
 rejecting everything that comes under the stamp of 
 "damaged." When we think of the quantity of 
 damaged material which daily presents itself at 
 the doors of our Board Schools, we cease to wonder 
 that the results of our educational efforts are so 
 often disappointing. 
 
 " We see the success of bad training on every 
 side," Mrs. Sewell said. " We needn't doubt the 
 success of good training if we could but get as 
 much of it. The overwhelmino; evil all about us 
 corresponds to the bad seed sown in children's 
 hearts. It is just what we might expect : like 
 produces like. We spend our philanthropy in 
 trying to make good what need never have been 
 so bad." 
 
 And at another time — " I have always been so 
 thankful to God for making^ me a woman. It is 
 worth while beino- a woman, for the sake of havino- 
 the first word with the children. I have no ambi- 
 tion at all to get upon the world's platform and 
 fight for its prizes. I love the quiet, spiritual 
 Avork God has appointed for women. I would 
 rather train up a little child to love and serve God 
 and be a blessing to his country than do anything 
 else. But women should cultivate a spirit of great 
 sympathy with men, who have to face the world 
 and fight its battles. AVe cannot help them much 
 at their work, but their contact with the world
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 123 
 
 is likely to engender a cold, liard, selfish spirit, 
 and that is best corrected by coDtact witli the re- 
 fined and spiritual. They need to come under the 
 influence of those who can show the crookedness of 
 the world's policy by placing by its side the straight 
 line of the law and commandments of God, tvJiich 
 never chanr/e." 
 
 With these convictions, it will readily be under- 
 stood that she took a profound interest in Mothers' 
 Meetings. She used to speak of them as the 
 " foundation educational movement of the day." 
 " Tlie destinies of our country are mainly in the 
 hands of the fathers and mothers, and were we as 
 loyal and patriotic as we ought to be, we should 
 think no effort — no painstaking — no teaching — no 
 prayers — nothing — too much to contribute to the 
 cause of lifting the home life of our country on to 
 a hio-her level." 
 
 In the concluding chapter of " Thy Poor Brother" 
 Mrs. Sewell writes : — 
 
 " "What a halo of hope is round these Mothers' Meetings ! 
 To my mind they offer the fairest prospect we have for 
 tlie elevation of the lower classes. It is acknowledged bv 
 all thoughtful people, I believe, that the education of the 
 home is more powerful than that of the school or pulpit 
 in forming the character of children, and the children 
 are our hope for the future. That this hope may not be 
 changed into despa'r is the great olyect of these meetings ; 
 and they appear to fit with a peculiar nicety to the present 
 requirement, by affording to mothers instruction and com- 
 fort, and helping them to help themselves. I trust their 
 present high aim, thus to benefit the whole nature — body, 
 soul, and spirit — may be fully upheld, and that they may
 
 124 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 never become simply clubs, or working and reading meet- 
 ings, but that, full of love and hope, they may spread over 
 our country and fill it with healing and happiness." 
 
 As time went on, and these meetings became 
 more general, Mrs. Sewell had to own that her 
 hopes were too often unfulfilled. Ladies about 
 to undertake this work often applied to her for 
 advice, and she said, " They seem to me to have 
 so little idea of what mai/ come out of getting the 
 ear of from fifty to a hundred poor women, per- 
 haps for two hours every week : ivomen, whom 
 God has given the most responsible work in the 
 world ; and they want teaching in so many ways, 
 there is not a moment to be lost. Those precious 
 hours ! how few, comparatively, make the most of 
 them ! " 
 
 I told her of a little plan which I had found 
 useful. After the Bible lesson, I would select a 
 verse of Scripture, and read it over carefully two 
 or three times, giving them the chapter and verse, 
 which some who had pencils wrote down. Then I 
 would say, " I am going to speak of this verse as 
 though I were talking to your children. I shall 
 try to suppose that none of you are older than four- 
 teen — most of you much younger." I then went 
 on to make as simple an explanation as I could of 
 the verse chosen, and at the end I said, " If there 
 is anything in this lesson I have not made clear 
 enough for your children to understand, ask me, 
 and I will try to make it plainer." I advised them 
 on a Sunday morning to get their husbands, if
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 125 
 
 possible, or one of the older cliildren learning at 
 the school to ^vrite so nicely, to make copies of 
 this verse in a clear text hand, and give it to 
 each child to prick before learning it. Then per- 
 haps just after tea might be a good time, when 
 they were all sitting together, for the mothers to 
 tell them as much as they could recollect of what 
 I had said. 
 
 Whatever else that went on in the meeting failed 
 to get all the attention it deserved, not a word of 
 this little lesson seemed to be lost. JMothers will 
 learn hard for their children — they believe in in- 
 struction beino; 2;ood for them. Not a stitch of 
 work was ever done, or an eye diverted from the 
 speaker, until the lesson was over. The mothers 
 would often bring; me the texts to show me "how 
 nice the little ones have pricked 'em." 
 
 Mrs. Sewell took up this idea with all her 
 usual ardour in making much of the suggestions 
 of another. "Now I do call that a good stroke 
 of business," she said. " There are the fathers 
 and mothers, older and younger children, all set 
 o-oinof together, and all over a little verse of Scrip- 
 ture. I w^as reading the other day of a district 
 in London where about 700 women attended the 
 meetings held on Monday afternoons. Now sup- 
 posing the ladies who superintended these meet- 
 inos were to combine and o-ive the children lessons, 
 each week, from the same verses — why, it might 
 set all the women, some of the men, and most of 
 the children thiukinor and talkinor on the same
 
 126 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 subject, and as it would be about ' the word wliich 
 does not return void, but accomplishes tliat whereto 
 it was sent,' what a mighty power for good it 
 mislit become in a neisjhbourhood ! " 
 
 " Our poor women here so seldom get out to a 
 place of worship," she continued; "and when they 
 do, so often there is nothing for them ! In a mixed 
 congregation, a great deal of the teachiug must go 
 above their heads. Mothers' Meetings ought to 
 make up for this." 
 
 In 1856 her own loved mother passed away. 
 Mr. Philip Sewell was in England for a time, 
 and his family paid a long visit to Grayling 
 Wells, but "grandmother" left no strong mark 
 upon the children's memories at that time. 
 " Grandfather " w^as the hero of the day to them, 
 far more an adept in pleasing very little ones at 
 play than the earnest grandmother. It would not 
 have come into her mind to put little bits of 
 cheese on their biscuits and call them " horses with 
 riders," or do a host of other playful things by 
 which the dear grandfather was fondly remem- 
 bered. With all her wise thoughts about the care 
 of little ones, and her delight in w^atching them, 
 Mrs. Sewell did not attract very young children 
 as many old ladies do. I think she was never 
 enouo-h of an old lady for them, and was more 
 souoht by their caretakers, who found her a de- 
 lightful counsellor. With any child left entirely 
 to her care, she would no doubt have quickly
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 127 
 
 established relations of sympathy almost if not 
 quite as perfect as she had with her own children : 
 but in a slighter acquaiutance, her instinct for 
 being side by side with her companions and draw- 
 ing them to her own level, did not quite meet the 
 requirements of the baby stage. 
 
 The years spent at Hay ward's Heath and Chi- 
 chester seem to have left fewer traces than any 
 other part of Mrs. Sewell's life. One or two valued 
 friendships were made at Chichester, and she used 
 to speak of the })leasant drives there — drives in 
 the little pony-carriage having become part of the 
 daily routine, for Anna's sake. These years appear 
 to have been much occupied in a weary search after 
 improvement in her health. Visits were paid to 
 hydropathic establishments : Mrs. Sewell would go 
 with her, and leave her to iiive the treatment a 
 full trial. In the summer of 1856 they went to 
 Marienberg, and there Anna was left for nearly a 
 year. A rare cessation of outward interest and 
 activity came to Mrs. Sewell in this time of her 
 absence, with the result of unfoldinoj a lono;-hidden 
 power : in her sixtieth year she began to write 
 verses, and felt the power growing as she wrote. 
 It was the discovery of a new existence — a new 
 era, though it came as quietly as the leaves unfold 
 in spring. 
 
 The earliest letter of hers which has come to 
 hand was written not long before the removal from 
 Chichester, to a friend who had gone to stay tem- 
 porarily in a place recommended by her : —
 
 128 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 To Mrs. R. 
 
 " Geatling Wells, April 19, 1S57. 
 
 " I am so glad I mentioned that place to you, because it 
 seems to have been quite right. I wrote to you then on 
 the spur of a sudden impression. These sudden impres- 
 sions are not to be neglected ; they may be a little piece 
 of the wonderful mechanism of Providence. 
 
 "Anna's back and chest are better, feet quite lame, 
 and her head not much better : still, in many ways it will 
 have been a great benefit. She has made dear and valuable 
 friends, and gained a great deal of experience, and seen 
 much variety, which, to such a prisoner as she is, is a 
 great advantage. I expect she will return in May, should 
 nothing unforeseen prevent it. 
 
 " I think how your dear children are enjoying running 
 about in the country. Depend upon it, there is nothing 
 better than making young children naturally happy, not 
 overstrained in body, mind, nor in a precocious religion : 
 let them develop naturally, and watch and train them. 
 
 " Yes, I have read Mrs. Ellis' book,^ and advise every 
 mother to read it, and every one interested in the present 
 most grievous state of society in general. I have been to 
 see her, and we had many earnest talks together. . . . 
 
 " Do not be in a hurry, dear friend. The Lord does not 
 make haste. Upon one little event of our lives so many 
 others may hang that affect other people as well, that 
 we may safely leave Him who formed and guides the 
 whole scheme to tell us when to go forward and when to 
 stop. When we are in difficulty or perplexity, we are apt, 
 I think, to feel our individuality more, and forget our 
 membership ; but it is a good and comforting tiling to 
 remember this great family circle of connected interests. 
 
 " I have had many a trouble since I wrote to you last 
 — deep anxiety about Sarah. . . . Thank God, we have 
 this week a better account. I have been very unwell 
 myself, and have now a long cough and cold upon me 
 that makes me look very shabby and feel very weak ; 
 but I am hoping to improve. 
 
 1 Probably " Mothers of England."
 
 THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION. 129 
 
 "My good husband has resigned his position in the 
 Bank. . . . We are able to live without his being in 
 much more business than attending to his own ; but I am 
 afraid he will find leisure wearisome. We shall have to 
 be more careful, of course, than we have been, and that is 
 never very pleasant, is it, dear ? But blessings abound, as 
 you see." 
 
 I have thought it best to pause, on the threshold 
 of Mrs. Sewell's literary life, and devote a chapter 
 to it, before proceeding with the history of those 
 other parts of her life which ran side by side 
 with it.
 
 I30 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 LITERARY WORK. 
 
 XBy Elisabeth Boyd Bayly.) 
 
 "A summer bird 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting up of day." — King Henkt IV. 
 
 "homely ballads" — DORKING — SPAIN — WICK — "THE CHILDREN 
 OF SUMMERBROOK " — " STORIES IN VERSE " — " PATIENCE HART " 
 — "thy poor brother" — "LITTLE FORESTER" — "ROSE OF 
 CHERITON " — " DAVIE BLAKE " — " THE MARTYR'S TREE." 
 
 When, in lier sixtieth year, Mrs. Sewell first 
 entertained the thought of writing for the public 
 in verse, I think she must have felt the touch of 
 her father's hand upon her head again, and heard 
 his voice saying " That's right, my dear. Always 
 hope." 
 
 The motive that inspired her is told in her 
 own words, in the prefiice to the first edition of 
 "Homely Ballads":— 
 
 " During many years of friendly intercourse with her 
 poorer friends and neighbours, the author has frequently 
 observed the poetry in a book to be the first part which 
 draws their attention — that with children there is a general 
 desire to commit verse to memory, and that the parent's
 
 LITERARY WORK. ni 
 
 
 
 ear is ever open to listen whilst they repeat the hymn, or 
 the story which is told in rhyme, 
 
 " The author believes — and her opinion is confirmed 
 by others intimately conversant with the minds of the 
 working classes in different parts of the country — that 
 there exists among them generally an instinctive love 
 of simple, descriptive poetry, and that both morally and 
 intellectually it is of more importance to them to have 
 the imagination cultivated and refined by the higher 
 sentiment of poetry than it can be to those who have 
 the advantage of a liberal education ; to the one, it is a 
 luxury — to the other, an almost needful relaxation from 
 the severe and irksome drudgery of their daily lot. 
 
 "With these convictions, the author has endeavoured 
 to throw some of her thoughts into the following homely 
 verses. But in offering them as a small contribution to 
 the working man's library, she is conscious how slightly 
 they express her earnest sympathy and interest — her heart- 
 felt admiration and respect for the noble-hearted, patient, 
 and industrious workers in our native land, by whose un- 
 ceasing toil the more wealthy are exempted from similar 
 labour, and are surrounded by the comforts and enjoy- 
 ments of life." 
 
 I have beard no one ever mention Mrs. Se well's 
 having previously \Yritten verses as an amusement. 
 She saw a thino' that Avanted to be done, and 
 when she had time, thought she would try if she 
 could do it herself, and found that she could. 
 This appears to be the history of her discovering 
 her vocation, after threescore years of training 
 for it by using her imagination as a power of 
 sympathy. 
 
 She described to me how the emptiness of her 
 life in Anna's absence tempted her on to write, 
 till several ballads were accomplished. "And
 
 132 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 then I showed tliem in fear and trembling to 
 Henry Kiug," she said, " and had to sit by while 
 he turned over the leaves, till at last he looked 
 up, and said, 'This will do.'" To the last she 
 would dwell on the pleasure, the charm of being 
 criticised and praised by him. Compliments, of 
 course, she disliked, — "Though it's nice to have 
 things said to you that are all hut true," she 
 said; but approval from Mr. King w\as precious 
 indeed. "He w^as the most refined man. In 
 everything — w^ords and binding and paper — his 
 taste was perfect. He alw^ays knew just the right 
 thing to do w^ith one's things, and w^hat the title 
 should be." 
 
 I do not know wdiether his verdict was given 
 before or after Anna's return from Germany in 
 May. This was a gala -time for mother and 
 daughter. Anna's health had much improved : 
 for once they were able to w^alk about together. 
 They took a fortnight's holiday at Dorking, ever 
 memorable as a little space of unclouded happiness 
 — a " delicate plain called Ease w^here they w^ent 
 with much content," though "they were quickly 
 over it, for it w^as but narrow." The weather 
 was delicious ; all day long they walked and sat 
 among the spring flowers, revelling in the beauty 
 of that lovely place ; and when they came back 
 to their lodging in the evenings, they were so in- 
 tensely interested in Carlyle's " Past and Present " 
 that they could hardly persuade themselves to go 
 to bed, and drank cofi"ee to drive off sleep and
 
 LITERARY WORK. 133 
 
 lengthen each deh'ghtful day. Twenty-five years 
 afterwards, Mrs. Sewell would speak of that book 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 The " delicate plain " passed, they went home to 
 plunge with eager interest into the revision of all 
 that the mother had written in her solitude. " My 
 Nannie has always been my critic and counsellor," 
 said Mrs. Sewell long afterwards. " I have never 
 made a plan for anything without submitting it to 
 her judgment. Every line I have written has been 
 at her feet before it has gone forth to the world." 
 
 Anna Sewell had the artist instinct for form 
 strongly developed. Her pencil drawings from 
 nature, full of truth and spirit, are remarkable for 
 excellence of composition ; if she did not edit her 
 landscapes, she had a genius for seizing the right 
 point of view, and figures and objects w^ere put in 
 exactly in the right spot ; this same gift of form 
 made her an admirable critic of manner and arrange- 
 ment in word-painting. She was not a lenient judge. 
 " Oh, if I can only pass my Nannie, I don't fear 
 the world after that," Mrs. Sewell said, accepting 
 her own child's criticism with eagerness ; — 1 was 
 going to say with entire humility, but it was more 
 a fine ambition that made her so ready to take a 
 hint from any one — a craving to be as near perfec- 
 tion as her powers could attain. If a thing was 
 not o;ood enouQ-h, it must be made so ; and her 
 industry was inexhaustible : one cannot conceive 
 of her ever saying, " I can't be troubled to go over 
 it all again."
 
 134 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 In the autumn of 1857 the family paid a visit 
 to Mr. Philip Sewell at Sautander. This opened 
 a new world of beauty, leaving pictures stamped 
 upon Mrs Sewell's ardent mind ; but as an in- 
 stance of the superior force of early impressions, 
 I cannot recall a single lyric, not even a simile, 
 in all her verses, which would betray that she 
 had been in the land of the myrtle and orange- 
 flower. This may be partly because she wrote for 
 English folks who had not travelled abroad, and 
 in composition, her audience sat with her : she 
 was as sensitive to the impression she was to make 
 on simple readers as though they had been ranged 
 about her in bodily presence. 
 
 Meanwhile it had been decided to leave the 
 house at Grayling Wells. AVhat led the family to 
 their next home at Blue Lodge, Wick, is now for- 
 gotten. If a hope of econom}^ was the motive, it 
 proved fallacious, for the inconveniences of the place 
 made it anything but cheap. The house was within 
 a drive of either Bath or Bristol. It stood between 
 the villages of Listen and AVick, a long way from 
 either, and required additions and alterations ; but 
 whatever the leading that brought her there, Mrs. 
 Sewell always looked back on it with deej) thank- 
 fulness, for besides the work of blessiug that she 
 and hers were able to carry on for the poor within 
 their reach, this lonely place proved the very spot 
 for authorship. Here all her chief works were 
 written—'' Mother s Last Words," " Our Father's 
 Care/' "Thy Poor Brother," "Patience Hart,"
 
 LITERARY WORK. 135 
 
 besides many little stories in verse ; and active 
 visitation of scliools and poor, niglit school, and 
 temperance work were carried on. When some 
 one expressed astonishment that so much work 
 and so much writing could go on together, Mrs. 
 Sewell said, " Our time was not all cut up into bits 
 with people, as it is here " (at Old Catton). " Every- 
 one who came to see us had to climb up a long steep 
 hill, so that they had to be very much in earnest 
 to do it. We could take our own times for going 
 to them, and so we got through something." 
 
 While the alterations proceeded, Anna seems 
 to have been away from home, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Sewell put up with very small quarters, with their 
 worldly goods packed up, and a makeshift house- 
 hold staff, judging by the following extract from a 
 letter evidently despatched when the writer had 
 composition fever upon her : — 
 
 " I must write my precious one a letter to go to the 
 post when my young woman goes to chapel at Wick. I 
 cannot call her servant, domestic, or help yet, because I 
 have not proved these virtues, but she may not turn out 
 quite so bad as I fear. Having constitutionally no method, 
 and much self-conceit, she has great obstacles in the way 
 at present. I will tell thee a funny little instance, amongst 
 a number of the same kind yesterday, which will make 
 thee laugh. I told her to boil a little rice, thinking she 
 would tie it up and have done with it. She came very 
 catechetically to ascertain if I had a little diaper bag to 
 boil it in, and stood informing me that she had always 
 been used to a diaper bag, and did not think rice would 
 look well without one ; and so, while all the great outlines 
 have to be made, she keeps worrying me about the minutia?, 
 always supposing I ' have not such and such a thing.' It
 
 136 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 is very laughable to hear how she goes on, but very pro- 
 voking, and she will make me a saint or a sinner accord- 
 ing to the measure of grace and patience." 
 
 Notwithstanding, the work went on. Mrs. Sewell 
 loved to compose out of doors, but it must be on a 
 straiofht walk or road. " A crinkle-crankle walk is 
 dreadful/' she said ; "it cuts off all one's rhymes." 
 There was a long straight walk in the grounds at 
 Blue Lodge, and there she paced up and down under 
 the leafless trees, and made her verses. 
 
 " Homely Ballads " was " printed for private cir- 
 culation" by Smith, Elder, & Co., early in 1858, 
 and met a reception that encouraged the writer to 
 put out all her powers. When her sisters read it, 
 they said, " We always knew that Mary had it in 
 her, and now it has come out." 
 
 In "The Eose of Cheriton" the old man says — 
 
 " I am no poet, sir, but there are times 
 When these old memories almost run in rhymes. 
 I've often thought that poesy was given 
 To comfort mourners on their way to heaven, 
 To let them find, all plain and fairly writ, 
 The feeling that no common words will fit." 
 
 The writer of those words had felt them. She 
 used to say that her versifying was not poetry. 
 " I have a knack of a rough sort of rhyming that 
 serves my purpose," she said, " and all the Byron 
 at Friends' Meeting trained me w^ell in rhythm — 
 that's all." If one may presume to set up an opinion 
 against hers, I should say that touches of very
 
 LITERARY WORK. 137 
 
 lovely f)oetry are scattered among her unpretending 
 verses, but fewer in " Homely Ballads " than in 
 later works ; she w^as only beginning to try her 
 wino^s when those were written. The lanofuaire is 
 strictly and intentionally "homely." It was re- 
 marked to one of Mrs. Sewell's grandchildren that 
 " mirk " would have been a better rhyme than 
 "dark" in one of her " Stories in Verse." " But 
 grandmother would never have used that word," 
 she said, " because it is not one that poor people 
 are accustomed to." 
 
 The subjects and sentiments are homely too. 
 Mr. John Wright's comment on the book was, 
 " Why, Mary ! what company have thee kept ? " 
 But it is homeliness idealised. In " The Young 
 English Gentleman," the writer names a list of 
 great folks — King, Duke, Bishop, Squire : — 
 
 " But I have seen another man, 
 A man who pleased me more, 
 A little Endish Gentleman 
 Within a cottage door." 
 
 And a picture follows of a little gentleman, twelve 
 years old, whose 
 
 " Soul was full of honour true, 
 And ready was his arm." 
 
 But though Mrs. Sewell gave honour due to 
 brave boys and men, it was for the poor, brave 
 working woman that her heart spoke loudest.
 
 1^,8 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 o 
 
 "The Woekixg Woman's Appeal. 
 
 "Amongst the hard and cutting things 
 
 Poor women have to feel, 
 "When poverty is serving out 
 
 Their lean and hungry meal, 
 Is the unthinking ignorance 
 
 Of some "\ve call genteel." 
 
 The speaker goes on to describe her life in service 
 at Squire Goldiman's, with lavish abundance of 
 everything to use and waste, and then the contrast, 
 when she married a man with ten shillings a week. 
 
 " I know it may, and has been said, 
 
 I'd but myself to blame ; 
 I might have lived a single life. 
 
 And not have changed my name. 
 "Well — I may have my thoughts of that. 
 
 My betters do the same." 
 
 She has heard gentlefolks called great for bearing 
 a reverse of fortune manfully, and thinks it would 
 be only fair to give a poor woman credit too, when 
 she makes the best of her lot : — 
 
 " I know it needs a noble heart, 
 A spirit true and just. 
 To want a hundred little things, 
 And never go on trust. 
 
 " I know it needs a strength of love, 
 
 And naught of selfishness. 
 To eke the little victuals out 
 
 That all may have a mess, 
 And hardly touch a bit yourself. 
 
 Though faint with weariness.
 
 LITERARY WORK. 139 
 
 " I know it needs the patience 
 
 That a martyr may require, 
 To wash without a copper, 
 
 With a pot upon the fire ; 
 The chimney-smoke all driving down, 
 
 And smuts as black as mire." 
 
 And just when her spirit was sinking under the 
 trials of a washing-day, came Mistress Goldiman, 
 to see "her humble servant, Anne," all in silk 
 gown and lace bonnet. 
 
 " Oh deary me ! she could not sit 
 Upon my smutty chair. 
 
 " She only knew of cottages 
 
 That poets write about, 
 Wliere work is pleasant exercise 
 
 Both in the house and out, 
 And children all have curling hair 
 
 Like cherubim, no doubt. 
 
 " Mine never could come up to that, ' 
 However much I tried." 
 
 And so the lady lectured lier — 
 
 " On many things 
 She said I should have done ; 
 And many other things, she said 
 I should have let alone." 
 
 " The worst revenge that I would take, 
 
 The only one I'd seek, 
 Would be, that Mistress Goldiman 
 
 Should manage here a week ; 
 And after that experience 
 
 I'd like to hear her speak.
 
 I40 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 " But still I often blame myself, 
 
 When I reflect again 
 How wastefiilly we used the things 
 
 Of Squire Goldiman; 
 I wish I had a quarter now 
 
 Of what I wasted then." 
 
 Yet the spirit that aims at elevation by level- 
 ling what stands above it, was wholly repugnant 
 to Mrs. Sewell : she thousrbt it such a want of 
 self-respect. In her "Two Noblemen," when the 
 noble young cottager goes to see the young lord 
 whose life he had saved — 
 
 " His face was so honest, his step light and free, 
 No servile behaviour or speeches had he. 
 Indeed he forgot he was poor. 
 
 " He had not that paltry and pitiful pride 
 That looks upon toil as a thing one should hide, — • 
 
 He knew 'twas his lot upon earth. 
 And when in the nobleman's presence he stood, 
 He made him the very best bow that he could, 
 
 As due to high station and birth." 
 
 And the ballad next to " The Working Woman's 
 Appeal" is "Mrs. Godliman" — a poor woman's 
 story of a mistress she revered. 
 
 " I've heard folks say — (I'm sure I hope 
 That they may be forgiven) — 
 That not a feature of her face 
 
 Was beautiful or even ; 
 If they weren't beautiful for earth, 
 I know they were for heaven." 
 
 These lines recall one peculiarity in Mrs. Sewell's
 
 LITERARY WORK. 141 
 
 sestheticism ; she had small interest in beauty apart 
 from character. Wild plants in the hedgerows, 
 forcing their way through difficulties, were much 
 more interesting to her than prize specimens at a 
 flower-show, and in human faces, she looked for 
 histories in the old, and capabilities in the young, 
 rather than for shape or colour. 
 
 A letter written at the close of 1858 says — 
 " The testimonials I am constantly receiving of the 
 Ballads are most o-ratifvinof and encouraoinir. The 
 other day I had the thanks of a missionary's wife 
 in London from herself, and, she said, in behalf of 
 all the poor women who 
 
 ' Wash without a copper, 
 With a pot upon the fire.' 
 
 Was not that pleasant ? You ask, ' What 
 next ? ' I have another ballad, to be published 
 at the right time. I have also been writing a tale 
 in verse (very simple) for little schoolgirls." 
 
 This tale, " The Children of Summerl3rook," was 
 published in July 1859 by Messrs. Jarrold of Nor- 
 wich and London. Mrs. Sewell had still many ties 
 with the old cathedral city where the disgrace 
 of owing a penny had burdened her mind; the 
 Jarrolds were publishers for the people, and for the 
 people she wrote ; while ever cherishing the friend- 
 liest regard for her first publishers, she made the 
 change, which proved to be a wise one. Mr. Thomas 
 Jarrold, in particular, took the warmest interest in 
 all her writings, and his death, shortly before the
 
 142 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 appearance of " Black Beauty," was a heavy loss to 
 her : she clung to old friends, though always ready 
 to make new ones. 
 
 " The Children of Summerbrook " shows a dis- 
 tinct advance in artistic power. Like Mrs. Sher- 
 wood's little twopenny stories, it is complete of its 
 kind, with opening scenery, marshalling of charac- 
 ters, a critical epoch when events tremble in the 
 balance, and a triumphant close. Dashes of poetry 
 too, of the very simplest kind, begin to glance 
 amomr the lines. 
 
 o 
 
 " Now little ISTelly plays alone, 
 The three play there no more. 
 
 " Their hajipy faces in this world 
 Will never more be seen ; 
 Their nimble feet will bouud no more 
 Across the village green. 
 
 " For tbey are gone to Paradise, 
 Where comes no toil or pain ; 
 And oh ! they would not like to live 
 In Summerbrook arain." 
 
 *o" 
 
 It is said that every writer of fiction writes one 
 story which contains his own. Mrs. Se well's per- 
 sonality was too much exhaled into that of others 
 for her to do this ; but she wrote what she herself 
 had felt most deeply and delightfully in life, in the 
 story of a good, generous boy and girl, who worked 
 like trumps to help their mother, and overcame 
 evil with good among their schoolfellow^s. 
 
 " George was the prince of boys ! morn, noon, or night, 
 Whate'er he had to do, 'twas always right.
 
 LITERARY WORK. 143 
 
 No murmurs, nor excuses, nor debate 
 
 That 'twas too early, or it was too late; 
 
 For when by George his mother's will was known, 
 
 In little time, his mother's will was done. 
 
 And as to ]\Iary, that dear girl and he 
 
 Were just as happy as they well could be." 
 
 A nauglity girl supplies a shadow to the lights, 
 — points the moral, and gives goodness the chance 
 of a battle and a victory : the cro waning triumph 
 arrives when the father comes home from sea on 
 Christmas Eve, to find his wife looking ten years 
 younger, and all the children's doing ! 
 
 " A moment's pause of grateful joy, 
 Then round the board thy met ; 
 If there be greater happiness, 
 I have not seen it yet." 
 
 And that was the end. 
 
 Archbishop Trench says of Landor, " Most of his 
 poetry has no claws" No one could say that of 
 Mrs. Sewell's ; — unless perhaps herself, for, writing 
 as she did between the ages of sixty and seventy- 
 five, she had to contend with the declining verbal 
 memory of advanced years, and unless she could 
 write down a rhyme when it struck her, was apt to 
 lose it. 
 
 Tlie ballads now collected under the name of 
 " Stories in Verse " seem to have been written 
 next. In these again we trace a distinct advance 
 in facility of expression and fancy. The Muse 
 kept captive for nearly sixty years, took a little 
 time to acquire freedom of movement ; but cer-
 
 144 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 tainly it had learned to tread lightly when " The 
 Chaffinch's Nest " was written. 
 
 " Adown a green lane, seldom travelled by man, 
 A bright little brook in its cool current ran ; 
 For many long years it had trickled that way, 
 And never had loitered by night or by day. 
 By starlight and sunlight it glided along, 
 And sang to its neighbours the very same song ; 
 And when the deep dark over all of them fell, 
 It still had the same pleasant story to tell. 
 But whence it had come, or the words that it said, 
 Were thoughts that ne'er puzzled a passenger's head ; 
 Though still, where the little brook trickled along. 
 The flowers grew bright and the rushes grew strong." 
 
 In a large elm-tree beside the brook, " two sweet 
 little birds " decided to build their nest. 
 
 " They neither had gimlet, nor hammer, nor saws, 
 But only their beak and their dexterous claws. 
 But sensible workmen, 'tis said as a rule 
 Will hardly find fault with the commonest tool, 
 And these little workpeople never had thought 
 That new-fashioned implements need to be bought. 
 So away they were flying, away and away. 
 To fetch and to carry the whole of the day ; 
 And then in a branch of the sheltering tree 
 They both were as busy as busy could be. 
 < . . . . . 
 
 And oh ! what a spirit they had in their work ! 
 From earliest dawn to the evenincc dark 
 It seemed only pastime and pleasure to be. 
 So gaily they worked in the shade of the tree. 
 
 • • • • * ■ 
 
 The ivy-leaves hung as a green folding-door, 
 And now the small architects' labour is o'er.
 
 LITERARY WORK. 145 
 
 " Xext day came a joy too delightful to tell, 
 One should be a chaffinch to write of it well, — 
 A smooth little egg was observed in the nest, 
 Laid soft in the warmth of the mother bird's breast." 
 
 And so on, through the cycle of the highest 
 delights a little bird's heart can know, until a cruel 
 moment when two thoughtless boys came by, found 
 out the nest, and stole it away, and that little centre 
 of perfect happiness was ruined. 
 
 Against a graver ruin and blight of the sweetest 
 of joys, a warning voice is continually uplifted 
 in these ballads : we hear it even in the happy 
 story of the fisherman's foundling, and over and 
 over again, with a remarkable union of plainness 
 of speech and reticence, it sounds the danger-signal 
 on what Eobertson has called one of the " two 
 rocks on which the soul must either anchor or 
 be wrecked — its relations with the sex opposite 
 to itself." As a woman, the writer gives her 
 counsel chiefly to her own sex, but there are beau- 
 tiful little touches on the other side of the question. 
 She is not prudish : she can enter into the Sunday 
 bliss of straying in the Lovers' Lane. 
 
 " Stray on, young hearts, the Sabbath-day may be 
 The day most fit for vows of constancy ; 
 For marriage is a blest and holy thing, 
 Ptound which the purest joys of life may spring. 
 
 " But see 'tis holy — see 'tis good and true." 
 
 Nor is she content with a general caution : she 
 notes the first false step. 
 
 K
 
 146 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 " She'd steal away to take a walk, 
 And thus her work neglect, 
 And stand outside the door to talk, 
 With little self-respect." 
 
 As earnest and faithful is the warning^ against 
 intemperance, and sloth, waste, shirking, and beg- 
 ging are treated with wholesome scorn. Perhaps 
 some of the quarrels at Wick and Liston gave birth 
 to "The Little Schismatics; or, Irreligion" — a 
 smart take-off on the way in which neighbours 
 who have been friendly, through splitting straw^s — 
 
 "Will then another little chapel raise, 
 And pass each other in the public street." 
 
 Ail these w^orks have kept their favour with the 
 public. "Homely Ballads" is now in its fortieth 
 thousand ; " Children of Summerbrook," thirty- 
 third thousand. "Stories in Verse" was not 
 published complete until 1869, since when 19,000 
 copies have been printed ; but the ballads had been 
 sellino; as Household Tracts lono; before that time. 
 "The Lady's Dilemm;i," describing how a lady 
 found all the young people in a village too learned 
 to make a set of shirts, is very amusing. 
 
 The next flio-ht Avas to be the loiifijest. In 
 November i860 " Mother's Last Words" appeared, 
 and had a sale unprecedented in the hi.story of 
 ballads. It has now reached one million and 
 eighty-eight thousand, in addition (I believe) to 
 its sale, bound up with " Our Father's Care" and 
 
 The Children of Summerbrook," in a little two 
 
 U rpi
 
 LITERARY WORK. 147 
 
 sliiHInQ- book called " Mrs. Sewell's Ballads for 
 Children." " Our Father's Care," the story of a 
 little water-cress girl, followed in 1861, and is now 
 in its 776th thousand. It is unnecessary to describe 
 stories which any one can get for twopence from 
 the nearest booksellers. They have claivs. 
 An okl friend of Mrs. Sewell's writes : — 
 
 " We were walking; torrether in the fields one eveniiiGf 
 when I was on a visit to Blue Lodge. It was just after 
 ' Our Father's Care ' had been published, and every post 
 Avas bringing her letters referring to it — some from sympa- 
 thising friends anxious to know how they could befriend 
 little Nelly, and all of a character to gratify the vanity of 
 the authoress, if she had any. So much was she made of 
 just then, that I said to her cpiite phiyfully, ' I hope they 
 won't spoil you.' ' My dear,' she replied, turning on me 
 almost reproachfully, ' I have nondng to be proud of ; it 
 all came in answer to prayer.' 'Yes,' she added imme- 
 diately after, ' even the rhymes.' " 
 
 It is interesting to see what a great variety of 
 people, of all ranks and ages, found a charm in 
 these ballads. Mrs. Sewell did not hoard reviews of 
 her own works with the same care as she did those 
 of Anna's, but from among those preserved, I copy 
 the following from a very lengthened review which 
 appeared in the columns of The Brighton Herald. 
 After speaking of various kinds of poetr}^, the re- 
 viewer refers to that which, " abounding in the touch 
 of sympathy, binds all hearts," and goes on to say : — 
 
 " Of this latter character are the poems of a lady, once 
 a resident of this town, and the wdfe of a gentleman well 
 known and highly esteemed by most of us in Brighton.
 
 I4S LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 Yet, living as Mrs. Sewell long did in this county and 
 town, she was not then known among us as a poetess. 
 Now, her works are printed by hundreds of thousands, 
 and have a world of readers. Mrs. Sewell's is essentially 
 children's poetry — written of and for children mainly in the 
 lower ranks of life. In the ' Children of Sumuierbrook ' 
 we have the incidents in children's lives as experienced 
 in our English villages. ' Mother's Last Words ' dwells 
 on the trials children are exposed to in great towns, which 
 Mrs. Sewell describes and illustrates, and she does it with 
 a simple power which may be felt and understood by all 
 ages and all ranks." 
 
 In the " Life of Dora Greenwell," the follow- 
 ing reference is made to an essay Miss Greeuwell 
 wrote for the North British Revieiv on "Popular 
 Eelie^ious Literature" : — 
 
 " She takes notice of the great hold which religious 
 literature had gained upon the less educated portion of 
 the community, and regards it as the revelation of deep 
 and true devotional instinct. ' Man loves his home, and 
 loves to hear about his way to it : the path which the 
 vulture's eye hath not known.' She candidly acknow- 
 ledges that books of the popularly religious class must 
 not be measured by the canon of ordinary criticism. 
 These books are written for an object, and for a certain 
 class of people ; the only question to be asked is. Do they 
 hit or miss their mark ? ' It would be easy, for instance, 
 within the range of lyric narrative, to find a poem which, 
 considered as a poem, surpasses Mrs. Sewell's popular 
 ballad, ' Mother's Last Words ' — hard to find one so com- 
 pletely answering the end for which it was written, so 
 fraught with the secret of true pathos — that M'hich grows 
 out of the very nature of the thing it deals with, the 
 pathos that is entangled and involved in life ; the sadness 
 of the streets that conies across us in the cracked notes of 
 the ballad-siii'j-er, and in the bare feet of the forsaken 
 child. We have seen a class of adult criminals so sunk
 
 LITERARY WORK. 149 
 
 in tlie strange apathy habitual to them, so stolid and indif- 
 ferent, that the voice of instruction and warning seemed 
 to pass through them to the blank wall beyond ; we have 
 seen such a class roused, interested, awakened to life, to 
 intelligence, to affection, through the mere reading aloud 
 of this simple story. We liave known them follow its 
 course with eager eyes, with broken exclamations, with 
 sobs, with floods of tears." 
 
 Canon Fleming^ writes : — 
 
 " I read ' Mother's Last Words ' in December to nearly 
 one thousand of my poor people — it was illustrated with 
 dissolving views ; and I read the people the kind letters 
 you wrote me when I was living at Bath in 1866, to show 
 them something of the heart of the authoress. They were 
 in great delight with your poem. 
 
 " On the 20th of February I am going to give a reading 
 for the orphans, and among other things I am going to 
 read your Ghost Story. It makes an admirable reading." 
 
 The captain of a ship writes : — 
 
 "... I may add that your little books are great 
 favourites among seamen. I have often been asked to 
 obtain them for different sailors. Some very rough 
 fellows have been greatly impressed for good by our 
 readings." 
 
 A young man, wishing to do good, had under- 
 taken a Sunday class of wild town lads, and could 
 do nothing; with them. When "Mother's Last 
 Words " came out, he tried reading it aloud to them, 
 and they were spellbound. They begged to hear it 
 another time, and he read it over and over again, 
 Sunday after Sunday, thankful to find anything 
 that would keep them quiet. 
 
 Although the ballad has continued to sell, it is
 
 150 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 now so long since it was in everybody's moutli that 
 the present generation of Sunday-school teachers 
 are often unacquainted, with it. 
 
 Some time during these years appeared the only 
 one of Mrs. Sewell's balhids which seems to me 
 inadequate to the subject treated, " Poor Betsy 
 Kayner ; or, The Power of Kindness," a story of 
 the rescue of a drunken woman. I well remember 
 lookinof forward to it, and thinkins^, with a child's 
 exaggerated hopefulness, that something ivas going 
 to be done for drunken women, for Mrs. Sewell 
 would write for them ; and how sad the disappoint- 
 ment when it came, and even Mrs. Sewell had 
 "healed the hurt of the daughter of my people 
 slightly " ! It is a very pretty story of a neigh- 
 bour who watched, and left the door ajar for a 
 drunken woman, cast out from her home, despised 
 by all, until the good Samaritan took her in and 
 fed and cheered her — led her to the Fount of 
 Strength, and saw her started on the better way; 
 but there is not a glimpse of the agony and bloody 
 sweat of that poor thing's conflict, and the neigh- 
 bour's for her sake. How many times had I seen 
 the door, not left ajar, but thrown wide open, — and 
 the poor wanderer came in and wept and was com- 
 forted ; stayed a while, and wTut out again — to 
 the public-house. "Oh ma'am! don't, don't — I 
 can't help it. They won't always go home with 
 me. I can't pass them publics by myself, and 
 they won't always go home with me." With that 
 cry in one's cars, what was the use of talking about
 
 LITERARY WORK. 151 
 
 Idiidness, when it was pliysically impossible to 
 M'atcli with the tempted creature day and night ? 
 And she was one of a hundred thousand. We are 
 all agreed in making it a crime to supply intoxi- 
 catiijg liquors to native races in our Australian 
 colonies : a mass of human beings in our own 
 land, probably more numerous, certainly with far 
 greater capacity for good or evil, are quite as 
 much in need of lu'otection against their own 
 weakness. 
 
 A quarter of a century has passed since then, 
 and in that time I have seen many drunken 
 women reformed ; but stronger than ever is the 
 conviction that in the stru2fQ;le with confirmed in- 
 temperance, human kindness and tender mercy are 
 as tow in flame. We need them indeed — at their 
 highest ; but only a Power transcendently beyond 
 them can avail aught ; and to bring one of these 
 marred souls in contact with it, one must be ready 
 to be crucified with Christ afresh. 
 
 Mrs. Sewell profoundly realised the horror of 
 our nation's curse, but at that time she had, I 
 think, had little to do with drunken women in- 
 dividually. She had very early attached herself 
 to the Temperance movement, perhaps influenced 
 by iier early acquaintance w^ith Sarah Stickuey, 
 who, as Mrs. Ellis, was one of its pioneers. Like 
 so many others, this friend passed, away before 
 her, and no gleanings remain of the correspon- 
 dence between these remarkable women. It must 
 have been a treat to hear them converse — " Sarah,"
 
 152 
 
 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 with lier graphic power and unqueuchable fuu — 
 " Mary," with her racy, pithy sayings, and gift of 
 acute comment rather than repartee. They would 
 both have been very much astonished if any one 
 had told them in 1845, or 1850, that Mary was to 
 write books likely to outlive Sarah's. They had 
 many things in common — exuberant life, strong 
 public spirit, love of poetry and all beautiful 
 things, a very simple way of carrying their hon- 
 ours, and generous pleasure in the achievements 
 of others, especially the young. In looking back, 
 the great difference one sees is, that Mrs. Sewell 
 had had a good mother and a joyous childhood — 
 Mrs. Ellis was a motherless child, and the trace 
 of having 
 
 " Felt a mother- want about the earth " 
 
 lingered in her, even to those happy closing years 
 when the husband she had so nobly spared to the 
 public service returned in safety, and friends and 
 neighbours made such rejoicing over it that she 
 said, " It is quite an airing time for my best cap." 
 Mrs. Sewell next tried her hand at prose. 
 " Patience Hart's Experiences in Service " came 
 out in April 1862, and was a great success. Who- 
 ever has read it with a class of girls cries out for 
 another like it. Patience Hart is a girl of spirit. 
 Here is an instance, when the grocer's young man 
 begins to pay his addresses to her. 
 
 " He asked me if I were not the young lady from Mr. 
 Freemantle's. I said no, I was the kitchen-maid."
 
 LITERARY WORK. 153 
 
 After a few more attempts at compliment, lie 
 found an opportunity, when no one else was in 
 the shop, to make her an offer of his hand and 
 heart. 
 
 "I just asked him how old he was. At this he 
 coloured and looked sheepish, hut he said he was between 
 nineteen and twenty. 
 
 " ' Well,' said I, ' I am between eighteen and nineteen. 
 In a few years we shall be grown up, and I have made 
 up my mind not to think of marrying till I am five-and- 
 tweuty; so if you hold in the same opinion so long, and 
 like to ask me then, I can turn it over in my mind.' 
 
 " At this he laughed and looked very foolish, and I think 
 that will be the end of his courtship." 
 
 Slie also has some observation : — 
 
 "Mary and I were just different : I used to pepper up, 
 and she used to sulk. However, neither the one nor the 
 other will do in service ; I have found that out. Servants 
 must not have tempers at all ; that is the perquisite of the 
 master and mistress, so far as I can see." 
 
 The book was written in the form of letters from 
 Patience to her mother. One of the few criticisms 
 on it came from Mrs. Ellis, when some one ob- 
 served what remarkably good letters Patience 
 wrote. " Yes; I don't know that I should have liked 
 it, if I had been her mistress," she said, "to have 
 a servant with such a gift for w^itino; lono^ letters 
 about all that went on in the house." When the 
 book had run through a sale of nearly 33,000, 
 the publishers brought out a revised " Patience 
 Hart," not in the form of letters, and slightly 
 modified to meet the wants of the present day.
 
 154 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 This was after Mrs. Sewell's death, and the revision 
 Avas made by some of her family. 
 
 Her next^book was undertaken with grave search- 
 in ii-s of heart. 
 
 To Mrs. E . 
 
 "Wick, June 1862. 
 
 " I will tell you what I am tliinking of writing (quite 
 a little book) ou Visiting the Poor. Our mistakes on this 
 matter have long burdened my mind, and if I can find 
 time this summer, I should like to say my say. Do you 
 not think somebody should \yrite something on the subject 
 very definite, if they could ? Tell me what you think. 
 I feel that it is a very difficult and delicate subject, only 
 so very important, because there is such a mass of good 
 works now, that literally many of them do no good to 
 anybody — often the reverse — and cost so much, and yet, 
 in one way, not enough. But it seems as if time would 
 be wanting to me : we are so hard run in many ways." 
 
 The four previous years had seen the develop- 
 ment of three agencies, then new — now part of the 
 ordinary machinery of the service of the poor — 
 Mothers' Meetings, Bible-women, and Temperance 
 work for men, conducted by ladies. They were 
 brought into notice by three books, written by 
 Christian women who simply made know^n a mode 
 of service which they had tried themselves, and 
 found useful. Close on the Temperance work fol- 
 lowed the cry for " a public-house without the 
 drink," and the great coffee-house movement was 
 set Gfoino-. A few months before the date of the 
 above letter, the need of this had been profoundly 
 impressed on ]\Irs. Sewell's mind by the experi- 
 ences of an evening spent with a city missionary in
 
 LITERARY WORK. 155 
 
 visiting public-Louses in London. She alludes to 
 this in the foUowinfr letter to her son : — 
 
 " March iS,62. 
 
 " Thy last letter asks the questions which I am con- 
 tinually revolving in my own mind, and have been ever 
 since I spent my evening in the gin-palaces. I did not 
 go into the worst, nor at the worst time : I thouglit I 
 should be too much frightened to prufit, and that my 
 imagination could carry the picture to its fuller dimen- 
 sions — but the question is, What are the working men to 
 do ? where to go ? ... They cannot all be driven home, 
 and prayer-meetings and reading-rooms, even if abundant, 
 are not to their present taste. My sympathies are so 
 drawn out to the poor fellows, under their dangerous 
 necessities, that I feel impelled to write something, if I 
 did but see my way to handle it well. . . . Now tell me 
 thy thoughts and cogitations upon this matter, which thou 
 must be witnessing in all its phases all the day long.. 
 AVhat is the way of escape ? What oufjJit to be done ? 
 I think M'e should set up our standard at ichat ought, and 
 only come down to what cci'ii." 
 
 The outcome of her cooitations was that she 
 started a vigorous Temperance work, and ultimately 
 opened a little Workmen's Hall, among her own 
 neighbours ; and she WTote " The Rose of Cheriton," 
 and a chapter in "Thy Poor Brotlier" called "The 
 JMonster Evil," in wdiich she tells a little of the 
 experience of that terrible night in London. "I 
 wished to see the monster face to face, that I mio-ht 
 kno\v how^ to sling my little stone at him," she 
 writes ; and adds, " That w\as a night much to be 
 remembered by me." 
 
 Once a year the Hebrews were commanded to 
 ofier a goat to Azazel — a type, we may sup-
 
 156 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 pose, of " Christ handed over to Satan for the 
 bruising of His heel." ^ On that winter night, the 
 humble follower of Christ passed under the touch 
 of Azazel for her people's sin, and ever after bore 
 his marks upon her tender heart, in memories of 
 sin and horror branded there to her own unspeak- 
 able torment ; but, like her Master, she rose up 
 endued with power against all the power of the 
 enemy. She hardly ever spoke of what she saw 
 there. " I couldn't let it pass my lips — not some 
 things; but lioiv it comes back upon one!" she 
 said twenty years afterwards. 
 
 *' Thy Poor Brother " is written in the form of 
 letters to a friend supposed to have a district and 
 be rather at a loss what to do in it. A faint, dis- 
 couraged worker taking it up would feel instantly 
 that it was " not written on velvet cushions for 
 those who are treadino; with bleediijof feet on 
 thorns." It is, in fact, the history of what Mrs. 
 8ewell herself had done and suffered for the poor, 
 — its wisdom wrung out, drop by drop, from 
 sorrow^s felt as though they were the writer's own. 
 Often she draws openly from her ow^n experience ; 
 w^here any singular act of loving-kindness is re- 
 corded, she says " a lady " did so and so. She was 
 the "lady" to whom the poor crazed woman fled, 
 and whose first alarm (she had very little physical 
 courage) was swallowed up in compassion and entire 
 faith that God had heard her prayer, and would 
 make her instrumental in the poor thing's restora- 
 
 ^ Hengstenberg.
 
 LITERARY WORK. 157 
 
 tion — wlio took the daugerous lunatic into lier own 
 family, and was privileged to send her home again 
 at last, perfectly restored, to her wondering, grateful 
 husband and children. " Do we inquire how she 
 could afford the time and the expense ? — rather let 
 us ask how any of us can afford to exist upon this 
 earth without the luxury of doing good," she 
 writes. 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 " November Tp, 1863. 
 
 " ... I wish you were fully escaped from Doubting 
 Castle — it is a miserable place — and, moreover, you have 
 no business there, and ought, by all that is fair and honour- 
 able, to come out. Anna will keep a little dark room in 
 that same old castle, where she sometimes goes and be- 
 moans herself ; and I scold her, because the place is let 
 to quite a different sort of people to you and to lier, and 
 you should not give them any countenance by keeping 
 them company. Do come out ! . . . 
 
 " ' Thy Poor Brother ' is at last come into the world, 
 or at least I suppose it will on the ist of December. I 
 have ordered a copy to be sent to you. Do let me know 
 how you like it directly you have read it. Sometimes my 
 heart turns quite over, in thinking about its reception, for 
 there are so many thoughts afloat upon this subject, and 
 so much experience has been gained, that it seems almost 
 presumptuous to have given mine, out of my little nook 
 — but now I must bide what comes. . . . 
 
 " You have indeed had a succession of troubles and 
 anxieties. It is marvellous what we do pass through 
 and overcome through its being meted out by the hour 
 and day, and by having Hope instead of Certainty to keep 
 us company." 
 
 The book was very warmly received, and highly 
 valued, but considerin^r the immense number of
 
 158 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 district visitors aud tlie wonderfully helpful sug- 
 gestions it contaius, nine thousand copies seems a 
 very small sale by this time. May it be multiplied 
 tenfold ! I believe all her most thoughtful readers 
 consider it the best book that j\lrs. Sewell ever wrote. 
 
 Her next was a contrast — " The Little Forester 
 and his Friend," being Mrs. Sherwood's story of 
 "The Little Woodman and his Dog Csesar " ren- 
 dered into verse. The Muse had quite a holiday 
 in writing this sylvan story, where every one gets 
 good at last, except the killed wolf; and the wood- 
 land pictures are full of poetical touches. 
 
 Li the end of 1864 the family removed to Moor- 
 lands, near Bath, — a home nestled in the curve of 
 the hillside, giving the impression of a place shut 
 out from human ills, and open only to sweet flowers 
 and sunshine. In this green Paradise, Mrs. Sewell 
 set herself to write " The Rose of Cheriton." She 
 had never shrunk from handling sad subjects when 
 they were laid upon her, but this was the saddest 
 work she ever did — a story of the ruin wrought in 
 a single household by strong drink. It was very 
 highly praised, but never had the same "run" as 
 her shorter ballads — partly, no doubt, on account of 
 its higher price (sixpence), but also, it may be, be- 
 cause the indictment against strong drink and the 
 liquor laws breaks in jarringly upon the finest 
 poetry she ever wrote. The argument is splen- 
 didly put,— terse, strong, balanced, — passionate, 
 yet worded with the utmost regard to fairness— a 
 quarry for Temperance speakers to dig in for quo-
 
 LITERARY WORK. 159 
 
 tations, — but it could not be poetry, and unfortu- 
 nately, a long piece of it comes in to interrupt tlie 
 old man's tale, and breaks the spell. 
 It beo;ins with the setting sun. 
 
 " The quiet landscape caught his bright farewell 
 Ere the dark shadows of the evening fell ; 
 The "lidinfT river and the broken sedge, 
 The pollard willows by the water's edge, 
 Smiled for a moment in the passing gleam ; 
 Tiien sighed the sediie, and darker flowed the stream." 
 
 In the calm of twilight, a sudden turn brings to 
 view an empty, desolate farm-house. An old man 
 standing by tells its story, the first part drawn, 
 as we now kno^Y, from Mrs. Sewell's own earliest 
 memories of happy farm-house life. This is in her 
 usual style — frcsh, graphic, shrewd, but touched 
 only here aud there with poetry. The music comes 
 with the sorrow : the spell of her own tale laid 
 hold upon the writer, and her wonted literary 
 canons could not bind her. Space ought to forbid 
 quoting, but one little passage must be given — the 
 nioht the mistress died. 
 
 o 
 
 " She said, 
 ' Open the window, I can hear his tread.' 
 They flung it open, just to please her, sir: 
 They knew her hungry hope deluded her. 
 She listened heedfuUy, aud then she said, 
 * Shut it again, and turn me in the bed.' 
 And they do think she slept a little while ; 
 And when she woke, they say she had a smile 
 Upon her face, as though she miglit have been 
 Over the river, where the fields are green.
 
 i6o LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 " He did not come. I waited hour by hour, 
 As I had done a hundred times before. 
 'Twas wondrous still. . . . 
 The yellow ash-leaves fell upon the ground 
 Before my face, without the slightest sound. 
 The oat-grass shivered like a human sigh. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 The nurse looked out and beckoned, I could see, 
 And called me to her, speaking mournfully. 
 
 • Your mistress wants to see you, lad,' she said, 
 
 * You follow me.' 
 
 I did, sir, to the bed. 
 And there my mistress lay, as meek and low 
 As a white lily on the drifted snow." 
 
 One more, from the temperance argument : — 
 
 " Paul was sincere, sir, and 'tis right to think 
 That these good men don't see the harm of drink, 
 And so preserve a conscience fair and sound, 
 Though seeing men and women haled and bound, 
 Shut in the prison-house, or left to sink 
 In the o'erflowing sea of maddening drink. 
 But in my thought, the scales are on their eyes, 
 And if by some miraculous surprise 
 The naked truth should flash upon their sight, 
 And every drink-shop stand in sudden light, — 
 Astounded with the horror of the view, 
 Their cry would be, ' Lord, show me what to do.' " 
 
 She wrote that which she knew. Every line in 
 that aro-ument burns with the fire that kindled 
 when she stood in the drink-shops herself. It 
 is very difficult to realise that this poem was 
 written when the author was nearly seventy years 
 old. 
 
 Another sorrowful subject was tenderly handled
 
 LITERARY WORK. i6i 
 
 in the ballad called " The Lost Child," founded on 
 the true story of a lost girl stealing home at night, 
 and finding the door on the latch ; it had never 
 been locked since she went away. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, the well-known prisoners' friend, 
 writes of the women in Brixton prison : — 
 
 " In my interviews with them, finding it hard to bring 
 their minds to facts, I bethought me to try your words 
 on them, and with much prayer, sat down to read to 
 six of them ' The Lost Child.' It affected them all as I 
 expected it would — we all wept, but there was one who 
 had turned almost to stone, and was a creature rather 
 than a girl ; she broke down completely, and begged me 
 to see her alone. 
 
 " You have no idea what a true, good work your little 
 ballads do to these poor folk." 
 
 From a Hospital visitor : — 
 
 " I am now engaged in reading to the sick and suffering 
 in a Hospital, and I am so delighted with the effect of your 
 poems that I shall circulate as many of your good and 
 excellent books as possible, besides sending them to clergy- 
 men for their country parishes. 
 
 " A good chaplain informed me he sometimes reads your 
 ballads instead of preaching a sermon to his congregation 
 of prisoners. You do not willingly make people weep, 
 but he says, ' Many of my audience as they listen are in 
 tears, and all look interested, and they will ask me to read 
 the same again.' " 
 
 " Davie Blake " was written at the urgent request 
 of Mrs. Sew^ell's friend, Captain Toynbee. It lacks 
 the peculiar charm of her Euglish country ballads, 
 but sailors liked it. With her usual industrious 
 humility, she asked to submit it to a sailor's criti- 
 
 L
 
 1 62 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 cism before publication. " I am almost ashamed 
 to tell you that at seventy-five I have been writing 
 verses asfain," she wrote ; and concluded, " Please 
 
 tell Captain B that I have some facility in 
 
 alteration." 
 
 It was certainly surprising that, at that age, 
 having had scarcely anything to do with sailors all 
 her life, she could so throw herself into their 
 troubles as to wake an echo immediately in sea- 
 men's hearts. Their wrongs had long lain heavy 
 upon her. After the ballad come fifty-three pages 
 of prose called " The Sailor on Shore," dwelling on 
 the fearful risks and temptations which surrounded 
 him. The little book did its share towards bringing 
 about the many improvements which recent years 
 have seen efi'ected in the lot of Poor Jack. " Tliere's 
 Help at Hand," a pretty story of Hop-pickers, came 
 out in 1875. It was the last bit of entirely fresh 
 work ; but one more little book was yet to come, 
 as related in the following letter : — 
 
 " In searching for something else, I found an old Ballad, 
 many years old, and quite gone out of my mind ; this has 
 served as a playground for my thoughts, when they did 
 not know where else to go for diversion. 
 
 " I think it must he nine years ago, a clergyman, quite 
 a stranger to me, came from the neighbourhood of London 
 to persuade me to put the history of William Hunter, the 
 young martyr of Brentwood, into Ballad measure. I did 
 not take to the idea, hut he was importunate, so I pro- 
 mised to try. I was going to Lowestoft, hoping to lose 
 a had cough. I went in company with Fox's ' Book of 
 ]\Lartyr3,' and while walking about there alone, I manu- 
 factured a great many verses (I was not inspired). When
 
 LITERARY WORK. 163 
 
 I returned, I read them to my darling, who, with her usual 
 frank criticism, pronounced them ' not up to the mark ; ' 
 so I put them away and forgot all about them, till they 
 accidentally turned up a few months since, with other 
 things. In reading them over, I felt some motherly 
 yearnings towards my weakly offspring, and set some of 
 the bones, strengthened some of the weak members, and 
 stuck in a few feathers ; and now my grandchildren pro- 
 nounce it fit to be dedicated to them ! It seems too ridi- 
 culous for an old woman of eighty-three to be publishing 
 Ballads — don't you think so ? " 
 
 This little poem, "The Martyr's Tree," came 
 out in 1 8 So. Eeaders will probably agree with 
 the daughter, exacting in her love, that it is not 
 quite " up to the mark " of Mrs. Sewell's best work, 
 though it has many very graceful and tender pas- 
 sages. The hand and brain she had so long spurred 
 to do their utmost, began to shrink from heavy 
 tasks : this was her last new publication in verse. 
 In the last winter of her life she wrote a tiny book 
 called " Sixpenny Charity " — a plea for regularity 
 in giving help to cases of chronic poverty, were it 
 only to the amount of sixpence a week, that the 
 receivers might count upon it, and have a little 
 sense of thrift in managing accordingly. Then the 
 pen was laid down, and she who had always had 
 so much more of music in her soul than her hio-hest 
 
 o 
 
 efforts could express in words, was 
 
 " Taught in Paradise 
 To ease her breast of melodies."
 
 ( i64 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 
 
 "In any circle, the gentle influence of one loving soul is sufficient to 
 breathe around it an unspeakable calm ; it has a soothing power, 
 like the shining of the sunlight, or the voice of doves heard at 
 evening : 
 
 ' It droppeth like the gentle dew from heaven 
 
 Upon the place beneath.' " — Fakrab. 
 
 The first letter that has come to hand written 
 from Blue Lodge has a particular interest when it 
 is remembered that, in after years, Mrs. Sewell 
 always gave her residence in that solitary place 
 the credit of having allowed her literary faculty to 
 develop. 
 
 To Mrs. E . 
 
 "December 5, 1858. 
 
 " How many hundred times have I said to Anna, ' Oh, 
 
 that dear Mrs. E , when shall I write to her ? ' but I 
 
 do not remember ever in my life being so occupied. . . . 
 
 " It grieves me to find that you have got into a damp 
 situation. I cannot bear to think of that willing body 
 of yours being unfairly treated ; it is direct injustice, to 
 which a severe penalty is attached, and the judgment is 
 pretty sure to come. 
 
 " We are situated just the reverse of you, on a high hill 
 which is frequented more by the wind than fogs — though 
 a number of fine trees round us offer a pretty good screen : 
 it is remarkably healthy, and almost as inconvenient as it 
 can be. It is a long way from cvcrytliing, with neither
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 165 
 
 postman, carrier, omnibus, nor rail, neither shop, needle- 
 woman, nor charwoman to be had, so that everything has 
 to be done and obtained with the greatest difficulty. For 
 instance, our letters every day take two good hours to get 
 and post. We are two miles and a half from the school, 
 &c., and the roads almost impassable in some parts for 
 our chaise, and entirely for foot-passengers in winter wet. 
 And adhesive clay and ruts to break the springs, which 
 was the case last week ! You will naturally say, Why 
 did we come here, almost ' out of humanity's reach ? ' 
 Well, dear, humanly speaking, it was a great mistake, a 
 mistake through and through ; but as we allow not of the 
 word ' chance ' in our dictionary of Providence, so we do 
 not believe we are out of the way of usefulness and bless- 
 ing ; and though we may be put out of the way of temporal 
 prosperity, there is no reason why we should be out of the 
 way of sjnritual, but rather why we should be in it ; and 
 I still hope and trust that the bounds of our habitation 
 have been fixed for us in love and wisdom, and that we 
 shall by-and-by see that it has been good for us to be 
 here. 
 
 "We have settled in a thoroughly neglected parish, 
 where there have been many changes and quarrels, and 
 now for some time everybody has given it up, not being 
 able to pull together. There is one sermon from the 
 curate on Sunday, and that is all he does for the souls 
 of seven hundred parishioners. There is a Sunday and 
 day-school, but which no one but the poor discouraged 
 master ever entered. This broke our hearts, and we 
 determined to put forth our strength, with the Lord's 
 help, to do something for them. There was not a tract 
 or book for any one to read, nor any Bible to be pur- 
 chased. This we felt must be mended also, and there- 
 fore, dear friend, as we have taken all this upon us, you 
 will not be surprised, with writing, needlework, and all 
 the et-cccteras of housekeeping, that we should have little 
 leisure time. We are rather afraid that we have engaged 
 with too much for our strength, but the cry seemed so 
 loud, ' Come and help us,' that we were anxious to try. 
 To-morrow our Lending Library will open, with a good
 
 1 66 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 number of subscribers, and beautiful books. It has been 
 a difficult business to set it off. We were strangers, and 
 the clergy were very suspicious of us, fearing we were 
 Dissenters, and as we have taken in three parishes, we 
 have three clergymen to deal with. We determined to 
 hold to broad catholic foundations — they were no broader 
 than the Church of England. We are surprised at what 
 we have gained, though James's Anxious Inqiiirn^ was 
 cast out, from the name of the writer. We feel that 
 we have had more help and wisdom than our own, so 
 we thank God and take courage. Dearest Nanny is quite 
 lame, and her head very weak, but according to her 
 measure she is very active; and her back being strong 
 now, she can ride alone on the pony to the school often 
 in the week. My good husband is pretty well, but I 
 often grieve over him in this very secluded place : there 
 is no one to speak to but the ploughmen. Do bring your 
 boy up to some handicraft, whatever else he may be. 
 The wasted hours of most men would do almost half 
 the work of women." 
 
 ■ Then follows the passage already quoted about 
 a " tale in verse for little schoolsfirls." 
 
 From this letter, and others which follow, it 
 will be seen that Mrs. Sewell's work as an author 
 did not make her neglectful of either the poetry 
 or the prose of actual life. There are many poets 
 who never in their lives write a line of poetry ; 
 the music that dwells within them manifests itself 
 in the sweet and graceful actions of their lives, 
 in the tones of the voice, in the readiness to 
 discern and adopt the good and beautiful, from 
 whatever source they may flow. These are the 
 elite of the world, in whatever station they may 
 be found. 
 
 The following recollections bear testimony that,
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 167 
 
 even apart from their work as authors, both Mrs. 
 Sewell and her dauc^hter belonii^ed to this high 
 class. Though the visit mentioned was paid in 
 1863, I insert them here, as they describe the 
 house and surroundings at AVick. They are con- 
 tributed by the friend most intimately acquainted 
 with Mrs. Se well's literary life, herself known ns 
 a poet, and with a critical faculty which made her 
 sympathy a practical and highly valued help to 
 her fellow-worker. " F. always saw exactly what 
 was wrong," Mrs. Sewell said ; " and she could say 
 it, not in my blunt way, but so nicely ! " 
 
 " It was just thirty years ago, in the winter of 1858, that 
 we first made the acquaintance of the Sewell family. They 
 were then living at the Blue Lodge, near Wick, between 
 Bath and Bristol. Even now, whenever my mind turns 
 without effort of will to revive their images, they present 
 themselves framed in those old surroundings rather than 
 in any more recent scenes. No one who knew the mother 
 and daughter will wonder at this. There was about them 
 both such a rare distinction that the first impression they 
 made was not only lasting, but lastingly localised, clearly 
 seen through all the accumulated treasures of a long after- 
 friendship. This distinction is hard to describe. It was 
 not mere intellect, or mere goodness, or even mere nobi- 
 lity, though it had much of all these in its composition. 
 Perhaps some impression of it may be conveyed by saying 
 that it was the general effect produced by uncommon in- 
 tellectual powers, combined with still more uncommon 
 integrity and simplicity, and directed by a 'charity' that 
 can only be fittingly described in the words of St. Paul's 
 inspired lyric. In speaking thus I include the daughter 
 with the mother, but must now confine myself to the dear 
 memory of the latter. 
 
 " To begin, then, with the intellectual powers. When 
 my husbaud first saw Mrs. Sewell, he was struck with her
 
 1 68 .' LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 likeness to the late Lord Lyudhurst ; and as we look at 
 his bust now, and compare her photograph with it, we see 
 the same massive mouldings of brow and temple — unmis- 
 takable signs of great capacity — and the same firm outlines 
 of cheek and chin — equally unmistakable signs of tenacity 
 of purpose. But the mouth, so sweet and sensitive, for all 
 its strength, is of a different cast to that of the great Chan- 
 cellor. ' Clever ' is about the last word expressing ability 
 . that one would dream of applying to Mrs. Sewell. Nothing 
 so showy in its suggestions would fit the case ; yet clever 
 she was, in a very emphatic and varied sense, with a clever- 
 ness that worked not only through reason and imagination, 
 but through eye and ear and delicately constructive fingers. 
 When long past eighty she embroidered flowers exquisitely 
 in coloured silks, from nature. Indeed, no one who knew 
 her could conceive of her taking any inferior pattern. 
 Like all effectual people, she was accurate and thorough. 
 Life being too short for this exhaustive knowledge of many 
 regions of thought, she was content to leave some subjects 
 untouched altogether, of which people much inferior to 
 her acquire a smattering that passes in society. Her in- 
 tense truthfulness and the concentration of her energies 
 on practical aims, alike led to this result. Her judgment 
 was admirably sound, when not interfered with by her 
 sometimes too enthusiastic confidence in her fellows. If 
 now and then this involved her in bitter disappointment, 
 it much oftener increased her usefulness and happiness. 
 
 " But even more conspicuous than ability were the in- 
 tegrity and simplicity which characterised Mrs. Sewell. 
 She had as great a gift for being herself and for saying 
 ' the thing that is ' as the mass of mankind have for 
 attempting to be some one else, and for saying ' the thing 
 that is not.' The word 'unconventional' springs to my 
 lips when I think of that lovely mother-daughter pair 
 of twin souls. Yet it will not do — for it has gathered a 
 taint of the uncouth, the rough, the careless in household 
 ways, the brusque and eccentric in social life, and from 
 such blemishes they were wliolly free. They could not 
 be anything but dignified and courteous, for their inner 
 being inevitably revealed itself thus, without effort and
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK: ; 169 
 
 under the most simple aud natural forms. The ' plain 
 living ' which they loved to associate with ' high-thinking ' 
 was marked by exquisite order and nicety, such as one 
 rarely sees. Yet all seemed to spring up naturally around 
 them, with no petty anxieties or fatigues to themselves, 
 and no worrying of dependents. All was lovely calm, 
 yet full of cheerful activities that never jostled each 
 other. Our first visit to the Blue Lodge was early in 
 winter, in the flowerless season, and there was no green- 
 house from which to supply the vases in the drawing- 
 room ; but I well remember the tasteful arrangements of 
 ivy-sprays that filled these, and adorned odd nooks and 
 bare corners. The room was a large and lofty addition 
 to an otherwise very modest house. It swallowed the 
 Chichester furniture at a mouthful, and gaped for more. 
 But a skilful use of Indian matting, a judicious placing 
 and draping of spare chairs and tables from other rooms, 
 and above all the introduction of Anna's spinning-wheel, 
 had banished all bareness, and given the same air of dis- 
 tinction and simplicity to the room which was so striking 
 in its inhabitants. 
 
 " It w^as, however, by the last and noblest of the charac- 
 teristics I have ventured to enumerate as combining to 
 produce this note of 'distinction' that Mrs. Sewell was 
 most widely known, and it was this which formed the 
 keynote of her whole character and course. The ' charity' 
 which ' seeketh not her own,' which ' suffereth long and 
 is kind,' which ' beareth all things, believeth all thin2;s, 
 hopeth all things,' was the inspiring motive of her life, 
 and the atmosphere in which her whole being moved. 
 She had a profound appreciation — an appreciation which 
 cost her unspeakable suffering — of the miseries of others. 
 The miseries of biting poverty, still more those of vice and 
 ungodliness, were terrible to her heart and imagination, 
 and she found no rest save in using her powers to the 
 utmost in remedying them when they came within reach 
 of her living presence or her pen. She recognised that 
 the mission of the Church of Christ, in the individual as 
 well as in the body, is to supply channels through which 
 Divine Love may reach the need of man. She was no
 
 I70 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 socialist, no democrat ; — but she courageously recognised the 
 grains of truth hidden in socialism and democracy at a 
 time when such recognition was rare in religious circles, 
 and involved loss of caste, and loss of confidence among 
 many whose good opinion she highly valued. Nor did 
 her benevolence rest only on man as the head of creation — 
 it flowed dov/n to the skirts of his garments in the animal 
 world. In this sphere, as in the higher one, her strong 
 imagination wrought as the handmaid of charity, and gave 
 her a quick discernment of the capacities and claims of 
 the lower creation. It was indeed a fitting thing when 
 the daughter of such a mother roused herself from the 
 languor of sickness to compose ' Black Beauty, his Grooms 
 and Companions,' that most charming and graphic bit of 
 animal autobiography. Almost at once it rushed into a 
 popularity undreamed of by its author, as she jotted down 
 her thoughts in pencil on chance scraps of paper, lying on 
 the couch soon exchanged for the little white bed from 
 which she never rose again. Standing beside that bed in 
 the empty, silent room, in 1882, Mrs. Sewell told me that 
 the joy of the success of her book had been almost too 
 much for Anna's delicate frame. But the devoted mother 
 could rejoice, even in the midst of the anguish of parting, 
 over the welcome given by thousands of readers to her 
 darling's dying work. Truly in their lives there abode, 
 and were fully manifested, ' faith, hope, and charity,' but 
 the greatest of these was ' charity.' 
 
 " To return once more to the Blue Lodge, where I spent 
 three delightful days in the summer of 1863. There was 
 a long, straight walk down one side of the grounds, over- 
 arched with trees, associated in my mind with eager dis- 
 cussions of literary work and larger matters. ' Thy Poor 
 Brother ' M-as in the press, and we were busy with the 
 proofs, now in the drawing-room, now in the summer- 
 house, and now breaking away from pen and ink for more 
 discursive talk as we paced up and down in the shade 
 of tlie Long Walk. Towards the end of my short visit, 
 Mrs. Sewell claimed my promise to read to her portions 
 of a manuscript of my own, and I enjoyed the great ad- 
 vantage of her criticism. On leaving, Mr. Sewell drove
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 171 
 
 me to the station. He was a most kind 'and courteous 
 host, ever ready to welcome the friends of his wife and 
 daughter. Both then and afterwards, I was struck with 
 the patience and cheerfulness with which he bore the 
 reverses of life. 
 
 "Of how few of us can it be said that our judgment of the 
 character and work of others is, if anything, too favourable. 
 But I think no one admitted to dear Mrs. Sewell's inti- 
 macy would hesitate to say that this was the case with her, 
 where her heart was once thoroughly interested. Her vivid 
 imagination detected the ' divine idea ' of the individual 
 and of the work through a thousand faults, and she 
 esteemed her friends and their achievements accordingly. 
 As a critic of details, however, she was keen and out- 
 spoken. Suddenly, in the midst of impassioned recitation 
 or reading, she would grasp her grateful victim's arm, and 
 bring all ruthlessly to a stop. Then, looking round half 
 impatiently, one would see a grave, questioning look, and 
 after a few seconds' pause would come the query, ' Is that 
 
 quite ? ' or, ' Isn't that rather ? ' so and so, as 
 
 the case might be. Her straightforward, unflinching attack 
 on literary self-love was a compliment to sense and temper, 
 and her judgment rarely failed to commend itself more or 
 less to even the most sensitive and irritable artist in words. 
 Meanwhile Anna M^ould appear from time to time at the 
 garden door of the house, shading her eyes with her hand, 
 and trying to discover our whereabouts, anxious to meet 
 any j)ossible want or M'isli of her mother's. At that time 
 a weakness of the limbs confined her much indoors, except 
 for the almost daily drives with her mother to the village, 
 to visit their cottage friends and superintend the working- 
 men's club they had established. These drives often fell 
 on cold and wet winter nights, and I remember Anna's 
 gentle triumph in having falsified her friends' predictions 
 of physical harm to herself from the exposure, her mother 
 gaily adding, ' In fact, we've come to regard night drives 
 in an open carriage in bad weather as a positive cure for 
 delicacy.' At the time I speak of Anna, was! unable to 
 stand for more than a few seconds at a time, though she 
 moved freely about the house. Wherever Mrs. Sewell
 
 172 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 and I might be working at our proofs, or discussing ques- 
 tions they suggested, if houseliuld aiTairs brought the 
 daughter to her mother's side, she was obliged to kneel 
 on the nearest support for the minute she remained. But 
 her general appearance had little or nothing of the invalid, 
 and the calm radiance of her expressive face was remark- 
 able. My husband chancing once to meet her in a shop 
 in Bath, came home, saying, ' I've just seen Anna Sewell's 
 beautiful face.' And beautiful indeed it was, with the 
 beauty of nobility and purity. 
 
 " Prom the time of our first acquaintance Mrs. Sewell 
 and I kept up a constant and sometimes frequent corres- 
 pondence, Anna often writing for her mother, and often, 
 too, on her own account. Although my dear friend was 
 thirty years my senior, there was never a hint of de haul en 
 las in her communications by lip or pen, or any disposition 
 to dictate, even in reference to those labours for others in 
 which she was so incomparably better versed than I. No 
 doubt the fact that the reigning friendship of her life had 
 been with her own daughter, made it natural to her to put 
 herself on a level with the comparatively young and in- 
 experienced. But her native grandeur of generous sym- 
 pathy was the radical cause, as it was the cause of her 
 having been able to form and maintain that friendship 
 itself. Her letters abound with proofs of these things. I 
 send a few of them, though not without reluctance. They 
 are very sacred to me. But it is high time that she should 
 be better understood by the large public who delighted in 
 her ballads, and by those unknown fellow-workers who 
 have again and again found that her ' homely ' verses could 
 move hard hearts and soften seared consciences that scoffed 
 at anything more didactic. 
 
 "At Moorlands we met more than once. My last visit 
 was at Old Catton, near Norwich, in 1882. Husband 
 and child M'ere both gone, and this first actual vision 
 of my now aged friend, in her desolated home, was 
 inexpressibly touching. I cannot trust myself to attempt 
 details. Yet the natural force of the brave spirit was 
 unabated, her mental powers were as fresh and vigorous 
 as ever, and her faith and hope were strong and bright.
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 173 
 
 As to earthly ties, she had the happiness of being near 
 lier son and his family, and not far from her three surviv- 
 ing sisters. The main business of her life still lay among 
 the poor, the down-trodden, the neglected, and she dis- 
 cussed plans of amelioration with all her old ardour, 
 though with less of sanguine expectation. Her garden 
 was still an object of interest. A fern-wall had been 
 already completed, and formed an exquisite piece of em- 
 broidery in living foliage, and she was planning other 
 improvements to be carried out in the autumn. The 
 ground lay chiefly at the back, but there was a strip in 
 front, between the house and the road, laid out in lieds 
 filled with the gayest flowers. This was ' Anna's garden,' 
 dear Mrs. Sewell told me, expressly designed and kept up 
 for the pleasure of the toiling artisans of ISTorwich, whose 
 Sunday afternoon walks led them in large numbers to Old 
 Gatton. 
 
 "Two years later, in 1884, my beloved and honoured 
 friend passed out of sight into the blessed place prepared 
 for her. The hope of a dim and vague immortality in the 
 race would never have satisfied her unquenchable spirit. 
 Nothing short of admittance to the nearer presence of her 
 God and Saviour, nothing less than a thorough and per- 
 sonally conscious awakening in His likeness, could meet 
 her need and longing. There, and in that perfected state, 
 we believe she is serving still, free from the embarrass- 
 ments and limitations which exercised her patience here. 
 But the lesser immortality is also hers. Not only does 
 she survive in the hearts of friends for whom her vacant 
 place among the things that are seen can never be filled, 
 but she lives also in the 'choir invisible' of those who 
 have served all future time in serving their day and 
 generation, and whose works of love and mercy do most 
 emphatically follow them." 
 
 The " air of distinction," so well described here, 
 was noted by every one. My children used to call 
 it " Mrs. Se well's duchess look." 
 
 The Working Men's Club alluded to seems to
 
 174 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 have oTOwn out of evenino; classes three times a 
 week for men and lads, begun by Anna, thougli 
 as the work advanced, Mrs. Sewell herself took 
 an active part in them. The lessons were by no 
 means confined to reading and writing. On their 
 way to the night-school, the ladies would occasion- 
 ally stop at the butcher's for a bullock's or sheep's 
 eye, and taking it wath them to the class, dissect 
 it before their scholars' astonished gaze, showing 
 them what a wonderful and delicate organism 
 must be at work to make it possible for us to see. 
 Again, they would explain why the wheat-plant, 
 on which our daily food mainly depends, can grow 
 and thrive in seasons when many other things 
 perish from drought ; its little fibrous roots are 
 able to push themselves down so far underneath 
 the soil that the plant is nourished from beneath, 
 regardless of what is happening on the surface. 
 These lessons would draw out such observations as, 
 " Well, it do look as if somebody were a-looking 
 after us, and a-minding on us." The impression 
 left w\as, " For that Thy name is near. Thy won- 
 drous works declare." 
 
 One of the happiest results of these lessons w\as 
 that they introduced topics for interesting conver- 
 sation into village life. The men were proud to 
 pass on their newly acquired knowledge— it was 
 somethino- to talk about to wife and children at 
 home, and many coal-miners (Wick is a mining 
 district) and agricultural labourers woke up to see 
 that their lives need not necessarily be monotonous.
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. i-js 
 
 whilst they could " regard the works of the Lord, 
 and consider the operation of His hands." 
 
 Another efifect of this frequent intercourse with 
 these " Poor Brothers" was, that the men became 
 more considerate and helpful to each other. Those 
 who are not well acquainted with village life can 
 scarcely realise how often suspicion and petty 
 jealousies will shut out friendly intercourse. The 
 power of mutual help w^as throughout life a very 
 uppermost thought in Mrs. Sewell's mind. In 
 "Thy Poor Brother" she speaks of a dear old 
 widow who said to a young lady friend, " Oh, Miss, 
 w^hat a hack you are to me ! " " Not a hank" the 
 writer comments, and continues : — 
 
 " I believe the unpauperised poor would generally feel 
 more security supported by a back than a bank — by warm 
 heart sympathy than by money aid. I often think of that 
 old widow's expression, and feel that we all need the hack 
 of mutual friendly support. I have sometimes looked 
 upon a cornfield, waving and rustling in its summer 
 beauty, and fancied it the type of what we need from 
 each other in this world. Those slender individual stems, 
 alone, so feeble that the slightest blast will bring them to 
 the ground — backed by each other, so buoyant, active, and 
 mutually helpful that the sweeping blast only moves 
 them to sing together a louder chorus of universal confi- 
 dence. Oh, I have thought, there is nothing in common 
 troubles that would hurt us much, if we stood together in 
 the sight of God, with our friendly arms supported and 
 supporting each other. . . . But oh ! how many feeble 
 stems are broken and piteously trodden down by the road- 
 side because there is no back — no friendly human arm to 
 stay upon ! " 
 
 From several allusions in letters, it seems pro-
 
 176 LIFE OF MRS. SEIVELL.' 
 
 bable that Mrs. Wiglitman's book, " Haste to the 
 Eescue," had something to do with stirring up 
 Mrs. Sewell and Anna to besrin asfSfressive Tem- 
 perance work at Wick ; and with a view to 
 developing this precious spirit of mutual help, 
 they formed a little Brotherhood of working men 
 in connection with it. These men immediately- 
 asked Mrs. Sewell to become their president. Her 
 friend Mrs. R , who has preserved several in- 
 teresting letters on the subject, well remembers 
 the deep feeling of responsibility with which she 
 consented. She had not sought any " rule or 
 authority among them ; " but she felt that it would 
 discourage them if she refused the post. The 
 following^ letters refer to this : — 
 
 To Mrs. R . 
 
 "Wick, April i, 1862. 
 
 "We are very busy indeed, but we are very much 
 blessed, so that we are neither harrassed nor worried. 
 Our Temperance Cause, we think, is going on with mani- 
 fest blessiuGf. . . . Our little baud of Brothers work beau- 
 tifully with us. T have had a bad influenza cold that has 
 kept me in the house more than a week, so they all came 
 here for our meeting — Brother George, Timothy, and all 
 the others — ten of us. We had such a nice meeting in 
 talking over the subject and making arrangements. I 
 began with reading a small portion of tlie Scriptures and 
 
 prayer ; and George B ended with prayer, and they 
 
 all sang a hymn — and then they had coffee, cocoa, and 
 ciUTant cake, and we were very happy together. The 
 worst of it is, they have determined that I shall be the 
 I'resident and address them, and take the particular 
 management of the business. I don't know what to do. 
 I feel so utterly unqualified. I have put off my headsltij)
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 177 
 
 for tlie present, and told tliem that we must meet to edify 
 and strengthen one another, and to keep together those 
 who may sign the pledge and join the Society. A trades- 
 man here has quite given up drinking, and is using all his 
 
 influence on our side. Mr. C ^ is most kind. He is, 
 
 I understand, trying whether he can do without stimu- 
 lants. I think we shall have a pretty many to sign 
 amongst the working men — and if all the clergymen come 
 who wish to do it, we shall have on our platform four of 
 these dignitaries, besides the speaker ! Is it not wonder- 
 ful ? We are not anxious, because we keep pu.tting every 
 step entirely into the Lord's hands, to manage it for His 
 own name's sake. 
 
 "Now I must tell you a wonderful thing. The week 
 before last we were astonished by a visit from Mrs. Wight- 
 man. She was staying with a relative at B. who is very 
 ill, and hearing that the author of 'Mother's Last Words' 
 lived in the neighbourhood, she drove over. She was so 
 pleasant, and gave us valuable advice and information 
 about our ' little cause.' " 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 "June 1862. 
 
 (After a passage previously quoted, about writing a 
 book on " Visiting the Poor.") " Last week, on Whit-Tues- 
 day, we gave a Tea-meeting to our pledged abstainers — 
 I suppose about a hundred and twenty. We had tables 
 on the lawn, and a capital cake and bread and butter. 
 After tea we adjourned to the little spacious barn which 
 had been prepared for the occasion, and had an excellent 
 meeting — Mr. C in the chair. Mr. Charleton, an ex- 
 cellent Quaker, and two Methodists, working men, ad- 
 dressed us in very telling speeches — an Independent 
 minister and a clergyman of the Church of England were 
 in readiness to speak, had there been time. So you see 
 we are not sectarian, and I hope and trust we may not be 
 
 ^ Probably the clergyman whose church Mrs. Sewell and Anna attended 
 while at Wick. 
 
 M
 
 178 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 so, or else I feel that the large measure of blessing that 
 we have received iu working together as brethren will be 
 likely to leave us. Love and union is all my aim. We 
 have formed a Band of Hope, and I am thinking of a 
 T^Iothers' Meeting in connection with it, which you ^ see 
 will pretty fully occupy our heads, hearts, and hands." 
 
 And purses too, she might have added ; but Mrs. 
 Sewell's benevolent work was never undertaken in 
 an expensive way : she would search about for every 
 means of " making do " with what she had at her 
 command before spending money on appliances. 
 She was a true daughter of the mother in whose 
 household, she said, "there was never any waste, 
 nor any pinch. The first thing she would do 
 wdien she went out in the morning was to look out 
 such a nice breakfast for the dogs and cats ! They 
 never had a scant meal, and yet there was never 
 any waste." 
 
 But it was very difiicult, both to her and her 
 
 husband, to hold their hands from giving to any 
 
 needy case. In old age, speaking of the great 
 
 wisdom needed in giving away money, and the 
 
 pain of refusing, she said, " I always feel He knows 
 
 the depth of my pocket, and I have prayed that 
 
 He would not send me those I ought not to help." 
 
 Money-giving, however, she reckoned a minor, 
 
 though very important, department of charity : tlic 
 
 power of a heart and a home she ranked much 
 
 higher. She often spoke of the responsibilities and 
 
 menns of blessing that arise out of the simple fact 
 
 of possessing a home of one's own, — the hack it
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 179 
 
 gives, and the duty and privilege of sharing it. A 
 friend remembers the pathetic emphasis of her tone 
 iu describing a homeless lady, not poor, who was 
 engaged in evangelistic work. "Her parents were 
 gone, and her brothers and sisters were married, 
 one after the other, till L. was left a lone woman : — • 
 and she spoke in 23ublic ; and a lone woman who 
 speaks in public is a verjj lone creature indeed." 
 
 She had the deepest feeling for the numbers of 
 young people w^ho flock to great cities, London 
 especially, in search of occupation, and without the 
 shelter of home, without friendly or motherly 
 counsel, are exposed to terrible temptations. The 
 following little narrative describes a kindness 
 exactly in harmony with her spirit. The narrator 
 was a lady living with her two servants in one of 
 the prettiest suburbs of London : — 
 
 " ' Every Saturday afternoon, about four o'clock, an omni- 
 bus stops at my gate, and I go out to welcome two young 
 women who have come from one of tlie large houses of 
 business in the City, where they have been through the 
 week. They do not need to bring a bag, as they always 
 find their night-dresses and other little things they may 
 want in a drawer in the room where they sleep. Their 
 first visit is to this little room. Then we have tea, and if 
 the weather is fine we walk or drive, or go into the garden. 
 Occasionally we treat ourselves to a short railway journey 
 into the country, and come back laden with flowers, with 
 which we brighten up our rooms for Sunday, the girls 
 generally taking a few to some flower-loving neighbours. 
 They always have some needlework of their own in hand, 
 and in the winter they do a great deal while I read to 
 them. On Sunday they attend church with me in the 
 morning and evening. In the afternoon they often find
 
 i8o LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 their interest in reading to a sick neighbour, and Avhen 
 teachers are scarce, have occasionally taken a class in the 
 Sunday-school. On Monday morning, breakfast has to be 
 ready at seven o'clock, that our visitors may be in time for 
 the omnibus that passes at 7.45. I always part with them 
 with regret ; they are so pleasant to me. I have had them 
 in this way for two years, and I love them as if they were 
 my daughters.' 
 
 " ' What led you to take them in the first place ? ' Mrs. 
 Sewell asked. 
 
 " ' I was one day at their shop in the City, and had occa- 
 sion to go into the show-room. So much was going on 
 there, I had to wait. In looking about me, I was struck 
 with the appearance of these two young women ; they 
 were both remarkably nice figures. Their " presence," as 
 the trade terms it, must have been worth a good deal in 
 a show-room ; every cloak, mantle, or shawl looked perfec- 
 tion upon them. When they were at leisure to attend to 
 me, I asked them some trifling questions about themselves, 
 and it ended in my inviting them to come out to me on 
 the following Saturday. That was the beginning of our 
 friendship. The eldest is about twenty-four years of age ; 
 she is the daughter of a clergyman — her parents long 
 dead, and she has to support herself in the best way she 
 can. She has a sweet face, and is one of the most graceful 
 women I have ever seen. You can easily imagine what 
 her temptations must be. She has told me all about it. 
 The Sunday used to be dreadful. Oh, how I wish I could 
 shelter thousands of these girls instead of only two ! ' 
 
 " ' Don't think of that, dear friend,' Mrs, Sewell replied. 
 ' Keep to your two, like a true mother, as long as they 
 need your home and your love ; when thcj/ no longer need 
 it, take two more. It is your personal influence over each 
 of them individually that gives it its great value. AVhat 
 is wanted is, that a thousand ladies, situated as you are, 
 should each take two ; and how much the better they 
 might be for doing it ! ' " 
 
 There is another class of sufTercrs, sometimes 
 well provided with "houses to eat and to drink
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. i8i 
 
 in," wlio are quite as deeply in need of a place 
 of shelter, opened in some friendly heart. 
 
 In this sin-stricken world, there are to be found 
 in every position of society, from the highest to 
 the lowest, numbers who go mournfully down the 
 stream of life, drafrsfino; with them the intolerable 
 burden of a sin for w^hich they find no place for 
 repentance, although, it may be, they seek it care- 
 fidly with tears : the memory of yielding, perhaps, 
 to some fatal temptation — or, what is worse, having 
 to carry about with them the conviction that they 
 have themselves been the cause of lifeloug injury 
 and sorrow to others. 
 
 For the outward wounds and bruises, the frac- 
 tures and the fevers which befall our fellow- 
 creatures, we give large subscriptions to build 
 Hospitals and Infirmaries ; but those I speak of 
 are " wdielmed in deeper gulfs than these." Can 
 we think of no Hospital Sunday for them ? 
 
 No outward buildings, no subscriptions, wdll meet 
 these sad cases. What we need is many more 
 Christian men and women, so filled with the spirit 
 of compassion which dw^lt in Christ that the sin- 
 ful, the mistaken, the erring, w^ill know that they 
 may safely stand at their feet behind them and 
 weep. It often happens that the real dimensions 
 of these troubles are greatly magnified by morbid 
 introspection ; the anguish that is felt is not always 
 simply contrition — some of it has its roots deep 
 down in a strong feeling of personal mortification. 
 If these burdened ones could sufiicieutly trust any
 
 1 82 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 one to uuburden tlieir heavy hearts, it might 
 result, with the blessing of Goil, in changing the 
 whole aspect of their lives. Sapliir, speaking of 
 the woman who was a sinner, says — " She had 
 entered on a new existence, distinct from that dark 
 and starless night of loneliness and self-condemna- 
 tion in which she found herself when first convinced 
 of her sin." 
 
 It is true that the troubled conscience can find 
 no rest until it gets to Christ ; but human sym- 
 ]iathy is permitted to do a great deal to help these 
 burdened ones to reach Him. Christ intends His 
 people on earth to be His representatives, and for 
 the "little while" He is hidden from our sioht, 
 He is asking His children on earth to act for Him, 
 and with His tears in their eves, His love on their 
 faces, and witli voices which have caugrht from Him 
 the true ring of Divine compassion, to offer to all 
 His messao-e of reconciliation. 
 
 1 am speaking of something which can by no 
 possibility be reduced to a plan or system. Call it 
 Confessional (or System) and the gold becomes 
 dross — dross of the worst kind, because it counter- 
 feits the finest gold. Hearts which by God's grace 
 liave been filled with His own deep, compassionate 
 love must overflow upon the dry ground, long 
 jmrched with anguish and remorse, and under such 
 blessed influences the desert may again become a 
 fruitful field. " Confess vour faults one to another, 
 — pray one for another " — with what end ? " That 
 ye may be healed ? "
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 183 
 
 In anticipation of His work ou earth, Christ says, 
 "The Lord God hath oiven Me the touo-ue of them 
 that are taught, that I should know how to speak a 
 Mord in season to him that is weary." If Christ, 
 in His perfected humanity, could only under Divine 
 guidance take up the difficult task of " speaking a 
 word in season to him that is wearv," what must 
 our need be ? Surely the common platitudes of 
 being glad or sorry to hear so-and-so will not suffice, 
 when to be cjualified for His task He had to " wake 
 morning by morning to hear as they that are 
 taught." I have heard my dear friend say that 
 her first thouglit and prayer in the morning usually 
 was that slie might know how to speak a word in 
 season to the weary ; and God gave her her re- 
 cjuest. How many she helped to " take heart 
 again " will be known only in that day when the 
 secrets of all hearts are revealed. 
 
 The followino; letter is addressed to a friend suf- 
 fering under spiritual darkness. After reference to 
 Madame Guyon's experience of having to be weaned 
 even fiom. feeling, it continues : — 
 
 " I have been thinking that it may be God is purifying 
 my beloved friend so. You have been praying and long- 
 ing and seeking for holiness, as Madame Guyou did. Per- 
 haps God is teaching you in the same way, that you must 
 be willing to he nothing, e7ijoy nothing, seem nothing, do 
 nothing, but submit with a full, blind submission to suffer 
 His will, asking no more, "Why is it so with me ? There 
 seems to me a likelihood that God, who always purifies us 
 across the nahiral grain, may have adopted this polishing 
 process for you, working in the dark upon His precious
 
 1 84 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 jewel to bring it out, in His good time, radiantly re- 
 flecting His beauty. Your own nature is so lovely, so 
 lovable, so generous, helpful, and clever, that you have, 
 according to the common recompense of things, been the 
 gratified, happy recipient of much love, admiration, and 
 praise. It could not and should not be otherwise ; and it 
 may be that God is weaning you from all this — from all 
 expectation from the creature, all expectation even from 
 yourself, that you may be cast helpless, dry, empty, 
 upon Him, to be filled in due time with His adorable ful- 
 ness — out of your weakness to be made strong, only in 
 His strength. These are the thoughts, dear one, that I 
 have had. You will judge if thuy are apposite." 
 
 But notwithstanding all her tenderness for the 
 sorrowing, it was to the young and hopeful that 
 Mrs. Sc well's sympathy flowed out most naturally. 
 " I cannot say that I jyvefeT the company of old 
 people, though I am so old myself," she w-rites at 
 a later date ; ''I like the young spirits full of hope 
 and animation, rejoicing in their strength, believing 
 all things possible, and enjoying to the tip-to^D of 
 their nature." 
 
 And again, writing from Wick, and alluding to 
 a young friend : — 
 
 " This stirring world is full of interest to her. With 
 what undaunted courage, resolution, and glad anticipation 
 the Younfj meet the world, and how cjood it is that it 
 should be so: each one has the prize to win, of some kind. 
 You and I know that there are blanks as well as prizes ; 
 yet we fervently thank God for our creation, and fur all 
 the blessings and all the crosses of this life, and look for 
 the gohlen citv which lies bevond." 
 
 "Wick, iS6r. 
 
 " For the last six weeks wo have had four of my littlt3 
 grandchildren staying with us. It is something quite new
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 1S5 
 
 to us to have so much young life ahout us, but it is very 
 charming to see the ever-hopeful elasticity, and boundless 
 expectation, and simple faith of children. I often think 
 of our Saviour's admiration of them, and His charge to us 
 to be like them, and I think it must have been in some 
 such particulars as I have named, and not so much in 
 their innocence, which is, I think, the prevailing idea." 
 
 By that time the grandchildren were old enough 
 to find out the charm of Grandmother's imao;ination. 
 " She could not only tell stories, but i^lay stories," 
 says one of them. " There was a rocking-boat in 
 the hall, which was a great feature. AVe remember 
 the delights of the afternoon play-hour ; she would 
 play at going on journeys, when an enemy would 
 come after us, and we all had to jump into the 
 boat and row for our lives — just wdiat children 
 delif^ht in." 
 
 To her last years she loved even to hear about 
 the plays of imaginative children. The age which 
 is often called " uninteresting " was the beginning 
 of warmest interest to her. 
 
 The following extracts from Mrs. F.'s journal 
 while visiting Blue Lodge may be interesting for 
 the graphic picture they give of the surroundings 
 in w^hich Mrs. Sewell's chief works were written : — 
 
 "Monday, July 27, 1863. — Pony-chaise nret me at 
 Keynsham station. Lovely drive througli quiet and 
 sunny country. After dinner commenced reading ' Tny 
 Poor Brother,' and went on for an hour, Mrs. Sewell 
 readinir, and I offering criticism. Her genuine modest v 
 struck me greatly. The difference in age, and her wide 
 reputation compared with my obscurity, made it the more 
 striking. ... To the MS. again before tea. Tea on the
 
 i86 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 lawn, under wide tree-shadows, with beds of brilliant 
 flowers spread all about. After tea, more MS., till moon- 
 light drew us again to the garden. A long talk there on 
 things in heaven and earth and ranging between the two. 
 .... Delightful company ! 
 
 " Tuesday, July 28. — The window of my room gave me 
 the view of a sunny, park-like, upland field, sprinkled 
 with calm tree-shadows, under which newly-shorn sheep 
 rested here and there. Birds singing softly all about. 
 Breakfast in a sunny parlour, which gave us through the 
 open door the same view as from my window, and through 
 the open windows opposite the brilliance nnd greenness of 
 the flower-garden. Walked in the garden for a quarter 
 of an hour after breakfast with Mrs. Sewell. Then she 
 established me in her private sitting-room, with letters to 
 write, and Bushnell's ' Inner Life.' At twelve we met in 
 the drawing-room, Mrs. S., Anna, and I, and went on with 
 ' Thy Poor Brother.' . . . Tea again on the lawn. . . . 
 After supper, recited Wordsworth's 'Ode on Intimations 
 of Immortality.' Talked of his poems generally. 
 
 " July 29. — Mrs. Sewell claimed my promise to read her 
 parts of my MS. . . . Drove in the evening with Anna to 
 \Vick. Saw their cottage, taken for Mothers' Meetings, 
 &c. Afterwards another spell at the MS. Set to work 
 at criticism. Her suggestions are invaluable. 
 
 " Thursday, July 30. — The last day of this most delight- 
 ful visit. . . . Four whiter days have seldom illuminated 
 my life- calendar." 
 
 In December 1863 "Thy Poor Brother" came out. 
 
 To Mrs. E . 
 
 "Wick, Nov. 30, 1863. 
 (After speaking of the expected book.) " The last week 
 we have opened a miniature Working Men's Hall in our 
 village, fourteen feet square. I am high busy, preparing 
 lectures, addresses, &c. Nanny and I drive to Wick three 
 evenings in the week at eight o'clock. Don't you think we 
 shall get very brave and hardy before the winter is over ? 
 We have had such a very encouraging bednuiuo-."
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 1S7 
 
 Those wlio remember the mother auci clau2:ljter 
 Avill have no difiiculty in guessing who supplied 
 the courage for these dark winter drives. Mrs. 
 Sewell was naturally timid, and one can quite 
 believe in her retainino; to old acre "an indefinite 
 remembrance of old John Spraggs" (a beggar-man 
 who had been made a terror to her in childhood). 
 Anna, on the contrary, had no acquaintance with 
 fear — not even enough for mercy ; it was impos- 
 sible for her to understand tlic terror that would 
 make others, children especially, tell lame false- 
 lioods simply from want of presence of mind. She 
 had a fine vein of Grandfather Holmes in her com- 
 position, naturally stern in her judgments of others 
 as well as of herself, which made it the more re- 
 markable that in her last chastened years all took 
 notice of a more entire gentleness of spirit in her 
 than even in her tender-hearted, impetuous mother. 
 
 But Mrs. Sewell was fearless too, when Anna 
 held the reins. She had the greatest admiration 
 for the quality of physical courage, which she did 
 not possess. "But I have a great deal of moral 
 courage," she said, after owning this ; and it was 
 true. 
 
 This was the last winter at Blue Lodfre. The 
 life there, so full of interest to the ladies of the 
 house, was dull for the master. In 1864 some 
 occupation adapted to his declining strength (he 
 was then seventy-one years old) appears to have 
 offered itself in Bath, and it was decided to remove 
 there, and take lodgino-s at Combe Down until a
 
 i88 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 suitable liouse could be found, Mrs. Sewell and 
 Anna hoping still to drive over to Wick very 
 frequently to carry on a part of tlieir work there. 
 
 It was a sorrowful day at Wick when the news 
 passed through the village that the good friends at 
 Blue Lodge were about to leave. I have a little 
 packet of letters in my hand written by members 
 of the Temperance Society, night-school scholars, 
 and others, showing with what gratitude, love, and 
 entire appreciation they had received the kindness 
 so freely bestowed upon them. One letter will 
 serve as a specimen of the spirit which pervades 
 them all : — 
 
 " My yerry dear and Honored Lady,— I hope you 
 will take these few lines without offence, from the hand 
 of one, that feels it his Bounden Duty to render to you my 
 many thanks for all your kindness to me, and to my family, 
 and to all of us. 
 
 " 1 understand to Mell that you are about to leave us, 
 and I feel deep regret on account of it : tis always Good 
 to have a friend and Bad to be without one ; yet still my 
 Jesus is precious to my soul, and I know he will never go 
 a^^•ay. 
 
 " I hope you are better. I have heard you have been 
 111, and I hope dear Miss Sewell and Mr. Sewell is Well. 
 
 " Since I left wick parish, I have not had the opportunity 
 of seeing you very often, still I have never forgott, nor 
 never sliall, your great kindness. Both you and Mr. and 
 IMiss Sewell has ahvays a verry High Place in my afi'ections. 
 If I never see you again in this world, I pray that God 
 will liless you and prosper both you and Mr. Sewell and 
 dear Miss Sewell. May he Crown you with Every Needful 
 Blessing here and Crown you with Glory in the Avorld to 
 come. I am quite Sure he will, 
 
 " Dear Lady, I felt I could not let you go off, without
 
 BLUE LODGE— LIFE AT WICK. 189 
 
 sending you these few lines. But I feel much Contrition 
 M-hile writing to you — my heart is full while I write. I 
 feel like the Disciples did when Jesus was going to leave 
 them, but I hope the Lord will still Bless us all and Bless 
 YOU nlost wherever you go. When I think how Benificial 
 you have been to the inhabitants of wick how they will 
 all miss you and Miss Sewell when you are gone away. 
 
 " I hope dear Miss Sewell got home safe — when I met 
 her in the rood to wick, I was so overjoyed I felt like 
 one lifted out of the Body. I couldn't help my tears after 
 we })arted. 
 
 " Dear Lady, I should like to tell you a good deal but I 
 cannot in the Space of a Letter. I am not well the cold 
 Minds upset me, and my wife lias the Ehumatics. I get 
 about as usual but my little trade is verry Bad, tis such 
 sliort work Piound here for men — we have been verry hard 
 Tressed Lately with the times but still rest in the promise 
 of our Heavenly Father. I Pray on and Fight on Deter- 
 mined by the help of God to get safely landed in the 
 Better world. May he help us all to do the right thing 
 for Jesus sake. Please to pardon my faults. We send 
 our united love to you, dear Lady, and Mr. Sewell, and 
 dear Miss Sewell."
 
 ( 19° ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHER FRIENDS. 
 
 " Feed my lambs," 
 
 The " next step " after leaving AVick is described 
 in the course of the following letter : — 
 
 To Mrs. B . 
 
 " Combe Down, Bath, 
 July 4, 1864. 
 
 "... I can well believe from my own experience 
 that you are getting good by being emptied of all good. 
 "When cut off from the occupations and circumstances 
 that to a great degree build up our personality, we almost 
 lose ourselves, and hardly know where to find up the 
 / and me ; or we get introduced to them in a very morti- 
 fying and disagreeable way sometimes, so poor and pitiful 
 that we are astonished at ourselves. I do not know 
 whether you feel so, but I do — I am feeling so now — a 
 poor, empty, barren, hard-hearted, pitiful wretch ; but 1 
 think I do thank God for the ugly siglit : my dear Master 
 looks so lovely, so desirable, so needful under such cir- 
 cumstances. If you and I are to be His servants indeed, 
 we must be unclothed from ourselves acrain and a^ain 
 that lie may have His own will and way with us, and do 
 that in us whicli our faiih asks, and our nature dislikes, 
 to have done. 
 
 " I have no doulit, my dearly beloved friend, that you 
 are in your right place in the Eefiner's fire. . . . Precious 
 friend ! it is such a hot place — but you will come out of
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 191 
 
 it unhurt, a vessel more fitted for the Master's use, as you 
 do so earnestly desire to be. 
 
 " AVe are getting pretty well reconciled to our lodging 
 life. It seemed very hard at first to be cramped up in 
 little rooms with no garden of our own, and all strangers 
 about us, and no welcome from the faces we met ; but I 
 believe it is a right step we have taken for the present, 
 and that is a great help to settlement. Dear Nanny is 
 pretty well — the fatigue of leaving all right at Bhie 
 Lod^e knocked her down, and she has again lost a good 
 deal of her walking power ; but she has many advantages, 
 with close proximity of church, chapel, schools, shops, 
 &c., which she had not before. My goodman is pretty 
 well, and likes his work. Combe Down is a very high, 
 healthy situation, and the surrounding scenery is most 
 beautiful There are large quarries liere for the celebrated 
 Bath Stone, and many quarrymen, who need to have 
 something more done for them than is at present the 
 case. 
 
 "... I am not able to write for any magazines. . . . 
 I am sure you do not know how difficult it is to write 
 telling poetry. I have such constant applications, that 
 I believe those who do not write poetry at all think it 
 just as easy as mending a glove — but they make a great 
 mistake." 
 
 The quarrymen, however, were not to become 
 the next objects of Mrs. Sewell and Anna's care, fur 
 before the close of the year we find, congratulations 
 received on having met with a suitable house, and 
 entered on possession. For a time — how long is 
 not clear — the mother and daughter still drove 
 over to Wick for winter evenins^ work, but durinsj 
 this winter of '64-65 Mrs. Sewell was much out of 
 health, obliged to seek perfect quiet and rest, and 
 this may have led to severing her ties to work 
 which no longer " lay at her door."
 
 192 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 Moorlands, the new home, was withiu a walk of 
 Bath, a little way off the Wells road. The meadow- 
 land attached to it sloped down to a lawn where 
 fruit-trees grew, lying on a gentler slope in front 
 of the house. One tall aj^ple-tree I remember 
 gracefully bending under its load of little red- 
 cheeked apples. A terrace-walk beside the house 
 was made for Auna's benefit, with a border full of 
 brio-htest flowers. When this screen nest was lit 
 up with the touches of brilliant colour which its 
 owners knew so well where to place, it became a 
 spot to dream of for its loveliness ; and the drives 
 about the lovely neighbourhood were a never- 
 ceasino; deliiiht to Mrs. Sewell and Anna. The 
 banks and hedgerows around Bath are rich in 
 varied colouring at every season of the year — never 
 more so than in the first half of winter. Mrs. 
 Sewell had an eye to feast on colour, and pine for 
 it when all around was grey. The new home 
 became very dear, although it was discovered that 
 the previous tenant had " let things go " to an 
 extent which made it a troublesome task to get 
 them into sufficient order. 
 
 To Mrs. R . 
 
 " Anna is much better ; we are getting on well, working 
 like — Trojans, shall I say ? or English women ? I think 
 the last, because the cause is better, and hloodlcss. I wish 
 you were here in our sunshine to-day. Oli, it is charming, 
 and looks so lovely ! The grass as green as an emerald, 
 and Daisy and Fanny (the cows) chewing the cud and not 
 seeing a hair's-breadtli into the future ; just switching
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 193 
 
 their tails to keep off the present flies. How difficult it 
 is to switch off our little present torments ! " 
 
 At the close of 1864 "The Little Forester and 
 his Friend " stepped into the world, appropriately 
 dressed in green, and met a hearty welcome. 
 
 Return to "humanity's reach." brought its usual 
 penalties and pleasures. One of the morning visits 
 paid to the new-comers was in reality the chief 
 event of this period, as it proved to be the beginning 
 of a friendship which Mrs. Sewell always reckoned 
 one of the greatest blessinsfs of her life, w^ith Mrs. 
 Williamson, of Fairstowe, Combe Down. This 
 remarkable woman had come to Bath in 1863, 
 her husband, a clergyman, having been obliged to 
 resign his charge at Headingley, Leeds, on account 
 of ill-health. In a letter written years afterwards, 
 Mrs. Sewell alludes to their first meetinor. 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 " I remember your first visit to us at the Moorlands 
 exactly how you looked and talked, and the exact impres- 
 sion left on my mind — a rest and inward satisfaction in 
 5"ou, and a great desire to know more, because you did not 
 look at all like the general run of our callers. Then I had 
 rather a fear as to whether you would take to me ; but 
 thanks be to Him who gives us our dear friends to make 
 our lives pleasant, He drew us together, and made us to 
 love one another heartily and confidingly, fostering it all 
 with the golden seal of His own love, so that nothing can 
 disturb it on earth, and nothing will be able to disturb 
 it through the everlasting ages. I shall not be put into 
 such a high class as you, but oh! I shall delight to 
 
 N
 
 194 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 see you above me, because we shall be near enough 
 for communion, and I should never think of envying 
 you." 
 
 Such words, and many others like them, were 
 no polite form from Mrs. Sewell. She was most 
 genuinely disposed to " esteem others better than 
 herself," and this beloved friend perhaps above all 
 others. She had a profound admiration for large 
 executiveness and organising power in a woman. 
 Mrs. Williamson possessed these in a high degree. A 
 little sketch of her work, which appeared in a Bath 
 newspaper after her death, says : — " It might liter- 
 ally be said that not a moment was lost before 
 that benevolence which had characterised her resi- 
 dence in her husband's parish began to be exercised 
 here. In a short space of time she liad started the 
 Home for Orphan Girls at Macaulay Buildings, 
 and the Home for Orphan Boys at Claverton 
 Do WD, each of which was conducted on the family 
 system." 
 
 The " family system " was then comparatively 
 untried ; it had been the custom to bring up orphan 
 children in barracks — with disastrous results, espe- 
 cially for girls. Mrs. Williamson aimed at making 
 the lives of her orphans as natural, as much in 
 the stream of ordinary life as was possible. They 
 went out to the district school as other children 
 did, and always had credit for good behaviour 
 there. Her own house being very near to the 
 Girls' Home, she was able to take an especially 
 motherly oversight of them. Her beloved helpers
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 195 
 
 — one of whom, Miss Judell, still has charge of the 
 Orphanage — were to her as daughters, and as lesser 
 mothers to the children ; and the little ones grew 
 up with all the frank, trusting, spontaneous ways 
 natural to children reared in a happy, loving 
 home. 
 
 It was at Moorlands that I first had the plea- 
 sure of making my own elder girls acquainted with 
 Mrs. Sewell. We found her learning to play at 
 croquet in her seventieth year, because a friend 
 staying with her represented that she ought to 
 have some knowledge of a game which then occu- 
 pied so large a share of her fellow-creatures' atten- 
 tion. With girlish briskness of movement, she 
 threw down her mallet and came to meet us. I 
 rather think that the study we interrupted was 
 not much further pursued. Mrs. Williamson was 
 to bring her orphan girls (I think the Boys' Home 
 was not then opened) to tea at Moorlands in a few 
 days, and Mrs. Sewell kindly asked my daughters 
 to meet her. One of them has preserved the fol- 
 lowiuo; recollections of the visit : — 
 
 " Jessie and I arrived to find Mr. Sewell very busy 
 and concerned about the provender, and while Miss 
 Sewell went to attend to his wishes, the other visitors ap- 
 peared — Mrs, Williamson on her little pony, the children 
 skipping about her, and a carriage for Mr. Williamson and 
 two orphans — one who was not strong, and a very little 
 one who was to have been left behind as too young to go 
 visitincf, but the other girls had entreated for her to come, 
 and the elder ones said they would all carry little Emily 
 in turns, and when the carriage was ordered they all
 
 196 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 wanted to dress her. I noticed how pretty they were, and 
 Miss Judell laughed and said people often asked if Mrs. 
 Williamson chose her orphans on account of their looks — 
 wdiich was the last thing she was likely to do. I suppose 
 they are loved into good looks. It luas a pretty sight 
 when Mrs. Sewell stood before the house to receive them, 
 in her black silk dress without a furbelow, and quilled 
 net cap, and with her duchess look — Mr. Sewell bend- 
 in^f down his tall white head to the little ones and mak- 
 ing them so heartily welcome. In a few minutes they 
 were scattered about the grounds to do just what they 
 liked. 
 
 " One little child mounted the wall beside the pig-sty 
 and sat absorbed in gazing at the pigs, to the great amuse- 
 ment of Mr. Sewell and his gardener. ' She'll be the 
 farmer,' the gardener said. They were to have seen the 
 cows milked, and had tea on the lawn, but it came on 
 to rain, and all the out-door diversions had to be given 
 up. It did not signify, with such a tide of good spirits 
 flowino- : there was all the fun of running to and fro from 
 kitchen to barn with the tea-things, we helping of course, 
 and they would stop in the rain to hold the yard doors open 
 for us — such pretty manners in everything. At tea the 
 great excitement was to coax Lion, the brown dog, to eat 
 from their hands. Proud was the little girl whose cake 
 he gobbled up — so unlike our poor children in London, 
 whose one idea is ' I'll eat, and I'll stuff, and I'll cram.' 
 The rain cleared off before they went home. Mrs. Sewell 
 showed us her long flower-bed beside the level walk, full 
 of salvias and old-fashioned flowers. She has made quite 
 a study of placing them, but they look as if they grew just 
 as it happened. We had a little talk in-doors in the twi- 
 light and firelight, partly about Eccc Homo. After Mrs. 
 
 's horrors at that book (she had not read it), it was 
 
 very interesting to hear it discussed fro and con. Of 
 course we could only listen, not having read it, but some- 
 how we did not feel at all stupid for that. Miss Sewell 
 is not as unstiff as Mrs. Sewell, but very kind. Mrs. 
 Sewell walked down the fields behind the house with us 
 to show us the short way home, under splendid trees. It
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 197 
 
 was such a happy evening, Aunt E. said we ought to 
 make it balance a great many times when we go out and 
 don't enjoy ourselves. It seemed like Eden, everybody so 
 good and so happy." 
 
 It was a very congenial task to Mrs. Sewell to 
 have anything to do wdth or for Mrs. AVilliamson 
 and her orphans. The work grew and spread, in- 
 cluding a Free Registry for servants, shelter for 
 them when out of place, and other things. In 
 1872 it seemed, for a time, as though the guid- 
 ing hand w^ould shortly be w^ithdrawn. In w^it- 
 inor to ask Mrs. Sewell to undertake the task of 
 compiling the Annual Report, Mrs. Williamson 
 says : — 
 
 " It is now more than six months that I have been laid 
 aside from all work, solemnly warned by my friendly 
 doctor that entire rest is absolutely needful for life ; and 
 have been waiting with folded hands, and I hope a folded 
 will, the Master's mind concerning me. ... As year has 
 followed year, all our experience has testified that our 
 God is a faithful God, and that He has more than realised 
 all our hopes and expectations ; and for myself, — whether 
 now, or at the end of a few more days of blessed and 
 privileged toil, I am withdrawn from it, I can leave it in 
 the full assurance that the same Fatherly hand will hold 
 it up, and support the true fellow-labourers who have 
 stood at my side from the beginning, devoting themselves 
 to the Orphan Homes as a noble life-work, and loving the 
 children as their own. 
 
 "... Our little work has at least proved that small 
 power of any kind, and weak health, if devoted with a 
 single eye and honest heart to Him who has measured 
 out to us both our power and health, will not prevent 
 our obtaining great and rich blessings, not only for our 
 work, but for our souls also."
 
 198 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 A full tale of work is recorded in this report, 
 but the silent service that could not show in 
 print was perhaps even more fruitful. " Many- 
 people used to ask whether Mr. and Mrs. William- 
 son w^ere not very rich, reckoning their means in 
 j)roportion to what they did for others," writes one 
 of their fellow-labourers. "Their ow^n house was 
 ever a refuge for the homeless and destitute of 
 all classes, and these tried and tempted ones, under 
 the blessed influences of this home of hope and 
 love, often gathered up strength which served them 
 for future conflicts. Mrs. Williamson often spoke 
 of the benefit she herself derived from associating 
 w^ith people in all positions of life, differing from 
 each other in political, social, and religious views. 
 ' I love my children so much,' she would say, ' I 
 miofht be in danger of becomino; too much absorbed 
 in them, if it were not for counteracting influences. 
 I delight in the thought of the many hinds of 
 \vorkmen God employs in the preparation of His 
 Kingdom.' " 
 
 Mrs. Williamson found time to read largely, 
 and extract choice passages from what she read. 
 She has published two little selections, " Wayside 
 AVisdom," and " Pilgrim Lays for the Homeward 
 Bound," which have been much valued by the 
 larije circle who knew and loved her. 
 
 I had hoped that this valued friend would her- 
 self have told the story of her friendship with 
 Mrs. Sewell, but at the time my request that she 
 would do so reached her, she was herself on the
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 199 
 
 brink of tlie river, waiting to rejoin her friend 
 on the other side. She left me kind messages, 
 which have been conveyed to me in the following 
 letter from her friend Mrs. Walker : — • 
 
 " Bath, Septemier 6, 1884. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Bayly, — I saw our beloved Mrs. Wil- 
 liamson last on Monday, July 14, four days before slie 
 entered into rest. She seemed rather stronger than when 
 I had seen her on the previous Saturday, and imme- 
 diately began to speak to me with all her usual eager- 
 ness. ' I want particularly,' she said, ' to ask you to 
 write to Mrs. Bayly for me — she has been requested to 
 write some account of dear Mrs. Sewell's life, and know- 
 ing how intimate we were, and how we loved each other, 
 she has asked if I would like to supply any particulars 
 connected with our friendship. Write to her and tell her 
 what you know of our friendship. Tell her how it was a 
 remarkable one, springing up in old age, blossoming late, 
 like a tree in autumn. Tell her how much I valued her ; 
 it was not for one quality alone, it was for her rare com- 
 bination of qualities ; for the strength combined with 
 sweetness ; the qualities of mind and of heart. I could 
 speak and write to her of every subject freely, without 
 fear of ever being misunderstood. We instinctively un- 
 derstood each other. What I valued so much was her 
 largeness of heart and mind; there was nothing narrow 
 about her. 
 
 ' A perfect woman, nobly plann'd, 
 To warn, to comfort, and command.' 
 
 Looking up at the text hanging above her bed which had 
 been in Mrs. Sewell's dying room, she said, ' How little, 
 she thought how soon it would hang over my dying bed ! 
 Then when I rose to go (for I dared not let her talk 
 any more) she said, 'You used to say we were like 
 David and Jonathan, and you see we shall not " be long 
 divided." ' 
 
 " I can only add, as she wished me to do, my own
 
 200 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 impression of the peculiarly strong link between the 
 two. It seemed to me as if their whole natures fitted 
 and corresponded together. When Mrs. Sew^ell died, Mrs. 
 Williamson, though very calm and quiet, appeared to me 
 to feel the loss right through her being. At the same 
 time, she bore it with her usual courage, and would say 
 how wrong it was to sorrow over much for friends when 
 we might so fully enter into their joy, and into following 
 them into the presence of the Lord. 
 
 " In reading through Mrs. Sewell's letters, I am struck 
 with the many points of contact in the nature of the two 
 friends, both in larger and smaller matters. There was of 
 course, in the first place, the union of fellowship in the 
 Lord. Beyond this, both had large, philanthropic disposi- 
 tions. Both were continually planning and working for 
 the good of the poor. Both not only pitied but loved 
 their ' poor brethren.' Then again, both delighted in 
 literature ; poetry was Mrs. Williamson's favourite recrea- 
 tion. Both delighted in Nature. Dear Mrs. Williamson 
 was never weary of gazing at the lovely views from her 
 sweet abode. I shall never forget how she would pause 
 again and again to seek one's sympathy in admiration of 
 each particular point of view. The birds were her life 
 friends. Her own nature was full of life and joy, and in 
 sympathy with all that was pure and good and beautiful. 
 Ever shall I esteem it one of my greatest privileges to 
 have been much with her during the last two years of her 
 life. In the last few months our intercourse was specially 
 sweet, and at times quite sacred. She seemed latterly so 
 passionately to long for perfection, she complained of 
 herself as so deficient in love ; and when I observed that 
 her love showed itself in deeds more than in words, she 
 answered, ' One may give all one's goods to the poor, and 
 yet not have love.' Her almost perfected soul seemed 
 to crave the finishing touches of holiness. 
 
 " In one of her last letters to me she wrote : — 
 
 " ' I enclose the two last cards from Norwich. They tell 
 of gradual decay, but this we must prepare for ; and all we 
 can desire for this venerable mother in Israel is that He for
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 201 
 
 whom her life was spent may bid her sun go calmly down, 
 and this I believe He will do, and give her an abundant 
 entrance into the unimagined blessedness of His presence, 
 of which we know so little, except that it isfichiess of joy, 
 and that when we wake up after His likeness we shall 
 be satisfied ; which we certainly never are when we be- 
 hold o^tr own. Mine appears every day to satisfy me 
 less and less, but this only makes me long more and 
 more to "be clothed in beauty not my own." Mean- 
 while, let us love one another while waiting for His 
 appearing,' 
 
 " She often said she felt her powers failing, and that no 
 one knew how weak and how tired she was. It was diffi- 
 cult to realise it, so indomitable was her energy, so eager 
 and vigorous her mind, and so tenacious her memory. 
 There seemed nothing of age about her, save its calm and 
 mellow ripeness. There was so much romance blended 
 with her intensely practical judgment and rich common- 
 sense. There was such a kind, youthful enthusiasm in 
 the warmth with which she would take up a new object 
 of sympathy or subject of thought. How she would follow 
 a friend to the door, and on to the gate, and even to the 
 road, with an abounding warmth of affection that seemed 
 as if it would not let you go." 
 
 The following lines were the last that Mrs. 
 Williamson asked to have read to her : — 
 
 " Eest. 
 
 " I lay me down to rest. 
 
 With little thought or care 
 Whether my waking find 
 Me here or there. 
 
 " A bowing, burdened heart. 
 That only asks to rest 
 Unquestioning, upon 
 A loving breast.
 
 202 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 " My good right hand forgets 
 Its cunning now ; 
 To march the weary march 
 I know not how. 
 
 " I am not eager, bold, nor 
 Strong — all that is past ; 
 I am ready not to do 
 At last — at last. 
 
 " My full day's work is done, 
 And this is all my part ; 
 I give a patient God 
 My patient heart. 
 
 " And grasp His banner still, 
 Though all its blue be dim ; 
 These stripes no less than stars 
 Lead after Him." 
 
 Among the many visitors to Fairstowe whom 
 to meet was a delight, was Mrs. Charles, so well 
 known to the literary world as the author of 
 " Chronicles of the Schouberg-Cotta Family," and 
 many other valued books. Mrs. Williamson pointed 
 out to me a seat in the garden, under a large tree, 
 where Mrs. Sewell had sat and talked with her. 
 She said, " I used to leave them talking: when I went 
 out, and find them still talking there when I re- 
 turned." When w^e think of these three women, 
 differently gifted, but with so much in common, it 
 is no wonder that the hours they spent together 
 passed only too quickly, and left behind them 
 " Sunny Memories." 
 
 In answer to my inquiry whether she could tran-
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 203 
 
 scribe some of these " memories " for this little his- 
 tory of our dear friend, Mrs. Charles, though very 
 much occupied, kindly found time to write the fol- 
 lowing letter : — 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Bayly, — I could not indeed fail to say 
 such words as I can in honour of one whom I love and 
 reverence as I do Mrs. Sewell, though just now I have 
 scarcely a free minute to write. 
 
 " We certainly need not think of her, or any of the be- 
 loved ones ' at home/ as creatures belonging only to the 
 past. Her 'new name' we may not know, but we are 
 quite sure she is herself stiW. 
 
 " What I remember of my brief intercourse with her is 
 not any special incident or saying, but herself, the bright, 
 calm presence embracing in it the riches of a varied past. 
 
 " It was the variety and range of her spiritual experi- 
 ence which were so interesting: the combination in her 
 of the flowers and fruits of many religious zones and 
 climates. 
 
 " There seemed to me the quiet beauty of the deeper 
 experience of the Friends, among whom, I believe, her 
 early training had been : the upward look, as of one lis- 
 tening for a voice still to be heard among us, instead of 
 the downward, anxious groping, as of one only poring over 
 the letters of a book. That the Voice and the Book were 
 for her combined, no one, of course, could doubt ; but this 
 listening for the eternal teaching of the ever-present Com- 
 forter, the Holy Ghost, through which the early Friends 
 were first awakened to so many of the wrongs and sins of 
 our times, struck me as one of her characteristics. ' Thy 
 poor brother ' and ' Unto Me ' were ever sounding through 
 her heart. 
 
 " And then there was the fervent sympathy with 
 another of the many companies of Christendom, the 
 Moravians, first missionaries of the Eeformed Churches, 
 whose hearts have so especially gone forth to the outcast 
 and the forgotten of the nations and of mankind. When 
 I knew her, she was much in association with the Mora-
 
 204 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 vian Brethren, whose ideal of the Church is of a great 
 evangelising brotherhood, whose hearts, like hers, have 
 always gone forth to the deepest need — taking the glad 
 tidings among the ice and snows of the Esquimaux, among 
 the low races of Australia, to the slave and to the leper. 
 'Thy poor brother' was their motto, as it was hers. 
 Wherever the need was deepest and the compassionate 
 service truest, there she seemed to feel nearest to Him 
 who 'had compassion on the multitudes' in their com- 
 monest wants of hunger and thirst, as well as in their 
 highest cravings. 
 
 "For, besides all her other gifts and graces, she had 
 most truly the gift of the poet, and therefore her benevo- 
 lence could never be lost or swallowed up in a mere 
 generality of well-wishing, and her speech could never be 
 stiffened into rhetoric. Not ' humanity,' but each man 
 or woman or little child, all different: — not 'masses,' 
 but ' multitudes ; ' — not generalised ' brethren,' but ' thy 
 poor brother.' The fountain of poetry sprang to light late 
 with her ; and this also had a beautiful special meaning 
 through her for us all. The spring-time is sure to have 
 its songs ; but it is inspiring to us to know that the music 
 never dies. 
 
 ' The poet has the child's heart in his breast.' 
 
 " The sources of her inspiration were ever fresh, just 
 because they were so deep. And real poetic inspiration 
 was hers, stamped with the recognition of the common 
 heart of all. Our most subtle and sifting critic * acknow- 
 ledged it ; and my mother has just told me how a poor 
 dying boy in a country village was so touched by her 
 reading to him ' Mother's Last Words,' that he sent to 
 beg to hear them again. They were read to him once 
 more, and with their music in his heart that night he 
 died. 
 
 " Those few glimpses of her when we were staying near 
 dear Mrs. Williamson were the last I had. 
 
 " But tlie last picture I have of her in my heart is as 
 
 Matthew Arnold.
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS 205 
 
 ■beautiful as anytliiug can be. I think of the aged, white- 
 haired mother sitting by her dying daughter's couch and 
 writing at her child's dictation ' Black Beauty ' — that 
 tender, pathetic, humorous plea for the dear dumb crea- 
 tures to whom St. Francis did not hesitate to extend the 
 name of ' thy poor brother.' The daughter's last longing 
 before she left was to leave this last plea for the creatures 
 so helpful to us, ' groaning and travailing in pain together 
 until now.' And the words came through the mother's 
 lips, as it were, ' Mother's last words ' to us all. 
 
 " And now they are ' awake together ' in His likeness, 
 of which we saw so much in them whilst here — the like- 
 ness of the infinite compassion which is always going after 
 the lost, always remembering the one missing, and never 
 content until it is found ; never content with any of us 
 until we translate, as she did, ' the least of these My 
 brothers ' into ' thy poor hrotJier.' " 
 
 The connection with the Moravian Church was 
 short-lived, ending with the short sojourn in the 
 neighbourhood of Bath, but it happened to occupy 
 the time during which Mrs. Charles occasionally 
 met Mrs. Sewell and her daughter. It appears to 
 have left no deep mark — I cannot find that any 
 form of church-life ever did, on Mrs. Sewell, after 
 her separation from Friends. She would refer fre- 
 quently to the impression made on her by indi- 
 vidual teachers — occasionally to a very strong sense 
 of repulsion from certain forms of worship or church 
 government, but never, so far as I recollect, to any 
 sense of attraction that was not personal ; her 
 heart remained with her own people. 
 
 The shadow of a coming sorrow lay over these 
 years at Bath. Among the few letters of this
 
 2o6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 period which have come to hand, there is hardly 
 one which does not contain some anxious reference 
 to the health of the beloved daiighter-in-law. In 
 1866, not long after Mr. Philip Sewell's coming to 
 reside at Clare House, Norwich, she passed away, 
 leaving seven children. 
 
 The occupation which had led Mr. Sewell to 
 Bath seems to have come to an end before this 
 time. As soon as could be arranged, the family 
 removed to their native county, and settled in a 
 house at Old Catton, about a mile beyond Clare 
 House, on the road from Norwich to Buxton, where 
 Mr. John AVright and his sisters resided. This was 
 in 1867. It was the last move; the little white 
 house became the home of seventeen years, and 
 round it cluster all the freshest memories that 
 L'emain of a spring-like old age. 
 
 This removal gave rise to a correspondence with 
 Mrs. Williamson, the greater part of which, on 
 Mrs. Sewell's side, has been preserved. After read- 
 ing through these numerous letters, however, I can 
 better understand the reply given me over and 
 over again by friends and relatives to whom I have 
 applied for letters — "All those we have kept are 
 so filled with comments on our own affairs, that 
 they could have no interest for the general public." 
 The two great-hearted mothers were never tired of 
 talking and writing about the orphan children, but 
 it is comparatively rare to meet with a passage 
 that will bear extractiou. Many of the subjects 
 
 1
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 207 
 
 named, too, belong to those with which " a stranger 
 intermeddleth not." 
 
 The letters being — like all Mrs. Sewell's, unless 
 the receivers dated them — without date, I have 
 thouQfht it best to insert here all extracts containino- 
 no allusion to events which would give them any 
 definite place in order of time. 
 
 "Orphan children are not, in a sense, like common chil- 
 dren, being especially adopted of the Lord, and have to be 
 cared for under all extremities. How beautifully Mr. Van 
 Meter realises them as belonging to his Saviour ! and so do 
 you ; therefore rest and get strong for their sakes, and for us 
 all. The letter you sent me of Miss Eye's is very inter- 
 esting and business-like. I am so pleased we had the 
 pleasure of seeing her at your house, and wishing her good 
 speed. If we can do little ourselves, it is pleasant to be 
 in sympathy with those who are working hard. It is 
 difficult to define what work is; I mean, what has the 
 essential element of work in it. This will be seen when 
 the chaff is blown away. Well the Lord knows, for His 
 work in our work is the only thing that will abide when 
 He cometh." 
 
 AVriting to Mrs. Williamson of her daughter's 
 sudden attack of illness, she says : — 
 
 " This has hindered us in our own work, but we do not 
 now know what kind of work carries us the most surely 
 forv/ard. He who takes the charge of us can only tell 
 this — He will do the best for us. I wish to leave all with 
 Him, and neither fail nor be discouraged. 
 
 "I have tied myself up to tlie whipping-post every 
 night when I went to bed, and well flagellated myself for 
 not having answered your letter, which I meant to have 
 done immediately on receiving it ; it filled my heart with
 
 2o8 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 sympathy and concern for yon. . . . You will not rest till 
 all your chain is run out. It is not for me to say stop. 
 This is our working day, and we know not how long it 
 may last. You and I do not naturally take to the ' easy- 
 chair' life; it is to me another name for the stocks. I 
 am often reproved for not playing the part of a ' nice old 
 lady,' but I say I have not the gift, and whilst such blessed 
 health and spirits remain, I should not succeed if I 
 tried." 
 
 " These bodies of ours require a deal of looking after, 
 and are held on a repairing lease till the tenancy has run 
 out ; and then, beautiful and glorious. We may well be 
 content in our moth-house, seeing where the door out of 
 it opens." 
 
 " I set you, dear friend, before me, to follow, not to copy, 
 because our work and our gifts are different — the same 
 work and one Master, but on different parts of it. And 
 what a fine thing work is ! As I look at the few remainino 
 years which may possibly be mine, I feel quite greedy for 
 work, and long to fdl all that is left in some way of 
 following the Master. I long to do more of the healing, 
 helping work, to make something better — something that 
 is clifferent to sin and misery ; something that carries the 
 aspect of hope in it ; something that must bring me con- 
 tinually to Him for all the grace, and all the needed ability. 
 Your hearty, sound, ever-increasing work is a constant 
 stimulant and encouragement to me, and a constant sub- 
 ject of rejoicing. It is the good leaven which silently 
 spreads wider and wider, embracing larger and larger 
 circles — no flourish of drums and trumpets, but a constant 
 chime of sweet music leading one on. I hope I shall stand 
 near you in the Great Day, and see you with all your 
 orphans and emigrants about you, whom the dear Master 
 has given you the privilege of bringing to Him. 
 
 " I am glad you like Eobertson's sermons, because T 
 do, and as you say, if you are not reading with a narrow,
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 209 
 
 suspicious mind, you find but little you can think wrong. 
 What I feel is he does not give you all — you are ever 
 expecting to find what is wanting, and are continually led 
 on expecting, but not finding. 
 
 " Write to me again ; my heart yearns after you. I 
 think of your loving-kindness in sparing us your good 
 Jenny and taking savage Nanny to train for yourselves. 
 Say an affectionate word for me to the children of your 
 homes, and take the love to yourself which neither best, 
 nor dearest, nor any other word expresses." 
 
 "I forget whether you admire Bushnell's writings as 
 much as I do. I have just been reading a sermon preached 
 after his death, describing his character ; such a great soul : 
 such a powerful mind — so simple, affectionate, genial, and 
 childlike. How often we find great men like little chil- 
 dren ! In Christ was his happy abiding-place. 
 
 " The sweet Lady Augusta Stanley also is gone from us. 
 Oh I do hope God is polishing some rare jewels to shine 
 before the next generation, to reflect His beauty and bring 
 Him praise." 
 
 "Let all who are watching for the 'promise of the 
 Spirit,' watching for His coming more than they that 
 watch for the morning, bear this thought with them con- 
 tinually, that Christ is noio present to their faith, to do 
 for them all that their present state requires, and that the 
 Spirit is also in them to perfect the love and obedience 
 requisite to the reception of the promise of the Father : 
 thus all that is needed is being done in the best pos- 
 sible manner, and as soon as the way is prepared, they 
 will be filled with the Holy Ghost. If the vision tarry, 
 wait for it, and wait for it with the assurance that you 
 shall be baptized with the Holy Ghost not many days 
 hence. 
 
 " When we are sitting together in our blessed resting- 
 place, and have leisure, we shall be able to trace the 
 fulfilled prophecies, and see how mercifully the hope of 
 Christ's appearing was left for the quickening heart-cheer 
 of all the ages, 1 wish I could feel the nearness of His 
 
 o
 
 2IO LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 coming as vividly as some do, for my heart fails me over 
 the present state of things. 
 
 ' The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide.' " 
 
 "I am thinking of thee, beloved, as I sit alone on this 
 quiet sunshiny Sabbath, when everything around me 
 speaks of love and beauty, the winds whispering of joy 
 and peace ; and the mystery of life seems to be fresh upon 
 my heart. The mystery is over with those who are gone 
 from us ; their eyes are opened and their hearts are filled 
 to overflowing, and they know what it is to live. Whilst 
 the veil remains drawn to us, and the full revelation 
 tarries, we may console ourselves with paying visits to 
 tlie Holy Land, anticipating the delight with which we 
 shall once more dwell with our partners in the battle of 
 life. I never think of the grave ; not even of my own ; 
 it only seems as the hiding-place for my old clothes." 
 
 " I have just begun to read Kingsley's Life ; if you have 
 not read it, do ; it is worth anything ; such thought, fresh- 
 ness, earnestness ; such love and trust in God — such an 
 affectionate admiration of nature and the beautiful earth 
 and heavens. I feel my very soul fed and expanded and 
 encouraged by it." 
 
 " What two great lazy giants Indolence and Doubt are ! 
 What miracles of liberty and joy might be wrought if 
 they could be persuaded to emigrate and leave the land 
 free, taking with them tlie large family of Hurry Scurry 
 which are making so much fuss ! " 
 
 " I often think of Bezaleel and Aholiab, and their en- 
 dowment from God of the special spirit of wisdom for the 
 work they had to do — ' In all wlio are Avise-hearted I 
 have put wisdom.' The gift still continues to descend 
 upon the wise-hearted. How many promises are not 
 fulfilled because not expected — they are treated like old 
 fashions which have passed away with the dispensa- 
 tion."
 
 AIRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 211 
 
 "... How hii,'h those ascend who rise through great 
 sorrow, and how little the generality of people know any- 
 thing of the steps up which such people climb ! How few 
 people there are who really are known, or who know auv 
 one, or who know themselves ! You and I shall find a good 
 deal new in each other. ... Oh for the new heaven and 
 the new earth, and old friends upon it ! It is a comfort to 
 have come upon the last times, and not to be so long with- 
 out a body as Abraham. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I have at last roused my energies to ask how my dear 
 precious friend is bearing on, through this most perilous 
 and painful weather. ... It has been quite humiliating 
 to me to find how one misery in the fiesii can absorb the 
 whole nature, and let the zeal and power of life pass into 
 warm clothes and a glowing fire." 
 
 " Will work be ever more fairly shared ? — more workers 
 and fewer martyrs — for it is coming to this in the great 
 strain of life and action. We could not well do without 
 our heroes and martyrs even for good middle men and 
 women. An impetus, an enthusiasm, an example is 
 needed to create even these." 
 
 " A nation's sorrow and sympathy is a refining, exalting, 
 and affecting thing. We could hardly do without sym- 
 pathetic sorrow — all fine weather would make us hard 
 and selfish." 
 
 Referring: to national calamities : — 
 
 " . . . It is a mercv indeed that we are held in that stronrr 
 Hand, and are not floating as a loose end. That which is 
 purposed will be accomplished, and the righteous kingdom 
 will be set up upon the earth, and the elect people will 
 bear rule. It tvill be all right at last, and no one will 
 have to complain, and you and I will rejoice together and 
 praise the Lord. 
 
 " The littcrness is oioiv, that with all our great advan- 
 tages, all the honours that have been heaped upon us as
 
 2 12 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 a nation, and with all our opportunities to be good and 
 to do good, that we are what we are. I think the Lord 
 must he so disappointed in us. He may say to us as 
 He said to the Jews, ' What more could I have done for 
 you than I have done ? ' As a country we cannot fast 
 for our sins ; we have no heart for that, no belief in the 
 good of it ; but we might fast apart, as Daniel did, and 
 confess the sins of our nation as well as our own." 
 
 " "When I gave thanks to God for all 
 His priceless gifts to me, 
 Believe me then, among the chief 
 I give Him thanks for Thee.' 
 
 " Thy dear little note on my birthday fed that always 
 hungry place, my heart ! I do not know what I should 
 do without love, it suits my constitution entirely ; I think 
 as we grow old, we do not value it less, but we expect 
 it less, and it always conies with a glad surprise. . . . 
 Through the exceeding kindness of my God, much love 
 still comes to me, in each case, as in yours, giving to my 
 old heart a fresh glow of happiness. 
 
 " Oh ! wliat a home that will be, where all the brothers 
 and sisters meet together, knowing, loving, and appreciat- 
 ing each other; each in its separate, sanctified indivi- 
 duality, each filling its prepared place — all satisfied! I 
 shall live to see thee shine, blessed friend, and to see the 
 troops that will come to greet thee as benefactor." 
 
 " How strange it is that so few know how to be merry 
 and wise. That is to come in its full extent, and oh 
 how much more ! I think unspeakable adoration is the 
 feeling I care to have most largely increased — the capa- 
 city for it here is so limited, and the desire for it so 
 great. We shall be satisfied there — no more hunger and 
 thirst, and that for ever and ever. It seems to me 
 easier to think of eternity, than to think of an end — 
 both are beyond my present powers. 
 
 " I have been thinking a good deal lately about Chris- 
 tian discipline, and how wonderfully the Blessed Lord
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON AND OTHERS. 21 
 
 o 
 
 can altc7' afflictions without removinf^ them. To outsiders 
 they will look just the same — very bad; but if His dear 
 Hand has touched them, all the sting and heavy ache 
 has gone out of them, and He gives perhaps the ' mani- 
 fold more in this present life ' to more than compensate 
 for all He must take away. What a pity it is we do not 
 believe more fully in the ' hundredfold more ' which in 
 His generous tenderness He is willing to give ! What a 
 pity that all the gloomy talk is about taking up the 
 cross ! "
 
 ( 214 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 
 
 " What little help I have been able to give to others, my fellow-pilgrims. 
 has, lam sure, been given largely, vinder God, by means of an old 
 inveterate habit I have of looking on the sunny side of things. I am 
 to-day mote convinced than ever that it is the true side, altliough for 
 a season, if need be, we are in heaviness." — De. Kaleigh. 
 
 The new liome at Old Catton gave abundant scope 
 for the new inmates' love of improving. The place 
 they made so pleasant looked dreary and common- 
 place enough when they first arrived, in September 
 1867 j ^iicl the change from the lovely surrouudings 
 of Bath to Norfolk lanes shut in between hioh 
 banks and stiff hedges, made a sad difference in the 
 pleasure of afternoon drives. Many of the streets 
 in Norwich are paved with little round pebbles set 
 on end ; this gave great offence to the pony who 
 came with the family from Bath. AVhen he found 
 out that there were two ways to a place, b}- one of 
 which the pebbles could be avoided, he flatly re- 
 fused to cross them : neither coaximi^ nor scoldino- 
 would move him ; his mistress must go round the 
 other way. But the objects of interest around were 
 many. Besides Clare House and its inmates, there
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 215 
 
 were at first two homes at Buxton, about seven 
 miles off, that of ]\Ir. John Wiiirht and the sister 
 who had lived with liim since the death of his 
 beloved wife in 1861, and close beside it, the home 
 of Mrs. Sewell's two other unmarried sisters — a 
 place where she loved to go for perfect rest. 
 
 Some preparation had already been made for 
 beautifying her own home, A rather low wall had 
 divided its g;arden from the next-door neio;hbour's. 
 On this a high lattice-work was put up, and 
 creepers planted to train over it, which formed by 
 degrees a beautiful leafy screen. A broad, sloping 
 bed under the wall was given up to wild tilings 
 transplanted from the hvnes and hedgerows, making 
 
 the "exquisite embroidery" of which Mrs. F. 
 
 speaks. There, in time, grew flowers of all seasons 
 — primroses, wood-sorrel, speedwell, wild geranium, 
 lilies of the valley, and climbing things full of 
 blossom in spring and berries in autumn. A little 
 lawn rose steeply in front of the paved verandah 
 outside the French window of the dinino;-room : on 
 its brow, a straight, level walk, running the length 
 of the garden, supplied the requirements of com- 
 position. Two large beech-trees flung their shadows 
 down the slope, and beside every root and stump, 
 little wild-flowers — speedwell and wild geranium — 
 came to bloom. A thick hedire cut off the farther 
 part of the garden, previously given over to vege- 
 tables. Mrs. Sewell had these exchano;ed for a second 
 little lawn and flower-beds, and against the wall, her 
 summer-parlour — a large greenhouse, without arti-
 
 2i6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 ficial liGcat, but making a shelter open to liglit and 
 simshine wliere she hoped that Anna would spend 
 many an hour. 
 
 The drawing-room was over the dining-room, each 
 taking the whole width of that part of the house, 
 with an outlook behind over the garden and the 
 fields beyond it to the village church and trees — 
 in front, across the highroad to a grove of beech - 
 trees in Mr. Buxton's park, where deer would come 
 to lie in the cool shade. The roof of the verandah 
 made a balcony outside the large back window 
 of the drawing-room ; there Mrs. Sewell trained 
 flowers and creepers in boxes to make an upstairs 
 garden for Anna when she was unable to leave that 
 floor. A tempting lump of mutton-suet hung, 
 enclosed in a piece of net, for the special benefit of 
 the tom-tits who were constantly to be seen hover- 
 ing about, and pecking at the dainty morsel, in no 
 danger of being trapped, or frightened from their 
 meal. The room itself had an old-w^orld look, a 
 low, subdued harmony of colour, and a scent of 
 pot-pourri, in keeping with the quaint speech, the 
 silver hair, and antique, old-world courtliness of the 
 lord and lady of the home. An exquisite percep- 
 tion of the efi"ect of colour was seen in every part 
 of the house — or rather, felt : all was too simple 
 and harmonious to have any striking efi"ect. The 
 paper on the walls was of the quietest tone — no 
 showy patterns, no one piece of grand furniture to 
 spoil the look of the rest, but plants at the windows, 
 iiml flowers in vases arranojed lio^htlv, never in solid
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 217 
 
 clumps ; at meals, no profusion of dislies, but 
 simple delicacies daintily served. 
 
 It has always seemed to me that tliere is a 
 peculiar charm in visiting at the houses of Friends, 
 arising partly, perhaps, from the delightful absence 
 of all pretension and fuss-making. If ropes and 
 pulleys have been necessarily set to work in pre- 
 paration for a visitor, refined feeling keeps them 
 out of sight. For the time being, you are permitted 
 in the most natural way to blend your life with 
 theirs. Friends who are not in a position to give 
 great entertainments, or exercise large hospitalities, 
 will yet allow themselves to have much enjoyment 
 in entertaining, in their own simple way, those 
 whom they love and esteem, or to whom they feel 
 a short sojourn in their house may be helpful. 
 This was quite the custom at the white house in 
 Old Catton, and all who went there cherished the 
 memory of its graceful, heartfelt hospitalities. The 
 door of the little bedroom, carefully prepared, stood 
 open as if to welcome you. The room would have 
 looked almost too white and clean, but for flowers 
 and books placed exactly in the right position, to 
 relieve the effect. An atmosphere of thoughtful 
 love pervaded all, for you could scarcely be con- 
 scious of a w\ant without finding, on looking round, 
 that it had been anticipated. Whatever business 
 Mrs. Sewell had on hand was held second to the 
 pleasure of a guest. Her frequent visitors, and the 
 amount of life, social and individual, which claimed 
 her interest at Norwich, hindered the Muse : —
 
 2iS LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 possibly did her fame tlie service of preventing 
 her writing as much as before in quantity, when 
 decliuini]^ vio-our called for hoarding? and accumula- 
 tion of force, in order to keep up the old standard 
 of quality. 
 
 From the time of o-oimx to Catton until her sou's 
 second marriage in 1870 (an event recorded with 
 great comfort and thankfulness), Mrs. Sewell took 
 up the oversight of her grandchildren with a graver 
 sense of anxious responsibility than she had felt 
 with her own children. They were a joy to her at 
 all times ; but as one by one they safely passed the 
 critical period of development from childhood into 
 youth, she seemed to draw breath, and give herself 
 up to enjoy them and admire their exploits, with 
 no conscientious scruples and fears of spoiling them. 
 Charming though she had been as a playfellow, 
 they said, " It was as we grew older, and found 
 out what a delightful friend she could be, that 
 we really canie to know her." It has been left to 
 another — one of her very dear young friends — to 
 describe this rare sympathy of hers with youth. 
 
 "My deak Mrs. Bayly, — You ask me to send von 
 some of my recollections and impressions of dear Mrs. 
 Sewell. To describe her would be quite beyond the power 
 of any words of mine, or indeed, I think, beyond the 
 ])0wer of words at all. But to have known lier so inti- 
 mately, — to have enjoyed her love and friendship — to have 
 been the subject of her interest and her ready, wise advice, 
 I shall always reckon as among the highest jjrivileges of 
 my life. 
 
 " 1 think one of her greatest charms was her wonderful
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 219 
 
 power of sympathy. Not only could she throw herself 
 completely into the interests of others, but she seemed 
 actually to retain all the feelings of every age, all through 
 her life ; and this it must liave been which made her such 
 a perfect companion to the child — the young girl — the 
 middle-aged woman — or to the friend whose years more 
 nearly numbered her own. I often used to say of her, 
 tliat though she was our oldest friend, she was in reality 
 the youngest. She had never forgotten what it was, and 
 how it felt, to be young. I well remember how delighted 
 I was when, about the time of my leaving school, I first 
 began to know her, and found in her a friend who could 
 view things from my standpoint, and wdio understood all 
 about me, and standing, as it were, on the same level with 
 me, seemed to take me by the hand, and point me up- 
 ward, not in any way as if she, at some unattainable dis- 
 tance of perfection, beckoned me to follow her up there. 
 Her whole soul was thrown, for the time, into my youth- 
 ful interests — my studies, pursuits, and pleasures ; and as 
 we roamed together over the moors, I felt what a wonder- 
 ful new friend I had in my mother's old friend. It had 
 not even the appearance of condescension ; it was reality 
 of interest. The same thing struck me whenever I was 
 with her. Whatever interested me was sure to interest 
 her, and I came at last to consider whether any topic was 
 really worthy of her thought, before I claimed her atten- 
 tion — for it was sure to be carefully weighed and considered 
 over. How often I have been surprised to hear her 
 say, ' I have been thinking about what you were telling 
 me last night ; ' and then would follow the result of her 
 meditations — perhaps in the form of loving encouragement 
 and approval, or perhaps kindly administered criticism. 
 But it was the thought that she, so much older, so im- 
 measurably superior, should consider anything that I 
 said of sufficient importance to 'think about' afterwards, 
 that gave such a thrill of pleasure and surprise. I recol- 
 lect that during my last visit to her in the summer of 
 1882, we were walking together one lovely morning in 
 her pretty garden. I was telling her about my Sunday- 
 school work, and she had been giving me some of her
 
 220 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 experience as to the best way of conveying religious 
 instruction to the young — advice which I felt was so 
 valuable that I afterwards noted down all I could re- 
 member. The next day, after spending some hours in her 
 room, she came downstairs with several sheets of close 
 writing in her hand. She had actually taken the trouble 
 to write out for me her thoughts and experience in reli- 
 gious education. I have the precious papers now, and shall 
 ever value them, not only for the tlioughts they contain, 
 but as a proof of that generous love which so gladly spent 
 itself, even in old age and declining strength, for the 
 benefit of the young and inexperienced. 
 
 " Closely allied with this wonderful instinct of sympathy, 
 and perhaps springing from it, was her power of entering 
 into detail. Nothing was small or trivial with her. If 
 worth doin" or thinkino; about at all, it was worth her 
 whole thought and application, 
 
 " I have heard my mother tell how once when she 
 was staying at Old Catton, before Miss Sewell's death, a 
 favourite servant was going to be married, and was making 
 a patchwork quilt for her new home. The arrangement 
 of the colours in that quilt was a matter to which the 
 closest attention of both Mrs. Sewell and her daughter 
 was given. It was made quite a study. The quilt was 
 brought in and spread upon the floor; the effect of one 
 colour tried, and then another, till, after much consulta- 
 tion, a harmonious arrangement was at last arrived at, 
 and the maiden despatched to work out the design of her 
 mistresses. 
 
 " It seemed to me that Perfection in everything was what 
 she aimed at — and the arrangement of her flowers, the man- 
 agement of her house, and the composition of her verses 
 ail came under the same law, and were but different mani- 
 festations of that Order which ])ervaded and regulated licr 
 well-balanced mind and perfectly arranged life. 
 
 "With all her wisdom and experience, I never saw any 
 one so entirely humble — so perfectly natural — so artlessly 
 simple. One evening we had been reading together an 
 article which had just appeared in one of the magazines, and 
 which had greatly pleased her, on the condition of the soul
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 221 
 
 just after death ; and naturally our talk was of dear ones 
 passed away. She told me she quite believed that heaven 
 was not far off, that we were encompassed by the minis- 
 tering spirits of those gone before, and that if our eyes 
 were but opened, we should see our friends about us. ' I 
 quite believe that ray darling is often near me,' she said 
 — referrinfj to the daugliter who had been the light of her 
 eyes and the joy of her heart ; ' but,' she added, with 
 characteristic simplicity, ' I should be frightened, you 
 know, if I saw her,' 
 
 " I have spoken of Perfection as her aim. And to me 
 she seemed of all people I ever knew to be the most nearly 
 perfect, and yet withal 
 
 ' Not too bright or good 
 For liuman nature's daily food.' 
 
 It was pre-eminently in the little things of life, the small 
 everyday troubles and difficulties and pleasures, that the 
 thought would occur, ' Oh ! if I could only tell Mrs. Sewell 
 this ! ' ' How I wish I could ask her about that ! ' 'I 
 wonder what she would advise ? ' 'I must remember this 
 next time I see her.' And so she is an everyday loss ; and 
 while we feel the world is poorer since she has been taken, 
 we still feel ourselves the richer for having known her and 
 claimed her as a friend. — Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 M. J. E." 
 
 A few letters can be identified as belonging to 
 
 this period. 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 ' ' Old Catton. 
 
 " I do not think we shall find any one here like you 
 
 and yours ; . . . a friendship distinct from the love of 
 
 relatives — something that you have gained by peculiar 
 
 affinity, and hold by a tie not touched by instmct. We 
 
 have a great many calling friends of my brother and 
 
 sisters, and of my son — not those who have sought us for 
 
 ourselves, as you did." 
 
 " Affinities " very near and close were by-and-by
 
 222 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 discovered witli neighbours ricli and poor, and if 
 the claims of a large circle of acquaintance took 
 up time, they brought new openings for usefulness. 
 In a memorandum of hints for her own guidance, 
 Mrs. Sewell writes : — 
 
 " For my own soul, to strive after deeper spirituality — 
 more definite prayer. 
 
 " To seek to maintain a more abiding sense of the short- 
 ness of my time liere, that I may not lose opportunities of 
 giving help in any way that may come before me, espe- 
 cially by way of encouragement. 
 
 " To be more in the habit of working during lomi calls." 
 
 To a Friend under Perplexing Trials. 
 
 " iS6S. 
 
 " I was quite heavy-hearted about you all j^esterday, 
 but I could not find time to write. I have no time — no 
 leisure time ; engagements are unremitting. . . . "When I 
 want to comfort myself about you in this painful business, 
 I try and look forward to the great day of revelation, when 
 all the threads of this intricate plan of our Heavenly 
 Father's shall have worked themselves out into a beautiful 
 and perfect result — when we shall rejoice together and 
 admire over it, and think how much excellence we should 
 have spoiled had we been allowed to have our own will 
 and way unchecked. But oh ! dear friend, my heart is a 
 poor sojourner in the region of faith when my friends 
 are in the region of care, sickness, or disappointment. I 
 flet down into the dust with them and fret." 
 
 These words recall a summer mornino- at Old 
 Catton, when a young friend, bearing her portion 
 of the ills of life, had forgotten them under the 
 spell of that sunny garden and the sweet company 
 in it, when suddenly dear Mrs. Sewell's hand was 
 laid on her arm, wdth the words, so plaintively
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 223 
 
 spoken, " I'm such a dunce, I can't reconcile myself 
 to all your troubles. You have to give up so many 
 thino^s ! " 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 "Jvly 7, 1 868. 
 
 " I can only say what yon know so well, that there is 
 but one Deliverer, — and He docs deliver ; but He desires 
 to make His deliverances purifications also ; — and there is 
 the difficulty. He thinks most of the purification, and ive 
 think most of the deliverance ; and so we are often detained 
 in a lengthened captivity, till our hearts are broken, and 
 our eyes opened. ... I do not expect that you and I will 
 get out of the fining-pot till we have put off our old rags 
 and put on our white robes : — that will be a deliverance ! 
 Take heart, dear friend, be of good courage, and God will 
 strengthen your heart. He can make a way when we 
 see no way. He can speak peace when the storm rages, 
 and make ' worm Jacob ' as a sharp threshing instrument 
 havincT teeth — what a wondrous change ! I often feel 
 like that poor worm, with no ability to go upright, always 
 slipping and seeking to be down ujdou the earth again. 
 But He is able to make us stand, even fight, and attain 
 the victory. . . . What we want is a full realisation of 
 our privileges, to make us strong, and joyful, and holy, 
 and usef id, and peaceful" 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 (Probably December 1868.) 
 
 " As I look out upon our little patch of snow, I think of 
 the white raiment on the hills round Bath, and the hoar-frost 
 on the trees, and your eyes, my dear friend, resting upon 
 them with ever-new delight. It is very good to have seen 
 beauty ; the remembrance is a portion of your riches that 
 in imagination you can look back upon again and again, 
 and thrice blessed for you if you do so without drawing 
 disparaging contrasts. I find myself at it sometimes, but 
 I chide myself for it, and think how much better it is to
 
 2 24 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 have the sky and sun blocked out by trees than by a 
 wall, like so many thousands of our fellow-creatures." 
 
 To a Friend wlio had lost a Daughter. 
 
 " 1S69. 
 
 "... I well remember the impression left on me by her 
 last visit to us ; — it was the unusual harmony and sweet 
 balance of her character. . . . There was something espe- 
 cially beautiful in her youthful maturity and wise sim- 
 plicity, and in the cheerful hopefulness which spoke in 
 lier voice and beamed in her face. She could bear patiently 
 to watch and wait by the side of many a frost-bound 
 lieart, because she believed that a spring would come 
 when the winter would be over and gone. 
 
 " Dear child ! how blessed it is to think of a life so 
 spent and so ended ! But oh ! dear friend, I know that 
 your own heart must be sorely wounded and aching with 
 the great gap she has left : she has taken away so much joy 
 with her, so much help, so much comfort and dependence, 
 and the home must seem very naked without her ; — but I 
 know there is One who M'ill not forget you in this time of 
 casting down — it is His old way of refining His children 
 for the unspeakable joy. 
 
 " I cannot write more in the way of consolation ; that 
 must come from the God of all comfort. We poor pil- 
 grims can but weep with one another, and say, ' Cheer up ; 
 be of good courage.' He has housed one of thy lambs 
 with His spotless flock ; He has taken one of thy lilies 
 out of thy garden for His own. He is coming shortly to 
 take us all to dwell with Him. Let us forget our sorrow 
 and finish our work, and sing a little praise by the way, 
 and be ready to meet Him. — Your faithful, loving friend, 
 
 " Mary Sewell." 
 
 Tlie next letter was probably written in the later 
 part of tlie summer of 1870, as the "summer j^ar- 
 lour" was finished just before Anna's increased ill- 
 ness prevented her availing herself of the sunny 
 shelter so eagerly and hopefully prcjiared for her.
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 225 
 
 " Mothers' Meetings have been on my mind for many 
 months. At first I thought I would write fragments 
 which could be used by an unpractised conductor (of 
 which I suppose there are many), for I think I have an 
 intuition of what they should be — or do. But I gave 
 that up, finding my time was too fully occupied to permit 
 of my writing to any purpose ; but having now a beautiful 
 little summer parlour in the garden, I decided to invite 
 the women belonging to our Mothers' Meeting, in little 
 parties of about three or four every week, to come and 
 have tea with me there, to walk and enjoy themselves in 
 the garden, and to talk with me freely on subjects not 
 generally admitted into the meetings. Thus you see I am 
 full of interest about mothers, and am prepared to welcome 
 all that you or any one else can do for them." 
 
 These little " Garden-Parties " j^i'oved a source 
 of great interest to my dear friend. After one 
 of these " receptions," she was later than usual 
 in coming downstairs. When she appeared, we 
 anxiously inquired how she bad passed the night. 
 " Well," she said, " there was nothing the matter ; 
 but I was rather wakeful, and slept less than usual 
 — the fact is, I was so much interested in what 
 those women talked to me about last evening, I kept 
 on thinking it over and over, and it brought many 
 things to my mind. I have enjoyed my night 
 very much." 
 
 Carlyle records in his journal that he dined out 
 one evening, and met twelve or fourteen distin- 
 guished people, including members of the Royal 
 family, celebrated literary characters, &c., &c. The 
 only comment he made on the event was — " Hor- 
 ribly dull evening."
 
 226 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 The letters that follow are addressed to Mrs. 
 Brio;htwen, a friend who was accustomed to have 
 little parties of a kindred nature, but for girls 
 instead of mothers. 
 
 To Ilrs. Brightwen. 
 
 " I canuot tell you how much I rejoice that God has 
 given you such a large heart, and such large opportunities 
 — that you have the skill and the will to sow pleasant and 
 good seed into the minds of the present generation, and 
 to give to a little piece of earth some reseniLlance to the 
 good land that is to be. Wc are what our forefathers 
 have made us, and those who succeed us will he the heirs 
 of our works, and our example. Does not this thouglit 
 give a vast importance and dignity to life ? 
 
 " I wish I could be present at one of your Conver- 
 saziones. I should dearly like to he in the place of one 
 of your girls — moulding clay — looking through the micro- 
 scope, &c., &c. What a world of interest you will give 
 them, and how many open doors you will set hefore 
 them ! " 
 
 To the Same, 
 
 "... Your letter called forth both praise and sym- 
 pathy. It touched on many subjects it would have been 
 a pleasure to have spoken to you upon ; but little duties 
 eat up pleasures, unless tlie duties become pleasures, which 
 indeed they should be." 
 
 The years 1 870-1 877 are the only ones of which 
 any kind of journal has been preserved. Less than 
 fourteen pages of an olJ, haggard-looking account- 
 book contain all the events thought worthy of 
 record, noted in Anna's hand : — many deaths : the 
 family tree had come to the stage when leaves 
 fall off. Through 1870 the entries are rather
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 227 
 
 numerous, and give the idea of much activity — 
 care of schools undertaken, visits to friends aud 
 to the seaside, and many individual cases carefully 
 watched. A few entries occasionally may give an 
 idea of the family life. 
 
 "January 1870. — At Old Catton. Father is in his 
 seventy-seventh year, well and active. Mother in her 
 seventy-third year, very well and wonderfully active and 
 competent. I in my fiftieth year, as well as usual. 
 
 'April 8. — Mother is now engaged in getting signa- 
 tures to Miss Preusser's Memorial to the Poor Law Board 
 about pauper children. 
 
 ''October 28. — Metz capitulated, 173,000 troops laid 
 down their arms with Marshal Bazaine." 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 "August 8. 
 
 " I daresay you find these delightful summer days only 
 too short. I almost grudge every one that goes by, 
 whispering ' Sliorter, shorter.' We have had a very happy 
 time. I think we have done little but be happy. It 
 seems just now especially the will of our kind Father 
 that it should be so. He delights to bless with rest and 
 peace as well as with affliction ; we are too apt to think 
 the latter His normal state of mind towards us. We 
 have allowed ourselves to enjoy the sunshine all day long, 
 and no harm of any kind has come near us." 
 
 " We have done little but be happy." No one 
 who felt as my dear friend did could write that of 
 more than a short period of time ; but in looking 
 over this slight record of her eighty-seven years, 
 one feels that, as a whole, it is emphatically the 
 story of a happy life. She suffered anguish on 
 behalf of others as well as herself, but when plea-
 
 2 28 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 sure came, she could eujoy it, as she says of 
 children, " to the tip-top of her nature." Her 
 great delight in simple pleasures made springs of 
 joy abound for her, and she drauk to the full, 
 with never a prick of conscience that it could 
 be unlawful to rejoice. She would entirely have 
 nocreed with the words of one of her friends at 
 Bath — " As long as I am in this life, I mean to 
 take some interest in it. For what reason is it 
 made interesting to us if we are not to enjoy it? 
 When I have a visitor to whom I try to make 
 thin^-s pleasant, I like him to be pleased ; and 
 whilst I am upon God's earth — ' Day unto day 
 uttering speech ' — I shall be a pleased listener : 
 a pleased listener to the pleasant speech of my 
 friends, the fields, the firmament, and also to the 
 footfall of messengers who will some day take 
 me away." 
 
 The letter above quoted bears no date of year. 
 It is inserted here because the sunny summer of 
 1870 was the last happy time when the mother 
 and dauirhter can have been out in the sunshine 
 together. Towards the end of that same year, 
 the shadow of death be2:an to steal over the white 
 house, and was never wholly lifted again till the 
 last of the household had passed where shadows 
 flee away. First, in November, comes allusion 
 to attacks of faintness and giddiness which the 
 doctor thought might be the precursor of " some- 
 thing serious " to Mr. Sewell. In March i, 1871, 
 the worels, *' I have not been well. Dr. R. thinks
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 229 
 
 it is a troublesome case," indicate the beo^innino^ of 
 Anna's mortal illness. Henceforward the mother's 
 care and tliought were centred in her : the history 
 of the next eight years must be given in a chapter 
 devoted to her ; but a few other events which mark 
 that period must be mentioned here. 
 
 In June 1871 Mrs. Sewell lost her dear brother, 
 Mr. John Wright. From that time her three 
 sisters lived together, in their pretty house in the 
 park at Buxton. 
 
 One consequence of this event to ]\Irs. Sewell 
 was that she acquired a closer tie with an institu- 
 tion which from the time of its commencement 
 was a i;^reat source of interest to her and most of 
 the members of her family — I refer to the Keforma- 
 tory for Juvenile Offenders established at Buxton 
 in the year 1852. 
 
 In September 1852 Mr. John "Wright addressed 
 a letter to the mao-istrates of Norfolk, calliuo^ their 
 attention to the great success which had attended 
 efforts made on behalf of youthful culprits else- 
 where, and asking- if some similar institution could 
 not be established for the county of Norfolk. 
 
 This letter led to a meetino- beinor called on the 
 2 1 at December 1852, when it was agreed — 
 
 " That an establishment should be formed for the maiii- 
 tenauce and religious and industrial training of forty lads 
 under the age of twenty. 
 
 Sir Edward Buxtox, President. 
 
 John H. Gurnet, Treasurer. 
 
 George Kitt, ) . .■ n -^i 
 -r -,-,7 ' > Actinq Lomvuttee. 
 
 John Wright, J -^
 
 230 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 "■ Tiesolved — That it was desirable to induce liabits of in- 
 dustry, including the cultivation of land. The Committee 
 were requested to look out for suitable buildings in an 
 eligible situation in the county, where a sufficient quan- 
 tity of land could be hired." 
 
 From the time of its commencement the Reforma- 
 tory was under the wise and fostering care of Mr. 
 John Wright, who in this work was ably assisted 
 by his excellent wife — the sister-in-law so highly 
 nppreciated by Mrs. Sewell. This remarkable and 
 gifted lady had an exceeding love for young people, 
 and possessed in perfection the rare talent, essential 
 to success as a teacher, of being able to inspire her 
 pupils with enthusiasm for whatever she brought 
 before their attention. Fortunately, premises were 
 secured within a short distance of Mr. Wrio;lit's 
 house at Buxton, so that Mrs. Wright's visits could 
 be very frequent. Her favourite lesson-books were 
 the Bible and Nature — she tauo^ht the lads to 
 observe, and how to examine natural objects in 
 all their detail. This opened up to them a new 
 world of interest, and succeeded even beyond her 
 expectations in diverting their thoughts from their 
 old miserable lives, and helping them to realise the 
 goodness of God, and that life, after all, might be 
 worth haviuQ- and be turned into somethino; beau- 
 tiful. Any one acquainted with her books, " The 
 Observing Eye" and "What is a Bird?" will 
 readily imagine what a teacher she must have 
 been. 
 
 The institution could not have prospered as it
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 2u 
 
 
 
 did without the common-sense and excellent man- 
 agement of her husband, which extended to every 
 detail. His position, too, as county magistrate 
 gave him many advantages ; but her nephew 
 writes : — " You could see my Aunt's touch in 
 everything, especially in the early Reformatory 
 documents, which speak so hopefully of the lads 
 to be reformed." This perfect union of manage- 
 ment, as might be expected, made the institution 
 a mighty healing power. The "dear sisters at 
 Buxton " often referred to in Mrs. Se well's letters, 
 took the warmest interest in everything connected 
 with it, and in many ways rendered it valuable 
 assistance. Their nephew writes in 1888 : — 
 
 " My Aunt Elizabeth, my mother's next sister, now over 
 ninety years of age, took a very active part in the house- 
 liolJ arrangements, especially looking after the clothing 
 and other things connected with the comfort of the in- 
 mates. Her good sense and unfailing Christian spirit 
 were invaluable. Though now blind and bedridden, her 
 interest is unabated, and only 3'e.sterday we had a long 
 talk by her bedside over Reformatory matters." 
 
 After the death of Mr. John Wrig-ht, the care of 
 the Reformatory devolved on Mr. Philip Sewell, in 
 connection with Mr. Wicks of Aylsham, who, how- 
 ever, died within a few years. In a letter I re- 
 ceived from Mrs. Sewell, she writes : — 
 
 " Philip has taken the management of the Eeformatory 
 which was begun by my dear brother. There are between 
 forty and fifty lads there, and tliey almost all turn out 
 creditably, and many have become real Christian men. 
 The Reformatory is most fortunate in its resident master,
 
 232 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 described by a cousin of mine as being like 'a Martello- 
 tower in the sunshine' — immense bodily strength and 
 courage, a veritable Christian, with a heart as tender as 
 a mother's. The boys love, fear, and universally respect 
 him. They have forty acres of land, which they cultivate 
 — pigs to tend and fatten, &c. Often a band of them 
 are applied for by the neighbouring farmers, when they 
 cannot get sufficient hands. I think they also learn 
 tailorimj and shoeniaking, as well as get a good general 
 education. Philip goes over every week, on what is called 
 the ' Court day,' when all the household are gathered 
 together, and everything looked into — the Governors' 
 hands are strengthened, their spirits cheered, and the 
 boys are sure they have a watchful, helpful friend." 
 
 Tills " going over every week" w^as not always 
 the easiest thinoj in tlie world. Buxton is about 
 ten miles from Norwich, and a good part of the 
 road (so called) is througli narrow country lanes. 
 Mr. Sewell could not set out for the journey until 
 after his return from the Bank, so that iu the 
 shorter days, both going and returning had to be 
 accomplished in the dark. 
 
 The story of the Beformatory would be incom- 
 plete without the mention of " Bessie," the faithful 
 horse who for long years has not failed to take her 
 master there and back in safety. She is a splendid 
 creature, holding rank with the fastest trotters in 
 the county, with any amount of go, courage, and 
 spirit in her ; yet when, in the fading light of the 
 short winter afternoon, she is brought to the door, 
 and the master takes her reins in his hands, then, 
 as if she divined the responsibility of her task, she 
 seems to be made up of caution and care. How
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 233 
 
 in the pitch darkness and narrow lanes, where 
 guiding must be impossible, she manages never 
 to let a wheel get entangled, is only known to 
 Him who asks, " Hast thou given the horse his 
 mio;ht ? " 
 
 I think it must have been about two winters be- 
 fore Mrs. Sewell's death that we had a visitation 
 of remarkably cold weather, the snow lying thickly 
 on the ground for some weeks. AVe were anxious to 
 know how it affected the health of our dear friend, 
 and I wrote to inquire. In reply, she writes : — 
 
 "... I am quite well, and with the thaw I find the 
 capacity to guide my pen (not to make intelligible writing, 
 as you know to your cost), but to do the best I can. I 
 think the cold must have been as severe here as anywhere 
 — some degrees below zero. Our house is a very cold one, 
 so many windows and doors. If it had not been for ' our 
 shawl,' in which I wrapped myself all the day, I think 
 the low life must have gone out. I have kept in the din- 
 ing-room, with shutters closed and curtains drawn in two 
 out of the three windows, living in a kind of twilight, and 
 we have now a large screen stretched more than half-way 
 across the room ; so you see, beloved, the kind providence 
 of God enables a poor old thing like me to be spared, 
 whilst so many lives more valuable are nipped off. I 
 hope I may make the best of what is spared me. 
 
 "Philip has been to Buxton twice — he was much 
 wanted at the Eeformatory, and mounted his horse (the 
 one you said seemed to have the spirit of the family) — 
 he knew the road was blocked with snow, so that no 
 wheels could pass, but he determined to get there in 
 some way. He called on me as he passed, to assure me he 
 would not go further than he could. You know well how 
 I charged him, and how I kept praying while he was 
 away. At a little before seven o'clock he called on his 
 return, detailing his adventures in high spirits. In some
 
 234 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 parts a way had been cut through the snow-drifts just 
 wide enough for liim to pass, his knees frequently touch- 
 ing the sides, and the snow higher than the horse's back ; 
 when the wav failed altofrether, he went into the fields on 
 either side, and with his cheerful perseverance, in which 
 his horse entirely participated, he overcame all difficulties. 
 The last time he went was in a sledge — he accomplished 
 ten and a half miles in fifty-two minutes, Betsey delighted 
 and excited by the bells and the lightness of the burden 
 she drew." 
 
 As far as I can remember, this "calling^ on me 
 as lie passed " happened on most Monday after- 
 noons — a mutual pleasure. 
 
 It was always more difficult on Monday evening 
 to get the mother's undivided attention to any- 
 thing. Soon after nine o'clock we gave up all 
 attempt at makiug ourselves interesting, aud 
 caught the infection of listening. Shortly before 
 ten o'clock, the welcome sound of distant wheels 
 would be heard, and Bessie's well-known step. As 
 the carriage flew by, a loud "Good-night" pene- 
 trated the walls of our room, to which we heartily 
 responded ; and when the dear mother had said 
 " Thank God he is back safe again," we returned 
 to our normal condition. 
 
 As years went by, and the dear heart of sympathy 
 no lons^er beat wdthin that house — when all that 
 had made it precious had gone up higher — still, on 
 the same day and hour the same carriage hastens 
 past, bringing back the father of the large family 
 left behind. Bessie must have wondered at first
 
 LIFE AT OLD C ATT ON. 235 
 
 wlij tlie loud " Good-niglit " was left out of the 
 i^roo-ramme, aud the kind neio-hbours who under- 
 stood it all so well would miss something they had 
 loved to hear. And the bereaved son ? — he knows 
 that the sympathy is still his — only it now de- 
 scends upon him from the home beyond the stars, 
 and the answer to the old greeting would be — 
 
 " Sav not Good-niirht ; but in some bri':5hter clime 
 Bid me Good-morning." 
 
 "When all hope of Anna's being able to drive 
 about again was finally renounced, the pony and 
 carriage were sent to the Eeformatory for the use 
 of the master and his wife. It was against Mrs. 
 Sew^ell's mind to keep any good thing which she 
 could not thoroughly use. She could go out but 
 seldom, and when she did, some one from Clare 
 House was always ready to drive her. Mr. Sewell 
 became increasingly feeble, but the house w^as never 
 dull. " I could not bear for the dear girls to think 
 of grandmother's house as a gloomy place," Mrs. 
 Sew^ell wrote. To those who know the severe and 
 distressing character of Anna's malady, and the 
 recjuirements of nursing, the list of hospitalities 
 and outside work recorded in this year's journal is 
 astonishing. Here are a few instances : — 
 
 " August 9. — Mrs. Eiches' class of thirty girls came 
 to tea, 
 
 " Sc23t. I. — We gave a tea and frolic to thirty-four 
 children, Miss H.'s Band of Hope, G, and E. helped. 
 
 "Sept. 13. — Mother's Sun Lane Infants (50) had tea 
 and play. A. and A. helped famously.
 
 2-x6 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 ■J 
 
 "Nov. 6. — Mother's Sun Lane School was inspected bv 
 Mr. S. The week previous she went every day, and since 
 tlien Goes one dav each week, takin^r her dinner at Mrs. 
 
 A 's. She is trying a new plan of teaching to read 
 
 without spelling, but making words with loose letters. She 
 
 is also making clothes for the fi 's. Little Caroline E. 
 
 comes three days a week. Mother gives her two lessons 
 a day. 
 
 "Nov. II. — Mother also began a class for the girls of 
 j\Iiss H.'s Band of Hope on Saturday mornings every 
 otlier week, 
 
 "Jan. I, 1872. — Mother went, with our children, to St. 
 Faith's Union, and gave toys and presents. 
 
 " Jan. 23. — Jonathan Grubb came. 
 
 " Jan. 26. — I am quite poorly with pain." 
 
 "Quite poorly" seems the strongest expression 
 of sufFerino; that Aima ever allowed herself to use. 
 When the gravity of lier illness was first ascer- 
 tained, the doctors Lad given her a year and a half 
 to live, but disease did not make the progress 
 anticipated. This year is marked by the death of 
 friends — amono; them Mr. and Mrs. Ellis, who died 
 within a week of each other. The year closes with 
 " I am poorly ; " but in the following autumn there 
 was marked improvement for a time. On October 
 1st the journal says : — 
 
 " Social Science Congress. Mother and aunts went 
 throngh the whole week. I am very well." 
 
 A later entry says, "I keep good nights." In 
 this breathiing-space, " Davie Blake " was WTitteu. 
 
 Every other year there is an entry of clothing 
 given away to from sixty-five to eighty poor
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 237 
 
 uiJows — every widow iu New Cattou who wa^ 
 over sixty, and mauy younger ones. The arrange- 
 ment of this little charity was very characteristic 
 of the way in which Mrs. Sewell ' considered the 
 poor.' She said she could not afford to give a good 
 i:)resent to so many every year, and it w^as better to 
 give something good on alternate years, than to 
 reduce the value of the gift. Each present was to 
 be worth four shillings, and in order to make it as 
 useful as possible, the Bible-woman was sent round 
 to offer each widow her choice whether she would 
 have the money's worth in linsey for a gown, un- 
 bleached calico, or flannel : sometimes shawls were 
 ofi'ered too. As years went on, the gradual reduc- 
 tion in the price of clothing made this present an 
 increasing pleasure to the giver. A friend who 
 happened to be staying w^ith her when it was being 
 prepared in September 1880, writes : — 
 
 " It was quite a pleasure to see her delight, when the 
 patterns came by post, on finding what a quantity of good 
 stuff could be had for four shillings. There were packets 
 of samples from several different makers, and if she had 
 been choosing her wedding-gown she could not have spent 
 more pains than she did over the different linseys and 
 flannels and calicoes. 
 
 ' Thus to select M-ith anxious care 
 The very nicest that was there.' " 
 
 The Bible-woman was to take the selected samj^le 
 of each with her, when she went round to learn 
 the women's choice. The clothing w^as given early
 
 238 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 ill ISTovember, since Christmas presents give time 
 for tlie cold to be felt before they come. 
 
 The villao;e of Old Catton bein2: well cared for, 
 with a benevolent squire (S. G. Buxton, Esq.), 
 and other advantages, Mrs. Sewell had from the 
 first turned her energies towards New Catton, an 
 industrial suburb of Norwich lying near her son's 
 house. 
 
 The success of "Davie Blake" was one of the 
 interests of this year. Anna writes in June — • 
 " 'Davie Blake' has had some good reviews. The 
 second edition is going ofi'. It is much liked by 
 sailors' friends." 
 
 In October, Mr. Sewell lost his youngest daugh- 
 ter, a most sweet and lovely child, too tender for 
 this rough world. The following lines are by Anna 
 Sew^ell : — 
 
 " Seven young trees grew close togetlier, 
 All fresh and green in the summer weather. 
 A little one, beautiful, tender, and tall, 
 Grew in the middle, the joy of them all ; 
 And lovingly twining their branches together, 
 They circled it round, in the fine sunmier weather. 
 On the Sabbath eve of an autumn day 
 The beautiful plant was taken away, 
 And left a lonely and leallcss space, 
 And nothing was found to fill the place — 
 Nothing of rich, nothing of rare, 
 Could fill the spot that was left so bare ; 
 Nothing below, nothing above. 
 Could iill this empty spot but love. 
 Then closer the young trees grew together, 
 In the chilly days of that autumn weatlier ; 
 And every branch put forth a shoot, 
 And new life quickened at the root.
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 239 
 
 Tliey grew in the winter, in spring they grew, 
 Silently nourished by heavenly dew ; 
 And when they came back to the summer weather. 
 One beautiful group they stood together ; 
 And their greenest leaves hung o'er the place 
 AVhere the youngest had stood in its tender grace. 
 Nothing below, nothing above, 
 Nothing can heal the hurt but love. 
 
 " iSth October." 
 
 The Brighton Conveution, which Mrs. Sewell 
 atteuded, made the most notable event of 1875. 
 Durino- 1876 Anna was sometimes able to dictate 
 passages of "Black Beauty." The completion of 
 the book, in 1877, belongs to her own story. In 
 June, that year, fresh trouble came to the white 
 house. Up to that time Mr. Sewell's failing powers 
 had been more of a sorrow to those who watched 
 him, and knew what he had been, than to himself; 
 but from this time he became subject to mental 
 impressions of a very distressing character, needing 
 constant effort in those about him to divert his 
 mind. At the age of eighty, witli an invalid in the 
 house already who required lier close attention, 
 Mrs. Sewell received strength to take up this 
 burden also, and bear it to the end. She had the 
 lielp of faithful servants, and all that the ingenuity 
 of love could give from the members of her family ; 
 but it was always " Mary" that the sufferer wanted 
 — and had. This was the shadow that deepened in 
 the house, while the shadow of death drew near to 
 Anna, and "Black Beauty" went coursing on its 
 way through the world.
 
 240 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 To M. J. R. 
 
 " I do so lieartily sympathise witli you in your pleasant 
 prospect of Switzerland that I must just say as much. 
 You will so thoroughly enjoy it, especially if you do not 
 attempt to see (to ' do ') too much. Almost every one 
 makes this mistake. They do not give themselves leisure 
 to perceive, and take in, and feast upon anything, but with 
 a greedy rush, try to grasp at everything, and bring away 
 glimpses of things seen by tlie eye, but not revealed in 
 their depth of beauty and grandeur to the heart. Now, 
 mind what I say — When your father and brother are 
 ambitious of some great exploit, do you sit down with 
 your mother, and drink in the glory of the mountains as 
 'a joy for ever' — behold, meditate, and praise and pray, 
 nncl fold the exquisite little Howers to your heart. When 
 I have heard these mountain floM'ers described, I have 
 thought their beauty would kill me M'ith a joy too great 
 to be borne. What a pleasure it will be to me to think 
 of you just receiving through every pore liberty, life, and 
 enlargement amongst the handiwork of our Father in 
 heaven ! 
 
 " I am glad you have had a little quiet time to think of 
 nil we heard and felt at Brighton, and feel much more 
 deeply now. Yes, dear — my Nannie and I are both very 
 happy — hungry and thirsty always, but with no fear of 
 famine. . . . Do not be afraid of Dr. Mahan's large book, 
 ' Out of Darkness into Life.' If I had had that book when 
 I first believed in the forgiveness of my sins, oh how 
 blessedly different my experience would have been! it 
 is the book for the sincere convert of any a^e or stao-e, / 
 tidnk' 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 " If we could not find poetry ready written, I think we 
 should be obliged to write it for ourselves, it seems so 
 essential to certain states of mind and feeling. In the 
 ]iresent exceeding monotony of our household existence, 
 with my husband so feeble, and my darling often in too 
 sensitive a state to bear a word, poetry comes to me like
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 241 
 
 dew and sunshine. . . . Do you think we should have so 
 many very uninteresting Christian people if they oftener 
 gave' their minds an airing in tlie fields of earthly beauty 
 which our Father has so beautifully garnished and illus- 
 trated for us ? " 
 
 To Mrs. E . 
 
 ''March 1S77. 
 
 "... The thing I long to see is the Jews, under any 
 circumstances or influences, going back to the Holy Land. 
 Their hearts will be sifted and converted there through 
 manifold troubles, after manifold success and prosperity. 
 I write as if I knew, but / don't — yet I think I see a good 
 many things that are beginning to come to pass. / cannot 
 see anything distinctly about the time of the return of our 
 Lord, but I think this remarkable quickening of the truth, 
 and its rapid spread where it is preached in the power of 
 the Holy Ghost, must be a sign of His approach. He is 
 preparing a people who sigh and cry for His return, and 
 who watch by night. I should be hopeless if I expected 
 the world to be converted first. The Gospel is to be 
 preached as a witness only, and for the purification of 
 those who receive Him into their hearts, and walk in His 
 light." 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 (Early part of 1877.) 
 
 "... I have been confined to my room and bed for 
 a fortnight, and creeping from bedroom to dining-room 
 another fortnight, so I am able only just now to take up 
 my pen and go on in my accustomed way. Hard work, 
 late hours, and the relaxment of the foggy weather have 
 brought me down, but thank God I am now all right 
 again, and more able to sympathise with you, dear suffer- 
 ing friend. 
 
 " . . . It is a habit with Anna and me just now, when 
 we hear of charming things which people are doing, or 
 seeimr, or enjoying, and which our present circumstances 
 forbid, to settle ourselves by saying, ' Well, we have had 
 that,' and have not to expect its continuance or renewal. 
 
 Q
 
 242 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 "Dear friend, do you not tliink that you have done 
 about ten times as much work for the dear Master as 
 most people have done, and that now He is saying to 
 you, ' Come apart and rest awhile ' ? Supposing you were 
 peacefully to settle yourself to rest on the Divi7ie JVill, 
 and give Him time to pay you more undisturbed visits, 
 that you might know more of the sweetness of His com- 
 pany, as you sit with folded hands to hear Him speak. 
 
 "I have been reading some of the early chapters in 
 Ecclesiasticus (the Apocrypha), and have found them so 
 interesting, fresh, and profitable. There is many a new 
 text. Do read them, pondering every verse for its deep, 
 rich meaning. The descriptions of Wisdom are beautiful, 
 and show the plenteous joy and strength which the dear 
 Master wishes us to possess and rejoice in. 
 
 " We both of us sympathise with you so very tenderly 
 in your crippled energies and disheartening pain, terrible 
 to any one, but doubly so to you — you dear Help-every- 
 body friend. Do let people take care of themselves for a 
 little while, or let some one else take care of them, and 
 banish the earnest eagerness out of your heart, and be 
 content to be dull and what you call useless : be content, 
 not only submissive, but glad, because you are in the 
 Hands of Divine Wisdom, whose object may be to perfect 
 other fruit in you another way ; so leave Him to Himself, 
 and wait patiently and expectingly for some great good, 
 coming you know not how nor where. 
 
 "I am glad to hear that M. is studying, and exer- 
 cising her other talents ; it is not well for the mind 
 generally to attend only to one class of pursuits, even 
 though it be the best ; our manifold nature requires 
 manifold exercise of its varied talents, 
 
 " I have not yet read Norman Macleod's life. I am 
 reading Kingsley's with intense delight. I will give you 
 four lines — doggerel, but so good : — 
 
 Do the work that's nearest, 
 
 Tho' it's dull the whiles, 
 Helping when you meet them 
 
 Lame do"S over stiles.'
 
 LIFE AT OLD CATTON. 243 
 
 There are such a great many lame dogs to help over the 
 stiles ; but just observe for your own practice that you 
 are to help them * tvhen you meet them.' Don't run about 
 after them. 
 
 "Kingsley was a wonderful man. I somehow fancy 
 you would not enjoy the book as I do — you would find 
 more wrong ; but you could not help admiring him. He 
 worked too hard, and wore out a splendid constitution 
 comparatively early. We want so much to see Dr. 
 Farrar's sermon on intemperance. Is it printed separately ? 
 I delight in his ' Life of Christ,' and also in another of 
 his books, ' The Silence and Voices of God,' 
 
 " My jewel has been better this winter. The mild- 
 ness of the weather has suited her well. My husband 
 gradually becomes weaker in body and mind. All well 
 at Clare House, and as busy as bees, studying, and prac- 
 tising good works. I will enclose you an advertisement 
 of a book^ my sister Maria has recently written; it is 
 irretty writing and reading. 
 
 " We have just had Joseph Sewell (Madagascar mis- 
 sionary) and his wife staying with us : so good, so happy, 
 so interesting ! We have much enjoyed them." 
 
 ^ " Jennett Cragg, the Quakeress. A Story of the Plague." By Maria 
 Wright. S. Partridge & Co.
 
 ( 244 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "MY NANNIE." 
 
 " The healing of the world 
 Is in its nameless saints." 
 
 — Bayard Taylor. 
 
 This was the mother's name for her dear dausfhter. 
 By the world she was known as Anna Sewel], 
 author of " Black Beauty." 
 
 The service she rendered to the world by that 
 book, and her own remarkable character, claim 
 that some account should be given of her inde- 
 pendently, not only as her mother's companion 
 and helpmeet. 
 
 We know from the pages of the autobiography 
 that she was born on March 30, 1820. If I am 
 successful in this chapter in giving anything like 
 a faithful sketch of her life, we shall accept as 
 simple truth the words which follow the mother's 
 announcement of her birth, " An unclouded bless- 
 ing ; for fifty years the perennial joy of my 
 life." 
 
 The accident in early life alluded to in the 
 Autobiography weighted her life with a cross hard 
 to bear, and is one of those events so shrouded in 
 mystery that it scarcely admits of comment. That

 
 " MY NANNIE." 245 
 
 oue so gifted by nature, so exquisitely trained for 
 the good and the beautiful, so artistic, so in- 
 tellectual, so charming in every way, should for 
 the larger portion of her life have been handi- 
 capped by bodily frailty, is a fact we can only 
 record in silence. 
 
 Although her sweet and helpful influences were 
 felt wherever she might be, there is no doubt that 
 a considerable portion of her life was spent mainly 
 in repression. Her very varied capacities enabled 
 her to enter with unfeigned interest into a great 
 variety of subjects. She could see at once how a 
 picture should be composed, a fact or sentiment 
 expressed, a garment cut out ; how flowers should 
 be arranged ; what a committee should or should 
 not do — but with all these mental resources, the 
 frail body refused to do its part, and days and 
 weeks had often to be spent in enforced idleness. 
 Her hungry nature longed for food of many kinds — 
 political, social, philanthropic — all these depart- 
 ments teemed with interest to her ; yet there were 
 periods when to read a short paragraph in a news- 
 paper, or the Report of a Society, was for days 
 together an impossibility. 
 
 For loug years it was hoped that some remedy 
 would be found. Many infallible cures were tried, 
 and proved most fallible. Much was spent upon 
 physicians, but the poor patient was nothing the 
 better. 
 
 During the earlier years of her life, Anna's 
 religious experience was of a very simple character,
 
 2 46 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 consisting mainly of a happy trust in God and 
 love to Christ as her Saviour, learned from her 
 mother's bright trust, and her delight in God's 
 works. As a child she used to say, " Mother's Bible 
 was read to make everybody happy and good." 
 
 The false teaching at Brighton already men- 
 tioned, though Anna escaped from being deluded 
 by it, dimmed and unsettled the old bright faith. 
 The four or five years which followed this '' eclipse 
 of faith " were undoubtedly the darkest of her life. 
 She speaks in her Journal of worldly things having 
 an irresistible charm for her, usually followed by 
 an increase of spiritual darkness. The cry of her 
 soul was like Job's, " Oh that I knew where 1 
 might find Him ! " 
 
 " Lord, do break my bondage," she writes, " for 
 I have not strength to do it myself. I have not 
 strength to give up myself to Christ, in the sense 
 of being willing that His perfect Will should be 
 fulfilled in me, lest it should mean an entire cruci- 
 fixion of self." 
 
 Speaking of attending history classes, she says — 
 " They are very interesting, but they do not satisfy 
 the soul. I am very miserable." 
 
 The beginning of a happier time is recorded in 
 her Journal under date January 7, 1S45 : — 
 
 " At the beg-innins of this month we went on Sunday 
 morning to Clarence Chapel. Mr. Warren preached from 
 the text, ' Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the 
 law, being made a curse for us.' It was a powerful sermon, 
 and the Lord mercifully used it as the conveyance of His
 
 "il/y NANNIE." 247 
 
 good Spirit, to bring again life and light to my dark soul. 
 As I listened, I truly felt Christ precious. I believed, and 
 was justified from all things. I was made to sing as in 
 years long past. This is not, I trust, a transient revival. 
 I do now trust in none but Jesus. 
 
 " March 20th. — This is my birthday. Oh, what a happy 
 one compared to any I have had so long ! I feel as if I 
 had exchanged a rough, stormy sea for a calm, smooth river. 
 
 " Last Sunday was the first time I took my class in the 
 afternoon. I did not get on very well, for in the morning 
 I had given way to sin, and therefore did not get near 
 to Christ, for I sinned wilfully, knowingly resisting the 
 voice of the Spirit in my heart, and so the sting was left 
 behind. The darkness returned for two or three days, then 
 I was able to lay my sin at the feet of my Saviour, and 
 leave it there. To-day (Sunday) I had a very pleasant 
 time with my children, and taught them from Daniel, third 
 chapter." 
 
 Oil May 27 (probably just after the removal to 
 Lancing) she writes : — 
 
 " Mother went to Brighton, and I stayed to attend to 
 the planting of seeds in the garden ; my feet were very 
 weak, and I prayed that they might be strengthened 
 sufficiently for me to attend to what was necessary. The 
 Lord most graciously heard me, and gave me more 
 strength than I have had for some time, so that I am able 
 to see after the garden properly." 
 
 Under the same date : — 
 
 " I am very much concerned, in reading the lives of 
 holy people, to find how unlike them I am in my hatred of 
 sin and love of holiness. But I must look to Christ too. 
 Lord, make me of one mind with Thee. Open Thou my 
 eyes, that I may see things as Thou seest them, and as 
 they really are. My mother very truly says, we cannot 
 love holiness as an abstract thing, but that it must come 
 in proportion as we love Christ."
 
 2 48 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL 
 
 At a later date : — 
 
 " I have felt it very sweet to receive this improvement 
 in my feet (which continues) from the Hand of Jesus. I 
 would not be without this dispensation, and pray Thee, 
 Lord, to do with me what Thou seest best, I thank Thee, 
 for my lameness. I am sure it is sent in love, though it 
 be a trial. I should without it have too much pleasure 
 in the flesh, and have forgotten Thee." 
 
 In many respects the lives and interests of Mrs. 
 Sewell and her daughter were so closely associated 
 that the story of one describes the other. It has 
 been shown that the usual relative positions of 
 mother and child were reversed in them. I cannot 
 say that the daughter led, for the impulse to action 
 came usually from the mother, but the daughter pro- 
 nounced judgment upon it. The enforced seden- 
 tary habits of Anna's life were favourable to early 
 maturity of judgment, and Mrs. Sew^ell was by nature 
 quick to bend to the opinion of one she trusted. 
 
 I was once with Anna when her mother read 
 aloud to us something she was preparing for the 
 press. It was beautiful to witness the intense love, 
 admiration, and even pride which beamed in the 
 daughter's face, but this in no wise prevented her 
 being, as I thought, a very severe critic. Nature 
 had bestowed on her a remarkably sweet-toned 
 and persuasive voice. I think I hear her now, 
 saying, " Mother dear, thee must alter that line," 
 or " Thee must put a fuller word there, that will 
 give out more of thy meaning." "Oh, if I can 
 only pass my Nannie, I don't fear the world after 
 that," the mother said. 
 
 It was in the autumn of 1S62 tliat I first met
 
 ^^MY NANNIE." 249 
 
 j\Irs. Sew ell, at the house of her old friend Mrs. 
 Ellis, at Hoddesdon. In the following summer I 
 had the great pleasure of paying her a short visit 
 at Blue Lodge, Wick. She was then engaged in 
 writing the last chapters of her book, "Tliy Poor 
 Brother." As we three sat together in the draw- 
 iug-room, she read me some of the earlier chapters. 
 They were so suggestive, we talked and talked, 
 complaining of nothing but the lapse of time. 
 Anna was lying on the sofa — her mother sitting 
 at her feet, with one hand rubbing the lame foot, 
 wdth the other holding the manuscript out of which 
 she was reading. 
 
 The parting came all too soon. In the afternoon 
 it poured with rain. When the carriage that was 
 to take me to the station came to the door, Anna 
 was standing in the hall, enveloped in a large 
 mackintosh. The future writer of " Black Beauty " 
 w^as to be my driver. I found that she and her 
 mother were in the habit of driving out on most days, 
 without attendance, the understanding between 
 themselves and their horse being perfect. The 
 persistent rain obliged us to keep up our um- 
 brellas. Anna seemed simply to hold the reins 
 in her hand, trustino- to her voice to o-ive all 
 needed directions to her horse. She evidently 
 believed in a horse having a moral nature, if we 
 may judge by her mode of remonstrance. "Now 
 thee shouldn't walk up this hill — don't thee see how 
 it rains ? " " Now thee must go a little faster — thee 
 would be sorry for us to be late at the station."
 
 250 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 I think it Avas diirino: this drive that I tohl 
 
 CD 
 
 Anna of somethino; Horace Bushnell had written 
 about animals. Soon after the publication of 
 "Black Beauty" I had a little note from her, 
 written from her sofa, in which she says : — 
 
 " The thoughts you gave me from Horace Bushnell years 
 ago have followed me entirely through the writing of my 
 book, and have, more than anything else, helped me to feel 
 it was worth a great effort to try, at least, to bring the 
 thoughts of men more in harmony with the purposes of 
 God on this subject." 
 
 I have tried in vain to get the " Essay on 
 Animals" from which I then quoted — it seems to 
 have been long out of print ; but I feel sure I re- 
 member it with sufficient distinctness to reproduce 
 it. I must not, however, venture to use inverted 
 commas, which would make the author responsible 
 for every word. 
 
 Man is constituted with a brain power capable 
 of using and directing a far greater amount of 
 physical force than he himself possesses. Animals, 
 especially horses, were created that he might have 
 a vast amount of strength at his disposal, depen- 
 dent upon his will, by the aid of which he may 
 accomplish much more than would otherwise be 
 possible. Man is made for God, and just as his 
 happiness depends upon the degree in which, in 
 his life, he lives to do the will of God, so with 
 animals — they instinctively know that their voca- 
 tion is to do the will of man ; and were we as wise 
 and as kind to animals as we mio-lit be, and oucfht
 
 "il/y NANNIE." 251 
 
 to be, their lives, iu doing our will, would be 
 supremely bappy. 
 
 In creation, animals are so associated with man 
 that they must fall or rise with him. If man had 
 never fallen, he would probably have exercised such 
 a beniofn and excellent influence over the brute 
 creation, that, whilst they would have been per- 
 fectly subservient, their own lives would have been 
 full of the highest enjoyment of which they are 
 capable. There is more than meets the eye in 
 that verse in Genesis — " And whatsoever Adam 
 called every living creature, that was the name 
 thereof." To be able to name a creature or thing, 
 implies that it belongs to us. We name our 
 own children, not other people's. Man, in dealing 
 with animals, leaves his own impression upon them 
 — whatever temper he manifests to them, " that is 
 the temper thereof;" and, taking this view of the 
 subject, we see how much these poor creatures have 
 to suffer at the hands of their masters. I never 
 see an animal bearing the marks of man's cruelty, 
 without feeling that in its mute anguish it is say- 
 ing, " This is my body broken for you ; " and 
 perhaps no view of man's sin has impressed me so 
 deeply as the fact, that its consequences have wrung 
 this same cry both from the Highest in the universe 
 and the lowest. 
 
 When the Man " without sin " was on earth. He 
 could safely ride an unbroken colt ; " one whereon 
 never man had sat." There will be no " breakino; 
 iu " required when the promised days of universal.
 
 252 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 peace and righteousness dawn upon the earth ; 
 then men will know their true place of dignity in 
 God's universe — 
 
 " And all beside be servincj him, 
 That he may serve his God." 
 
 The foregoing pages have shown how earnestly, 
 sometimes almost restlessly, the mother had striven 
 for her daughter's restoration. It was in her nature 
 to be hopeful, and believe that something could be 
 done. But the time came when to her cry, " What 
 wouldst Thou have me to do ? " the answer was, 
 " Nothing." Hope was to be no more. For years 
 they had been praying, " If it be possible, let this 
 cup pass from me ; " and though they thought that 
 in sincerity and truth they had added, " Neverthe- 
 less, not my wdll, but Thine be done ; " yet in their 
 inmost hearts they knew it was for deliverance 
 that they had wrestled and cried. 
 
 Who can realise without trembling the awful 
 significance of those words, " He shall sit as a refiner 
 and purifier of silver"? The attitude of sitting 
 implies the absence of haste — the intention to remain 
 until the object be accomplished. Whilst we are 
 occupying ourselves in searching for some door of 
 escape. He sits— oh ! He sits, as if unmindful of 
 our anguish, and goes on with His work as "a 
 refiner and purifier of silver." Unknown to all but 
 Himself are the full issues of the process in hand. 
 Something connected with the establishment of 
 His Kingdom on earth may be depending uj)on its
 
 "il/y NANNIE." 253 
 
 perfect accomplisliment. Anything so momentous 
 in its consequences admits of no risk of incomplete- 
 ness — so He sits. Were an angel to take the 
 Refiner's place, he might be moved by our tears 
 and entreaties, and stop short of perfection. He 
 sits, and rises not until He sees His own imaije 
 reflected in the molten silver. 
 
 As the full nature of their ever-deepening trial 
 dawned upon these tried ones, darkening the future 
 with anticipations of increased suffering, they afresh 
 paused to consider. They felt that something more 
 was needed than even patience and hope. They 
 knew they wanted some greater deliverance than 
 they had hitherto either asked or thought, and 
 they threw themselves afresh on the guidance of 
 the Spirit, and asked to be shown how to attain 
 to perfect harmony with His will — how to be one 
 with Him in His plans and purposes, and not to be 
 permitted to be so often asking for something which 
 appeared to be crossing His will. 
 
 I have often heard them speak of this time, and 
 howby degrees they learned more perfectly the Divine 
 lessons taught by suffering, and consented, with 
 their whole hearts, that their trainin^^ should be as 
 the Master's, "perfect through suffering." "The 
 way of the Lord is the way of His servants. He 
 enlightened the path they must tread, and showed 
 its end." They no longer looked on every side for 
 escape, but sat down by the side of their great trial, 
 and patiently learned its deep and precious lessons. 
 In the w^ords of one who has gone deeply into this
 
 254 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 subject, " Responsive love transfigures that v^'liich 
 it bears. Pain loses its sting when it is mastered 
 by a stronger passion. The true secret of happi- 
 ness is not to escape toil and affliction, but to meet 
 them with the faith that through them the destiny 
 of man is fulfilled, that through them we can even 
 now reflect the imao;e of our Lord, and be trans- 
 formed into His likeness." 
 
 The result of this entire yielding up the will to 
 God — the consent given on their part that the 
 furnace should be what He chose to make it, was 
 that " He turned for them the shadow of death 
 into the morniug." The word is not " exchanged." 
 The wonderful alchemy known in heaven can make 
 morning out o/'the shadow of death. The promise 
 was fulfilled to them — " I will give thee the trea- 
 sures of darkness." 
 
 Years after, when Anna had been brought into 
 still fuller light, she said, " I had always taken my 
 petition and request to Him, but then I knocked 
 from without, somewhat in the spirit of a beggar. 
 Now He has shown me that I have a place in the 
 household, I belong to the family of God, and my 
 very frailty has given me a place among the weak 
 ones in whom His strength is perfected. I know 
 now the meaning of that word, ' Now no longer a 
 servant, but a Son.' " 
 
 Wlien a strong man is emptied of self, and goes 
 forth to work for the Lord, he is often astonished 
 at his success, until he learns that the empty vessel 
 is just what Christ is always seeking for, that He
 
 " A/y NANNIE." 255 
 
 may Himself fill it. Spiritual conquest must always 
 be " according to the measure of the gift of Christ." 
 AVhen He fills, the reign of failure is left behind. 
 For want of understanding what things mean, there 
 may be apparent failure, but not real. " For all 
 there were so many, yet was uot the net broken," 
 is the law of resurrection life. 
 
 When this same self-surrender comes to the 
 sufferer, he endures after the manner of Christ. 
 Whilst God's workers wake morning by morning 
 to hear as the instructed ones, and learn how to 
 speak a word in season to him that is weary. His 
 stricken ones remain in the quietness of their 
 chamber, and learn from Him how to "give their 
 back to the smiters " — each alike saying, " For the 
 Lord God will help me, and I know that I shall 
 not be ashamed." The motto for the sufferer is, 
 " Strengthened with all might according to His 
 glorious poiver, unto all patience and long-sufi'er- 
 ing with joyfulness." 
 
 I have seen many patient sufferers who never 
 attained to the " with joyfulness." 
 
 The maladies from which Anna suffered were 
 mainly of a very painful and depressing character, 
 and had her face been marred with grief, no one 
 w^ould have been surprised. It was a wonderful 
 evidence of the triumph of the spirit over the 
 body that her face was not only sweet and peace- 
 ful, but often radiant ; and so evidently did this 
 proceed from the power of the Spirit of God, that 
 in her presence one had a feeling of being on holy
 
 256 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 ground ; her face shone with the far-off light of 
 the morning of the resurrection. 
 
 In a letter from Mrs. Sewell, as usual without 
 date, she writes : — 
 
 " . . . At present I dare not myself look fully into the 
 future. I endeavour with all thankfulness to live only in 
 the day, either as to hope or fear about my darling. It is 
 a year and a half since she left the house, except occasion- 
 ally for a few steps in the garden. . . . The disease which 
 the doctors expected would have worn her out by this time 
 from extreme suffering, is not manifestly worse, but by 
 little and little the strength keeps wasting, and her capa- 
 city for any effort decreases. She is usually in bed till 
 midday, and then dresses, resting between whiles. She 
 lies on the sofa for the remainder of the day, sometimes 
 sitting down to meals with us only for a very short time. 
 She requires almost complete quiet ; conversation and 
 reading are usually too fatiguing for her. 
 
 " Internally there is perfect peace — the sweetest, most 
 cheerful patient — the most unselfish sufferer I have ever 
 seen — the expression of her dear face combines it all, 
 and sometimes she has such a lovely colour, and looks 
 so animated and beaming, that no one would think she 
 ailed much. I am her constant companion. Since she 
 was confined to the house, I have only been out two days. 
 We have no gloom, except I forget my privilege not to 
 look beyond the day. The doctor attributes the very slow 
 progress of the disease to her tranquillity and her courage, 
 and the exceptional advantages she enjoys in the M'ay of 
 
 nursing. 
 
 O 
 
 Another time she writes : — 
 
 "... We have no doctors now. They gave no hope, 
 and did no good, and therefore were exceedingly dis- 
 couraging, so I gave my darling into the hands of the 
 Great Physician, and He does not discourage. We wait 
 in patience, trusting to see Him work a perfect work for 
 us of the best kind, of which He only is the judge. ]\Iy 
 sweet one is so cheerful — so charmingly patient, that the
 
 " MY NANNIE. 
 
 257 
 
 days are not wearisome, and just now she is not suffering 
 so much — indeed her general health is better now than it 
 was some months ago. Sometimes she really looks well, 
 and always uses what little power she has; never hope- 
 lessly giving up because she can do no more, never wish- 
 ing or complaining, but cheerfully submissive." 
 
 " She could bear pain without showing it in 
 her face or voice," Mrs. Sewell said. " Once I 
 said, ' Do thee never break down or fret about it, 
 darling ? ' She said, ' Sometimes when I am alone 
 in my room, I do say, " Poor Nannie I " '" 
 
 Mr. Sewell continued to fail, and his wife was 
 liable to turns of severe but seldom disabling 
 suffering, brought on by the constant strain upon 
 her. Every one who has had experience in such 
 things knows the tendency to depression when two 
 in a household of three are chronic invalids. 
 
 Miss Hopkins, in her admirable little book, 
 " Occupation for the Sick," says — "There is a mis- 
 take made both in the way we deal with our- 
 selves in sickness, and in the way that others deal 
 with us. We deal with the sick too exclusively 
 sp)iritually, or as I would rather say, too narrowly, 
 since God is the God of all consolation. We say 
 to them with sinking hearts, and with tears in 
 our eyes, ' It is God's will, and you must bear 
 your burden,' but we forget the ropes and pulleys 
 and levers which misht, with a little contrivance 
 on our part, help to lift it — all the helps to bearing 
 it, which may be also in God's will." 
 
 Could Miss Hopkins have called at " The White
 
 258 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 House that stood in the garden," slie would have 
 seen a living specimen of people who never failed 
 to use for the best purposes all the "ropes, pulleys, 
 and levers" which came within their reach, and 
 w^ould also have seen how much they were really 
 helped by so doing. 
 
 There was one little pastime of which Anna was 
 very fond ; it helped her through many a weary 
 hour. She would get some one to give her a few 
 words, which, notwithstanding their diversity of 
 meaning, she managed to work into a little story 
 in verse. I take the following specimens from a 
 pile by my side : — 
 
 " Prawn, Yawn, Tall, Wall, Missed, Kissed. 
 
 " Henry dear, don't yaivn so loud. 
 The tea will soon be here ; 
 But Jane has had an accident 
 Which micrht have cost her dear. 
 
 " In coming up with that tall urn 
 She caught a sight of Jem, 
 She missed the step, and kissed the wall. 
 Instead of kissing him. 
 
 " / do not think the girl is hurt, 
 
 But still she's vexed and fluttered ; 
 So cook will bring the prawns and toast, 
 And tea-cake, when 'tis buttered." 
 
 " Tomtit, Sooty, Fate, Butter. 
 
 " It happened one day that the birds went to dine, 
 By a special invite from the hawk ; 
 The viands were excellent, so was the wine. 
 And each guest had a small silver fork.
 
 " MY NANNIE." 259 
 
 Eobin Eedbreast was there, as of course you'd expect, 
 
 And Tomtit with a bow and a sputter, 
 His rev'rence the Eook, with a sooti/ black cloak, 
 
 And canaries as yellow as huttcr. 
 Ah ! little they thought, as they strutted and chirped. 
 
 Of the fate that awaited them there ; 
 For the Hawk with his kindred pounced down on his 
 guests. 
 
 Whilst their pitiful cries rent the air." 
 
 Another favourite pastime of both mother and 
 daughter was capping verses. As Mrs. Sewell's 
 ballads occasionally seem to praise the olden times 
 in disparagement of the present, it should be men- 
 tioned that she thought the poetry studied now-a- 
 days incomparably superior to that of her own 
 time. I think she had not been allowed to read 
 Shakespeare in her youth, and in old age her 
 verbal memory for anything new was gone. " And 
 there, darling Anna would say her beautiful lines 
 of Wordsworth and Tennyson and Shakespeare — 
 such a soul in them ! — and I had only my old 
 Bijron'' (with an accent of supreme contempt) 
 " and Moore to come in with ! " But there were 
 lines of Moore's that she loved much, especially — 
 
 " Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, 
 Bright dreams of the past that she cannot destroy ; 
 Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
 And bring back the colours which joy used to wear. 
 Long, long be my heart with such memories filled. 
 Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled 
 You may break, you may ruin, the vase if you will. 
 But the scent of the roses will hang o'er it still."
 
 26o LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 The next letter preserved is a clieerful one : — 
 
 " My darling maintains the slight improvement I men- 
 tioned to you. It is just about this time two years since 
 she left the house, but she is always my dear cheerful 
 companion, and in our hardest days we have glad sur- 
 prises, and very often find roses in blossom. We lead 
 by no means a solitary life. We have several young 
 people round us who are earnestly desirous to lead a vital, 
 practical Christian life, and we are deeply interested in 
 them. They are often here to question the old pilgrim, 
 and all this keeps my dear Anna full of external interest, 
 which is so wholesome and hap|)y for her. To my aston- 
 ishment she never seems to find the time drag heavily, 
 though usually lying unemployed on the sofa." 
 
 " Anna has been really better the last few months ; it 
 is a comfort and pleasure to see her. My heart is filled 
 with thankfulness, and I think with wonder of all the 
 manifold mercies showered upon us, until I remember the 
 Lord is so very pitiful to all His weak things, made of such 
 poor clay that they cannot take any very high polish." 
 
 Any little improvement in Anna's health gave 
 Mrs. Sewell the opportunity she much valued of 
 seeing more of her poor neighbours. When I 
 stayed at Catton, she would occasioually leave me 
 in charge, saying she was going into the village. 
 Before leaving the house, she would return, in her 
 walking dress, to have one more look at her darling, 
 and would be greeted with, " Mother dear, how 
 nice thee look!" or, "Mother dear, don't thee 
 hurry back, I am quite comfortable. Couldn't thee 
 call on Lucy Smith ? — it is not her washing-day, 
 and she would be so pleased to see thee." 
 
 The year 1874 was a marked one to Anua Sewell.
 
 "ikfy NANNIE." 261 
 
 111 that year a friend sent her a little booklet 
 by Mrs. Pearsall Smith, called " A Word to the 
 Wavering Ones." Those who had watched her per- 
 fect patience and uprightness before God and man 
 were astonished that she could class herself among 
 these ; but through the means of that little book 
 she received somethinof which her soul had lono-ed 
 for all her life. She wrote to a friend that though 
 she had loved her Saviour for so many years, that 
 summer was the first time that she had really 
 known what it was to abide in Christ. It was 
 difiicult for us not to feel almost hurt, as though 
 she were doing dishonour to the Grace which had 
 so wonderfully upheld her ; but so it was. Her 
 victory had been gained by a constant inward 
 struggle, known only to herself and her Lord. 
 She had accepted His will, and loved it — accepted 
 her lot of suffering without regret, for His sake ; 
 but He had better things for her, even a portion 
 of exceeding joy. 
 
 From this time forth, she drank of His pleasures 
 as of a river. To use Dora Greenwell's words, 
 " The strain of the inner life had passed over from 
 self to Christ" in a de^-ree she had never known 
 before. The last remnant of the old severity 
 against herself passed away ; for the rest of her 
 life, it seemed to outward eyes to be with her, 
 " None of self, and all of Thee." 
 
 In the following year Mrs. Sewell was able to 
 attend the Brighton Convention for the deepening 
 of holiness. She always referred to those meetings
 
 2 62 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 as having been most helpful. She certainly could 
 not speak of her previous spiritual life as " a 
 wearing-out in the wilderness;" — she and her 
 Nannie had together trodden the soil of the Pro- 
 mised Land ; but many as yet unexplored regions 
 now came in sight. "There seems," she said, 
 " nothing too good to expect — the riches we have 
 in Christ mean so much, we shall want all eternity 
 to find them out." 
 
 On her return home she brought books and 
 papers, which she and Anna read together, and 
 rejoiced as they who had found great spoil. Anna 
 always spoke of this time as one of peculiar joy : 
 she often said, "How good it was of those people 
 to make such an effort to share with many others 
 their own good things ! How they poured them- 
 selves out to do us good, and kejDt back nothing, 
 delighting to spread forth all they had seen and 
 handled ! " 
 
 Mrs. Sewell referred to this Convention and its 
 effect upon Anna in two or three letters written 
 about this time : — 
 
 " I caunot tell you how thankful I am for the four days 
 I had at Brighton — you truly divine that Nannie and I 
 have been feeding to<::fether on the feast ever since. "We 
 are veri/ hcqypy ; even these cold, wet days cannot make 
 more than skin-deep impression upon us. My darling has 
 more assurance than ever, so full of cheerfulness and 
 sweetness — tlie drawing-room is always bright, and oh if 
 you would only come ! " 
 
 To another friend she writes : —
 
 ''MY NANNIE." 26 
 
 o 
 
 " I look back on my few days at Brighton with unmixed 
 thankfuhiess. I feel as if I had been into a land of foun- 
 tains and brooks of water, and seen all the figs and pome- 
 granates and honey, and drunk a little of the wine — oh so 
 sustaining ! and as I and my dear Nannie talk about the 
 good land, we keep venturing a step further in, seeing 
 there is no stint, but a free invitation from the glorious 
 Lord of the Country to take full possession, and live in 
 plenty, and in perfect peace. Oh, how great is His good- 
 ness, and how wonderful His working ! " 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 "... He has been showing me lately into some of His 
 treasure-houses, and I have been enamoured with the 
 sights I have seen, and have longed for wings to flee away ; 
 but I would not miss any of the discipline of life — I would 
 be made meet for the inheritance with the family of God, 
 and with my dear friends. I do not think that either 
 books or sermons present the joy that is set before us in 
 the Scriptures with anything like, or anything approaching 
 to, the fulness with which it is really revealed to us. In- 
 spiration, as it were, labours to incite hope, desire, and 
 curiosity, and to stimulate the imagination, that we may 
 apprehend, for the strengthening and growth of our own 
 souls, the glorious realities of the future. We are for the 
 most part trotted about in the leading-strings of doctrine 
 in a dry unfruitful round, seldom visiting the garden of 
 spices, or looking for the heights of Lebanon — so the 
 hungry sheep look up and are not fed ; and even Christians, 
 when they meet together, have no genuine mother-tongue 
 to speak in, only a few communplaces. Well, I ought 
 not to find fault, for when do I do better things myself ? " 
 
 To Mrs. Brightiven. 
 
 " Old Catton, August 20. 
 
 " My dear Fpjend, — How lovingly kind it was of you 
 to send me those exquisite leaves, witli such careful pains
 
 264 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 to give me their names ! I love and admire trees and 
 flowers with the full capacity of my nature — I never weary 
 of them, and they are always speaking to me in parables, 
 and every one has something good to say to us, if our ears 
 were sufficiently refined and cultivated to understand it 
 perfectly. I often think the gift of a garden, even a small 
 one, is one of the most delicious blessings that the beneficent 
 Giver of all good can bestow, for the cheerful refreshment 
 of travellers passing onward to the other garden, where 
 the seeds of nettles and thorns are not naturally embedded 
 in the soil. As you look at these wondrously variegated 
 leaves, which I suppose have been developed chiefly by 
 human skill, do you not think of the exquisite loveliness 
 which waits to be developed in the Cliristian character 
 by the infinite skill and tender patience of the great 
 Husbandman ? 
 
 " Since attending those delightful meetincrs at Biio-hton, 
 and reading several of the works connected with the 
 Ifevival amongst Christians, I have thought how far too 
 little have our efforts been directed to the 'perfecting of 
 holiness,' the putting on of the ornaments held in such 
 rich store for the adornment of Christ's redeemed ones. 
 The prevailing thought seems to be that our Blessed Lord 
 wants to get a great deal of work out of us, and thus we 
 go slaving on upon duty-service, not allowing ourselves 
 time to reflect and understand that His great desire is to 
 make us beautiful vessels that He can fill with Himself — 
 thus converting us into instruments which He can use for 
 His own glory, and for the progress of His Kingdom on 
 earth. I was thinking this morning that one could desire 
 nothing greater for oneself than to be in the hands of the 
 JNIaster as a hollow reed, through which He could speak 
 His loving mind. In this way we could be without care- 
 fulness ; our only concern need be to remain obedient, 
 trustful, and pliable. But it is so difficult to be emptied 
 of self, to be so dead as to leave room for the indwellinsr 
 of the higher life — the hidden life of Christ, which pos- 
 sessing, we should have 'all thinos.' 
 
 "Prom time to time, through different channels, I have 
 heard of your great suffering, and am truly grieved that
 
 "MF NANNIE." 265 
 
 the eujoymennt of this little while should be so dashed 
 with bitterness. I know you live above it, as my darling 
 does, and that, like her, you have surrendered your will to 
 His. Some great good — some precious experience for 
 others is to come out of it, which will be known some day, 
 and then you will be more glad than any one." 
 
 At the time of my visits to Old Catton, Mr. 
 Sewell was unable to conduct family prayer — or, to 
 speak more correctly, family reading. At half-past 
 nine the servants came in ; Mrs. Sewell read a 
 chapter, occasionally making a few remarks as she 
 went on, and then a hymn or piece of poetry. 
 Now and tlien she read a short extract Irom a 
 magazine or paper. If any subject of local or 
 national interest was just then occupying attention, 
 she would refer to it in a way that put us into 
 sympathy with the times. Now and then, but 
 rarely, the sweet voice from the sofa was heard, 
 always beginning with "Mother dear, don't thee 
 think " so-and-so. In Friends' houses, vocal prayer 
 is not the rule : a space of silence is given, to make 
 way for it, but it may or may not form part of the 
 service. 
 
 When the servants rose, the master rose also, 
 and remained standing until they had closed the 
 door, saying in his courteous way, " Good-night, 
 Emily. Good-night, Jane." 
 
 On one of my visits, the evening reading was 
 in Matthew — the Gospel of the Kingdom. When 
 the servants had gone, and the weary master had 
 retired for the night, we sat round Anna's couch
 
 266 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 and spoke together of the coming Kingdom and 
 its exceeding glory. After one of these evening 
 talks, I went to Anna's room in the morning to 
 inquire how she had passed the night. " Oh," she 
 said, " I have had such a happy night ; it was nice 
 to be awake and ready to listen to His teaching 
 about the Kingdom. He not only gives me * songs 
 in the niirht,' but ' instructs me in the nio-ht 
 season.' " 
 
 In a letter addressed to Mrs. Williamson, Mrs. 
 Sewell writes : — 
 
 " I have been thinking how your sanctified and well- 
 stored mind must refresh you in your long night watches, 
 and how invaluable, in your present condition, is tlie 
 possession of a cultivated and refined intellect. My 
 darling says she never feels the nights long ; she has so 
 many things and thoughts to hold communion with. It 
 is a great mistake not to cultivate the mind and feed it 
 with a good variety out of the many and varied store- 
 houses within our reach." 
 
 Mrs. Sewell usually went for a little walk before 
 breakfast. During the latter years of her daughter's 
 illness, when the fatigue of nursing absorbed nearly 
 all her strenojth, she contented herself with goinsf 
 for a short walk in her o-arden, takinof with her 
 her chosen companion, "Daily Light." When she 
 joined us at the breakfast-table, it was often with 
 this favourite book in her hand — some special verse 
 had been occupying her mind, and she would pour 
 out to us her many thoughts upon it. When 
 breakfast was over, she went with her mornin«f
 
 " MY NANNIE." 267 
 
 verse into Anna's room, where I often had the 
 privilege of joining them. They both knew that a 
 trying and suffering day lay before them, and they 
 together hid away some heavenly words in their 
 hearts, that they might not faint by the way. 
 There were no symbols of the body and blood of 
 Christ present, but by faith they fed upon Him in 
 their hearts, and in the strength of that food stood 
 bravely up to meet the conflicts of the day. 
 
 One of our happiest talks was over the second verse 
 
 of the twenty-second chapter of Revelations — " In 
 
 the midst of the street of it, and on either side of 
 
 the river, was there the tree of life, which bare tw^elve 
 
 manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month : 
 
 and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of 
 
 the nations." Perhaps the thought most present to 
 
 their minds, but about which little was said, was 
 
 that w^hen the time came for them to stand by that 
 
 tree, the former things would have passed away — 
 
 there would be no more pain, or sorrow, or crying. 
 
 Mrs. Sewell spoke of the " twelve man7ier of fruits " 
 
 as if our love of variety was to follow us into that 
 
 new life. Then "yielding every month" — we shall 
 
 not need to store our fruits there ; "but," she said, 
 
 " the happy thought in this verse is that the leaves 
 
 of the same tree which feeds us with fruit are for 
 
 the ' healing of the nations.' That will make our 
 
 enjoyment complete. It will not be selfish. Oh ! 
 
 I do hope my Nannie and I shall be sent out to the 
 
 nations with these leaves. We would so like to have 
 
 something to do with the 'healing of the nations.'"
 
 2 68 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 Her constant study of the Scriptures had giveu 
 her a profound belief, shared by Anna, in the ulti- 
 mate healinof of the nations. This belief was not 
 based on any lax perception of the stringency of 
 the law of God. That sin, which had broken in 
 upon the harmony of God's universe, and was the 
 sole cause of the intolerable misery which at times 
 almost broke her heart, should ever be spoken of 
 lightly — as a thing that could be passed over — was 
 a thought repugnant to her whole moral nature. 
 Until Christ was accepted as the sin -bearer, the cry 
 of the sinner, both here and hereafter, must be, " My 
 punishment is greater than I can bear ; " but whilst 
 holding this belief most firmly, I am not aware that 
 at any period of her life she entirely accepted the 
 teaching called orthodox, on the eternal duration 
 of punishment. She felt it to be out of harmony 
 with other teaching at least equally binding upon 
 us to believe. She would say, " It needs such a 
 power of iinhoiiQi before one can accept it. I 
 should like to have lived in the earliest centuries, 
 before this creed was accepted by the Church." 
 
 There are still many saying as of old, " I had 
 fainted unless I had believed to see the goodness 
 of the Lord in the land of the living." In His 
 great mercy, God often in some special way makes 
 His goodness to pass before these troubled ones. 
 He came to this mother and daughter, endowed 
 with the sorrowful gift of an exceeding power of 
 sympathy with the sinful and the sad, and let them 
 see that the thoughts He had towards His redeemed
 
 ''MY NANNIE." 269 
 
 world were " thoughts of peace and not of evil : " 
 they kuew Him as " a mighty Man of wealth," with 
 all the riches of the universe at His command, — 
 able to do all He had promised, even to " destroy- 
 iuoj the works of the devil." 
 
 "The shepherd in the parable seeks the lost sheep 
 until he finds it ; shall we add to the parable and 
 say ' or till he cannot find it ' ? If we do so, it 
 is in view of the fact that the will of man made 
 in the image of God is a mystery only less deep 
 than the mystery of God Himself." 
 
 I tliink that to Mrs. Sewell's mind the parable 
 stood complete without addition. Doubtless many 
 would rejoice to go as far as she did, who yet feel 
 compelled to j)ause and say with Dr. Maclaren, 
 " Reverently accepting Christ's words as those of 
 perfect and infallible love, the waiter feels so 
 strongly the difficulty of bringing all the New Tes- 
 tament declarations on this dread subject into a 
 harmonious whole, that he abjures for himself dog- 
 matic certainty." 
 
 "The Destiny of the Human Race," by Henry 
 Dunn, was read by Mrs. Sewell and Anna with 
 the deepest interest. It led them to make a 
 further minute examination of the Scriptures on 
 this special subject, wdth the result of confirming 
 their bright hopes of the extent of Christ's final 
 triumph. 
 
 I should leave a wrong impression, however, if I 
 made it appear that they w^ere satisfied that they 
 had surmounted all the difficulties connected with
 
 270 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 this most solemu subject. To the end, they ever 
 felt that there were deep mysteries connected with 
 God's government of the world, for the explana- 
 tion of which we must wait His own time ; but 
 they rejoiced in finding abundant encouragement 
 to look forward with hope. 
 
 For the rest — God had spoken to them as Boaz 
 did to Ruth when she came to him full of earnest 
 thought as to how the lapsed inheritance could be 
 restored. He did not tell her then that it was all 
 to come back through himself, but bade her " lie 
 down until the morning^." 
 
 Ruth, always obedient, lay down until the morn- 
 ing. The night was not painful or wearisome, for 
 she lay at the feet of the master she entirely loved 
 and trusted ; and in the morning, what glad sur- 
 prises awaited her ! 
 
 The night of waiting, even in its outward aspect, 
 was by no means all sufi'ering to these patient, 
 trustful ones. The echoes of the tide of life that 
 went on at Clare House came pleasantly to the ears 
 of the quieter party in "Grandmother's" house. 
 "Philip's" frequent visits brought with them some- 
 thing fresh from the outward world, and Sunday 
 afternoon, when he came to tea, was reckoned the 
 bright spot of the week. I remember, after Anna 
 had been reading to us a letter from a friend, full 
 of condolence, she sjnid, " I don't think I can appro- 
 priate all this pity. No one need be pitied who 
 has mother and Philip." 
 
 For the last seven years of Anna's life, the work
 
 "iy/F NANNIE." 271 
 
 which formed for her au imfailing interest was the 
 writing of " Black Beauty." 
 
 The first mention of it occurs in the Journal, 
 under date November 6, 1871 : — 
 
 " I am writing,' the Hfe of a horse, and "ettingj dolls and 
 boxes ready for Christmas." 
 
 No other entry on the subject occurs till Decem- 
 ber 6, 1876 : — 
 
 " I am getting on with my little book, ' Black Beauty.' " 
 The next is dated August 21, 1877 : — 
 
 " My first proofs of ' Black Beauty ' are come — very 
 nice type." 
 
 It is touching to remember that this "beau- 
 tiful equine drama," as it has been called, was 
 thought out almost entirely from the sofa where 
 so much weakness and pain were daily endured. 
 When a time came during which she was capable 
 of endurincr the fatioue of writing', it was done in 
 pencil — the mother, sitting by, received the paper 
 from the weary hand, and made a fair copy of it. 
 That a book accomplished in such a fragmentary 
 way should "show no joins" says much for the 
 skill of the writer ; but oh what discipline must 
 have been endured in having perpetually to "leave 
 off in the most interesting place ! " 
 
 I have found a paper which seems to be 
 separated from something else to which it be-
 
 272 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 loDged ; whether it be a part of a letter written 
 to a friend, or intended as a kind of journal, I 
 have no means of knowing. It is among the very, 
 very few papers I have in Anna's handwriting : — 
 
 " I have for six years been confined to the house and to 
 my sofa, and have from time to time, as I was able, been 
 writing what I think will turn out a little book, its special 
 aim being to induce kindness, sympathy, and an under- 
 standing^ treatment of horses. In thinkino; of Cab-horses, 
 I have been led to think of Cabmen, and I am anxious, if I 
 can, to present their true condition, and their great diffi- 
 culties, in a correct and telling manner. 
 
 " Some weeks ago I had a conversation at my open 
 window with an intelligent Cabman wlio was waiting at 
 our door, which has deeply impressed me. He led the 
 conversation to the Sunday question, after telling me that 
 he never plied on the Sabbath. I found there was a sore, 
 even a bitter feeling against the religious people, who, by 
 their use of cabs on Sunday, practically deny the Sabbath 
 to the drivers. ' Even ministers do it, Ma'am,' he said, 
 ' and I say it's a shame upon religion.' Then he told me 
 of one of the London drivers who had driven a lady to 
 church — as she stepped from the cab, she handed the 
 driver a tract on the observance of the Sabbath. This 
 naturally thoroughly disgusted the man. ' Now, Ma'am,' 
 said my friend, ' I call that hypocrisy — don't you ? ' I 
 suppose most of us agree with liim, and yet it might 
 not have been done hypocritically — so few Christians 
 apparently realise the responsibility of taking a cab on 
 Sunday." 
 
 ! " Black Beauty " w^as published near the end of 
 
 i the year 1877, and Anna lived just long enough 
 
 to hear of its remarkable success.^ But can she 
 
 i ever know what a mighty power for good it has 
 
 ^ Up to tliis time 91,000 cnpits cf tliis book have been sold.
 
 "3/F NANNIE." 273 
 
 been, and is, in this country ? We liave frequent 
 opportunities of conversing with the London Gity 
 Missionaries to Cabmen. Their testimony is, that 
 many agencies have been at '^'ork of Lite years 
 Avhich have greatly helped to ameliorate the con- 
 dition both of the men and horses, such as Cabmen's 
 shelters, systematic religious and temperance teach- 
 ing, the watchful vigilance of the Society for Pre- 
 vention of Cruelty to Animals, &c. ; but they say 
 nothing has told so strongly for good among the 
 men themselves, or induced such humane treat- 
 ment of horses, as the influence and teaching they 
 have gained from " Black Beauty." Both men and 
 boys read it with the greatest avidity, and many 
 declare it to be "the best book in the world." 
 Many of our public organs, foremost among them 
 the Times, have for some years past borne the 
 strongest testimony to the remarkable improve- 
 ment which has taken place in everything con- 
 nected with Cabs and Cabmen. Perhaps few who 
 chronicle these changes and improvements know 
 how much of what tbey commend is due to the 
 genius and prayers of one fragile woman. 
 
 " She never went forth to sow." 
 
 " But there rose from her lowly couch of pain 
 The fervent, pleading prayer : " — 
 
 the prayer for happier men, happier horses, and 
 happier homes, and that we might know how 
 to use and not abuse God's munificent gifts to 
 us ; and God has heard her prayers, and permitted
 
 ^274 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 her to be a fellow-worker with Himself in bringiDg 
 about these beneficent changes. 
 
 I have a packet of letters by my side, all re- 
 ferring to " Black Beauty ; " some written by 
 friends and relatives, others by strangers; also 
 many reviews, laudatory enough to satisfy the 
 vainest author. From all of these a very few 
 quotations will suffice. 
 
 The Nonconformist for January 1878 writes : — 
 
 "Had the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
 Animals pubhshed this, we should say it had published 
 its best work. As it is, it would be difQcult to conceive 
 of one more admirably suited to its purpose." 
 
 From a Cousin : — 
 
 " I am so delighted, so proud of my cousin, that I can 
 never thank you enough for my Christmas present. Eead 
 it ! — I should think I did. Do you remember, when you 
 and Philip were children, how you used to have Christmas 
 Day for yoMV ' very own' — choose your own amusements, 
 your own pudding ? Just such a Christmas Day did_ I 
 promise myself, with your capital book for my special 
 delectation. I could not quite carry out my wishes, for 
 J. A. had to be invited to dinner— but directly he was 
 gone, I petted Black Beauty, and enjoyed myself. 
 
 "I do like the book exceedingly, it is so good; and, 
 forgive me, so unladylike that but for 'Anna Sewell ' on 
 the title-page, and a certain gentle kindliness all through 
 the story, no one, I think, would believe it to be written 
 by a lady. Where you have obtained your stable-minded- 
 ness I can't imagine, but that you fully understand your 
 business is a fact. I like your grooms, only I am afraid 
 you had the pick of some most exceptional ones. Manly, 
 James, and even little Joe Green are just the jockeys for 
 me. Would they could be counted by thousands ! 
 
 " The story of poor Black Beauty and Ginger is most
 
 ".yy NANNIE." 
 
 275 
 
 touching, and the different characters of the horses admir- 
 ably carried out. The only fault I find in the translation 
 is making Ginger exclaim, ' Thank heaven ! ' that being, 
 as I suppose, a place not dreamt of in Equine philosophy ; 
 but were I to tell you of all I admire, I siiould not get this 
 letter posted to-night. The best bit of writing, according 
 to my ideas, is the drive through the City — that is really 
 wonderful. Are you sure you have never stood on the 
 steps of an omnibus to collect passengers and watch the 
 traffic ? " 
 
 '■'Torquay, January 18, 1S78. 
 
 "... As an imaginary entrance into and mastery of 
 horse nature, it is extremely clever, — as a story it is 
 thoroughly well planned and told ; and last, not least, it 
 must do good among all, high and low, who have the care 
 of these noble creatures. ... It has made me cry more 
 than twice or thrice. Poor Ginger ! Then the fall on 
 Ludgate Hill! My dear Anna, you have been doing 
 angels' work in writing this book, brincjincj messacjes of 
 peace and good- will from the Lord of all to these His poor 
 dumb creatures, of whom man too often proves himself 
 so unworthy a guardian." 
 
 " NoEwiCH, December 24, 1877, 
 
 " You will be shocked to hear that a work intended to 
 benefit mankind has been the cause of my neglecting 
 all my duties — I could not leave Black Beauty till I left 
 him safe in Joe's care. I cannot think how you could 
 ever write such an Equestrian story. One would think 
 you had been a horse-dealer, or a groom, or a jockey all 
 your life." 
 
 "... You have so filled my mind with the thought 
 of what these poor animals suffer from the bearing-rein, 
 that I feel quite breathless as I look at some of them, and 
 only my sex, and fear of the police, prevent my cutting 
 the leathers and setting them free." 
 
 "... To induce fashionable ladies to forego the style 
 of the bearing-rein is simply to wait for an altered fashion ;
 
 276 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 nothing short of that arbitrary foe -will have any very 
 evident effect, I fear ; but the book is a thoroughly good 
 step in the right direction. May it circulate widely, and 
 may many a neglected Black Beauty find a resting-place 
 in the kind consideration of some happy home." 
 
 The followiug letter from Mrs. Toynbee refers 
 to Mr. Flower/ the well-known friend of animals, 
 who by his waitings, his personal advocacy, indeed 
 by every means in his power, has striven to ameli- 
 orate tlie sufferings of the brute creation — more 
 especially of the horse. The letter is addressed to 
 Mrs. Sewell : — 
 
 ^^ January 29, 1878. 
 
 " Captain Toynbee and I went yesterday afternoon to 
 see our friends the Flowers, in Hyde Park Gardens, and 
 found Mr. Flower in a complete state of enthusiasm over 
 ' Black Beauty.' ' It is written by a veterinary surgeon,' he 
 exclaimed; 'by a coachman, by a groom; there is not a 
 mistake in the whole of it ; not one thing I wish altered, 
 except that the cabman sJiould have taken that half-crown. 
 I shall show Mr. Bright that passage about horses in war. 
 I must make the lady's acquaintance ; she must come to 
 London sometimes — she is my Araminta ' (Do you remem- 
 ber Miss Edgeworth's' Araminta, or the Unknown Friend'?). 
 He particularly wished me to say that he would like to 
 write himself, but writing is troublesome to him, from the 
 weakness of his hand. Are we right in supposing that the 
 book is written (translated, by-the-bye) by your daughter ? 
 Is it being actively circulated ? Tliat was a point Mr. 
 Flower was very anxious a^^out. . . . Will you forgive so 
 many questions, but Mr. Flower could talk of nothing 
 else. Now and then, when the conversation strayed away 
 to the war, or anything else, he would exclaim ' How 
 
 ^ Mr. Flower has published two pamphlets, one on "The Bearing-Rein," 
 the other, " Horses and Harness." The two pamphlets are now published 
 ia one by Cassell & Co.
 
 "il/y NANNIE." 277 
 
 could a lady know so mucli about horses ! I sliould like 
 to have a talk with her; do persuade her to come to 
 London.' I need not add anything — my ignorant ad- 
 miration for ' Black Beauty ' would be so poor after Mr, 
 Flower's thorough appreciation." 
 
 The following letter was written by Mrs. Sewell 
 in reply to Mrs. Toynbee's : — 
 
 " I should have thanked you for your most welcome 
 letter the day it came, but an infirm household and an 
 invalid friend staying with us, obliged my pen to be 
 quiet. 
 
 " Your letter was indeed a great encouragement both to 
 me and Anna. It was the first of the kind that had come 
 to hand, and was accordingly treasured. ]\Iany letters 
 followed, but when I took yours to Anna, I said I was 
 come to put her crown on. I assure you it was a trium- 
 phant moment. She had ventured to send a copy of her 
 book to Mr. Flower, but had thought, if he noticed it at 
 all, it would be chiefly to point out inaccuracies ; but when, 
 his entire approbation came, it brought indeed a full mea- 
 sure of gladness and confidence. If he would add to his 
 kindness by writing a few lines expressive of his com- 
 mendation, he would be giving it a standing beyond what 
 any one else could do. 
 
 " We are expecting every day the proofs of the School 
 Edition ; we have both a great desire that it should be- 
 come a reading-book in Boys' Schools. This also was 
 the sanguine hope of the publisher, but his sudden death, 
 just before its publication, has deprived it of his ener- 
 getic aid. 
 
 " After all this abovit the book, I fancy you would be 
 interested to know a little about the author. There is no 
 doubt most persons will have imagined her a robust young 
 woman, mostly in the saddle with the reins in her hand. 
 Instead of this, for the last seven years she has been con- 
 fined either to her bed or couch, and has not in all that 
 time passed beyond the garden-gate. At the beginning 
 of this time, the subject of the book took root in her mind,
 
 278 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 and from time to time a few portions were dictated — 
 reading or writing being equally impossible to her. Years 
 went on, and no progress was made, except in her mind, 
 where many pictures were clearly drawn and stored away 
 in her memorr. 
 
 "The year before last, she was so far improved in 
 strength as to be able to write in pencil her clearly 
 arranged thoughts, I immediately making a fair copy. 
 Her thoughts and pictures were the fruit of previous 
 experience. When a child, she severely sprained both 
 ankles, which ever after prevented her taking much walk- 
 ing exercise, and made riding and driving a necessity ; 
 and so it came to pass, between her and her own horse, 
 and horses in general, a mutual confidence and friendship 
 sprang up, and she learned all their secrets. She learned 
 much through her ear, in this way quickly detecting if 
 anything is wrong with a horse's foot, and through her 
 eye she knows at once if anything annoys them." 
 
 Mr. AYeylland, of the London City Mission, wrote 
 to offer 
 
 " Congratulations warm and sincere at your entry into 
 the great republic of letters, which your mother has so long 
 adorned with a power and dignity peculiar to herself." 
 
 A relative writes : — 
 
 " I am so glad the precious mother's mantle will find 
 a suitable resting-place. The graceful folds and sweet 
 embroidery of natural flowers can, I truly believe, fit no 
 other shoulders ; but its warmth, its truth, its honesty of 
 purpose will be your own rich covering. 
 
 " Dearest Anna, how I envy you the power of that dedi- 
 cation ! God bless her — slie well deserves every word of it." 
 
 The words of the dedication referred to are : — 
 
 " To my dear and honoured mother, whose life, no less 
 than her pen, has been devoted to the welfare of others, 
 this little book is affectionately dedicated."
 
 "M7 NANNIE." 279 
 
 The motto chosen for the book is an extract from 
 the " Life of Charles Kingsley : " — 
 
 " He was a perfect horseman, and never lost his temper 
 %Yith his horse, talking to and reasoning with it if it shied 
 or bolted, as if it had been a rational being ; knowing that 
 from the fine organisation of the animal, a horse, like a 
 child, will get confused by panic fear, Avhich is only in- 
 creased by punishment." 
 
 It is our life friend — the horse, who performs for 
 us the last service we need on earth — be carries us 
 to our graves. For our sakes tbese spirited animals 
 allow themselves to be trained to the measured 
 step, the crawling pace, the drooping head, indica- 
 tive of D-rief. When the hearse which was to bear 
 Anna to the grave drew up at tbe door, Mrs Sewell 
 saw from the drawing-room window that tbe borses 
 bad bearing-reins. Her mucb-loved friend and 
 neighbour, Mrs. Buxton, was pjresent, and caught 
 ber exclamation of distress, '' Oh this will never 
 do ! " she said, and hastening downstairs, spoke to 
 tbe men, and had the bearing-reins removed from 
 all the borses in the train. 
 
 To one so frail, and dependent upon quiet, the 
 excitement of this torrent of praise and congratula- 
 tion must have been physically trying, in spite of 
 tbe calmness of the chastened spirit. It seemed 
 as if the feeble flame of life had leaped up brightly 
 f(jr a last effort, and now flickered down ao;ain. In 
 July of this year, tbe Journal records, *' I began 
 milk diet two w^eks ago, and hope for benefit." 
 The hope was so far fulfilled that a marked dimi-
 
 28o LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 nution of suffering ensued ; but the patient was 
 never able to take the full quantity prescribed, and 
 she wasted away. In the course of the following 
 winter, cold settled on her lungs, and the feeble, 
 worn-out frame had no power of resistance : rapid 
 decline set in. The letters that follow tell the 
 story : — 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 " The darlincr has not been so well for the last few 
 weeks, quite unable to work or do anythin,^ but be an 
 angel of patience and sweetness in the house." 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 "... I wish to keep the day's work up with the day, 
 as a different one is, I think, not far off. Step by step, day 
 by day, the dear life seems to be slipping away, gently just 
 now, compjaratively little pain, quiet and praiseful, taking 
 medicine, food ; — but the life goes. She can scarcely be 
 moved without faintness. The water-bed is a great com- 
 fort. She has not been moved to the couch for three days 
 — it is all too much — but the Comforter is here. We do 
 not talk of the future — the parting ; it might unnerve us 
 both, and we each know what the other thinks and feels. 
 She has done the day's work in the day, and no arrears 
 press on her tranquil spirit, which is resting in the arms 
 of Eternal love. She never loses an opportunity of send- 
 ing her love to her friends ; all are atfectionately remem- 
 bered — thee most especially." 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 " I have been wishing; to send thee a line, but nursing 
 brings many interruptions. I wanted to tell thee myself 
 of the goodness of the Lord — not in restoring bodily 
 strength — but little more of this remains to be taken awav — 
 but in restoring the soul. We are both of us kept in such
 
 "il/F NANNIE." 281 
 
 •wondrous peace and trust. He is taking us down on the 
 sunny side of the valley, w^here the dew lies still, and 
 every sharp stone as we touch it is taken away — we touch 
 it, and feel it is there, and then recognise the Hand that 
 removes it. There is now no acute pain internally, but 
 the poor bones, barely covered with skin, have passed 
 through at the lower part of the back. . . . The difficulty 
 of raising the mucous phlegm is the most trvins,' but her 
 sweet patience accepts all from the Hand of love. The 
 majestic grandeur of her countenance is never disturbed, 
 excepting in sleep ; tlien we see what she suffers, and how 
 she restrains herself from showing; it. Her thought is 
 about me — we know each other's thoucrhts and feelings 
 so perfectly, that words would be an intrusion, and might 
 overcome us both. How lom^ it mav last I know not, 
 but think it cannot be long — she now never rises from 
 her water-bed. I have moved her into the drawing-room. 
 The nurse always sleeps there, and I go to my own bed. 
 My health and strength and appetite continue good. The 
 Blessed Lord sustains me. The prayers of my loving 
 friends seem to keep me ever before Him." 
 
 "April 1S78. 
 
 " You are longing, I know, to hear of my Jewel, but 
 what shall I say ? A little weaker, and a little weaker — 
 two or three words at a time is all she can say, and all 
 she can bear to hear. I dare not say a word that would 
 touch her tender feelings. ' My dearest Jewel,' I say, and 
 her response is, ' My dearest Mother ' — we neither of us 
 venture further. She has been sorely tried with her poor 
 back — no ease. . . . Her sweet patience is past descrip- 
 tion, and her thankfulness for any little change that pro- 
 mises ease, if only momentary, is truly touching. The 
 dear Lord is putting on the last ornamental touches, and 
 beautifviuff her exceedindy. But oh ! it is too touching 
 — with all the sweet springing of the flowers, the joyous 
 songs of the birds, and the sunshine, and she, fading away, 
 never to look at them again with me. 
 
 " Oh ! you know, you so well know how the poor 
 struggling heart scarcely knows how to bear it; but I have
 
 282 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 freely given her to the Lord ; and there are days when I 
 find myself carried along, like a child in arms, without 
 effort and without pain. 
 
 " I stole out for a short walk before breakfast this 
 morning, to be alone with the Comforter. The grass was 
 glittering all over with drewdrops, myriads upon myriads 
 everywhere, with all the fair colours that the glorious sun 
 could produce ; and then I saw my darling drawn up to 
 pass into the pure light of the Sun of Righteousness, 
 and the Comforter Himself comforted me, and I returned 
 strengthened for the day ; and so the days come and go." 
 
 I give one extract from the letters of " loving 
 friends : " — 
 
 "... For our invalid, now slowly recovering, we are 
 rejoicing that it is the Spring, not tlie Autumn. For your 
 loved one, dear friend, I think the Spring is to be on the 
 other side, by tlie Tree of Life, where no Autumn or 
 Winter will ever follow, where she 
 
 ' Will see and hear and know 
 All she desired and wislied below.' 
 
 And oh how much that means!— the desires and wishes 
 of such minds as hers are not easily grasped, but she will 
 be satisfied, and so will her mother. 'Such high love' 
 as you two have had for one another ' is not of things 
 to perish.' I am sure tlie Lord must be keeping some 
 of His ' choicest cordials ' for this ' deepest fainting ' of 
 your life." 
 
 The next letter from Mrs. Sewell refers to Mrs. 
 's name for mental inspiration. When poetry 
 
 came into her mind, she used to say that her 
 "friend" had spoken to her. Anna had been 
 inquiring why nothing had been heard of this 
 "friend," and the reply was, "It is so long since
 
 "il/F NANNIEJ' 283 
 
 my 'friend' Las spoken to mo, I am afraid it 
 must be dead." 
 
 To Mrs. F. 
 
 ' Ajivil 23, 1878. 
 
 "Your tenderly sympatliisiiig letter, my beloved friend, 
 lias been a real comfort to me. I read parts of it to 
 my darling, and whilst they are fresh in my remembrance, 
 I want to tell you the words she said, at broken intervals, 
 'How we have loved her, mother, and how we have 
 admired her ! I have so often wished to write to her 
 since I had her last letter. I have been waitincj till I 
 was stronger, and that has never come. Say to her from 
 me ' (alluding to a portion of your letter to her), ' Do not 
 mourn your "dead friend," If God takes it away, it is 
 because He has some other work now more wanted, and 
 therefore more worthy of being done ; the other is only 
 laid aside for the present time. I have many " dead 
 friends" in which I delighted — they were taken away 
 from me one by one. They might have carried my heart 
 away. I think they would, but I tliink they were taken 
 away to be restored. I shall find them when the new 
 life begins, and rise and enjoy them without danger. 
 Meantime God has given me a few " humble friends " to 
 employ my small talents, and keep my thoughts from 
 myself — little works for children and poor people, that 
 have made me glad and busy, and thankful now. Give 
 my most dear love to F, and F.' 
 
 " This was about the substance of what she said. I am 
 not apt at rendering the exact words, but I do entirely 
 understand lier feelings and thoudits. 
 
 "Day by day the precious life is longing for its home. 
 ' Here in the body pent,' weary and breathless ; suffering 
 night and day. That is one side of the picture — there is 
 another — resting in the Will of God, without the shadow 
 of a cloud between her soul and her Saviour. She is 
 lono;ing for the hour of her liberation, and I do not hold 
 her; I give her up freely to her blessed portion — the
 
 284 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 remainder of my days sweetened by the thought of her 
 certain gain." 
 
 The hast little note before the end : — 
 
 " Beloved Fkiend, — "VVe are going througli the valley 
 in tender sunshine. Every rough stone is taken away 
 before it appears in sight. We are both together under 
 His feathers. He knows our frame. He remembers we 
 are but dust. Blessed be His name for His tender mercies. 
 — Most lovingly yours, ]\Iaey Sewell." 
 
 About three or four days after this, I received a 
 card in the well-known writing, and read — 
 
 " For ever with the Lord " 
 " All tears wiped away." 
 
 At the end of a week came the following letter : — 
 
 "I will try to write you a few lines. It is a week 
 to-day since my bright jewel was taken from me and 
 put safe into the heavenly casket, out of my sight. You 
 know well the kind of days I have been passing since. I 
 can only say I have been carried along by a strong sup- 
 porting arm, and by a tenderness which does not refuse 
 me the relief of tears, which I had been unable to shed 
 for weeks. 
 
 "... In the morning of the day, I went into her room 
 about four o'clock in the morning, having heard her in- 
 cessantly coughing for a long time. ' Oh,' she said, in her 
 bright sunny way, ' thee art not so good as thee said thee 
 would be. Go to bed, darling ; I really have had some nice 
 sleep.' I returned again at six, with something very soft 
 to place under her shoulders ; every part of her back was 
 so tender that no position afforded comfort. She said she 
 would have it the next time the nurse moved her. In 
 about an hour the nurse called me hastily, saying Anna 
 was faint. I found her breathing with difficulty, but as 
 soon as she could speak, she said, with one of her inex- 
 pressible smiles, 'I am not going yet, I am so strong.'
 
 "MY NANNIE." 285 
 
 She then asked the nurse if that was dying. For four 
 and a half hours this painful breathing continued, be- 
 coming more and more difficult, and she was perfectly 
 conscious till the last few minutes. She, as it were, 
 girded herself to endure the pains of death, that she 
 might spare the feelings of those around her. Her lips 
 were often seen moving, and her clear, beautiful eyes 
 raised upwards ; then her face would become overspread 
 with an almost luminous smile as she evidently received 
 the answer. She did not move the whole time, but her 
 sweet eyes were ever seeking me with inexpressible ten- 
 derness, as if with her whole soul she would comfort me. 
 About a quarter of an hour before she passed away, she 
 said, ' Pray,' and my Philip commended her into her Re- 
 deemer's hands, giving thanks for her full salvation, for 
 all He had revealed to her, and for her perfect peace. She 
 said, ' Amen ; it is all quite, quite true.' Then in a clear 
 voice she said, ' I am quite ready.' Her eyes sought me 
 again. I laid my cheek on hers; a few more long-drawn 
 breaths and she had left me behind. The ansrel had crone 
 out of the house, and left a void never to be filled till we 
 meet acrain. 
 
 " On Tuesday she was laid in the little, quiet burying- 
 ground where her ancestors for many generations sleep 
 undisturbed. It is in the village next to Buxton, where 
 my sisters live, and belongs to the Friends, who were 
 numerous in those parts. It is a sequestered spot, sur- 
 rounded by trees and a high hawthorn hedge, where the 
 birds are never disturbed. 
 
 ' my dear friend, I do pray that the little remainder 
 of my life may be spent wholly in my Saviour's service. 
 The Lord has been wonderfully good to us, giving us 
 everything, softening the trial in every possible way. 
 Blessed be His name." 
 
 I had a treasure — so dear — so dear — 
 So strong for comfort, so fair to see ; 
 
 A whisper came from the heavenly shore, 
 
 " Wilt thou give the light of thine eyes to me 1
 
 286 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 My jewel ! my jewel ! But I only cried, 
 " He must not take thee by force away." 
 
 I gave thee, I gave thee, with joy and pride 
 Such a gem at His feet to lay. 
 
 And I thought of the glow that would light His eyes, 
 As He turned from angels to welcome thee. 
 
 But ah ! my Lord, if with Thee I joy, 
 Thou wilt not forget to weep with me.
 
 ( 2S7 ) 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 CLOSING YEARS. 
 
 " Old age is a blessed time. It gives us leisure to put off our eartlily 
 garments one by one and dress ourselves for heaven." 
 
 — " The Experience of Life." 
 
 Six months went by, heavy with the shadow of 
 death — the " bright jewel " gone, the husband fail- 
 ing more and more, dependent on " little, constant, 
 cheerful attentions" to divert the current of his 
 thoughts. Very pathetic was it, in those sorrowful 
 days, to witness the cheerfulness of these atten- 
 tions. Mrs. Sewell would have no one but her 
 sisters to stay in the house at that time, but my 
 daughter was able to spend a few hours with her 
 one day in September, and saw with astonishment 
 tbe degree of elasticity in mind and body which 
 grief and age had left untouched. The spring of 
 life was gone indeed. "Now, when I wake in 
 the morning — it's a burden," she said. "It was 
 never so before." Never, through all her weary 
 nursing ! but, far from wishing to lay the burden 
 down, she spoke with surprise of some persons 
 bavins; offered as a comfort to her the thouo;ht that 
 her own remnant of life must be very short. " I 
 cannot want to go till I have seen my goodman
 
 2 88 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 laid to rest," she said ; and besides, as my daughter 
 wrote, " The world was going on : she was intensely 
 interested in it, and wanted to live, and see what 
 wonld happen next." 
 
 She talked of trying to make little corners of 
 time in which to ^Yrite lessons for children, founded 
 on simple proverbs and illustrations from nature, 
 and laughed over one she mentioned. " I am a 
 lady, and you are a lady, and who is to drive out 
 the pig ? " Another she liked was, " God sees the 
 bhack ant on the black stone in the dark nio;ht." 
 But no time came until her long watch was gently 
 ended. Mr. Sewell died on November 7 in that 
 same year. 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 " I want to tell thee onr dear weary wayfarer has entered 
 into rest : at last that dimly expressed longing is fulfilled, 
 ' to get Home.' After all the long M'aitinfj-time, the final 
 stages of the journey were so rapidly completed that it 
 seems to me still like a dream of the night, and I listen 
 for the heavy foot, and the ever-repeated question, ' Mary, 
 are thee there ? ' and tears come witli tlianksoiving, that 
 our Heavenly Father has taken him to Himself. . . . 
 
 " God is very gracious. The last evening but one before 
 he left us, I was standing by him at the bedside ; suddenly 
 his spirit was caught away from everything but joy and 
 praise and thanksgiving, and for half an hour or more, as 
 I stood amazed, he poured forth, in the most fervent and 
 exalted language, a strain of praise to God — of perfect rest 
 in Cin-ist, and such an overwhelming sense of happiness 
 that he said, * I could shout for joy.' His passing away 
 was as gentle as that of a child falling asleep in its 
 mother's arms — the repose on the still face afterwards was 
 perfect. Have I not cause for trust and thankfulness,
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 289 
 
 and an assured hope that in God's good time I shall be 
 permitted to be where my dear ones are ? " 
 
 A few weeks later slie writes : — 
 
 " I am not alone ; my dear granddaughter is come to 
 live with me. I am feeling much like a day-labourer on 
 the Saturday night, when all his work is done, and he looks 
 forward peacefully and thankfully to the Sabbath. God 
 is ever very good to me." 
 
 Folded np with a number of reviews of " Davie 
 Blake," all most commendatory, I have found this 
 little prayer : — 
 
 " my Lord Jesus, may the one effort, the continuous 
 desire of my heart, be to serve Thee fully, either by doing 
 or suffering Thy will. 
 
 " Choose all the future for me, and help me constantly 
 to regard whatever comes as Thy place and will for me, 
 and thankfully regard and cheerfully accept it, whatever 
 it may be — diligently striving to abstract the blessing 
 which, coming from Thee, it must contain. 
 
 "Thou hast my treasures safe in Thy keeping — my 
 service for them is over, and Thou hast left me more at 
 liberty. Lord, that every step may now be forward 
 to the end. The past has closed in. I begin my new 
 life. The past is rolled up and put aside till the time for 
 unrolling comes." 
 
 In this spirit my dear friend turned to begin her 
 life again at eighty-one. 
 
 The granddaughter whose privilege it now be- 
 came to cheer her declining years, was in every 
 ^vay adapted for the task — fully in sympathy with 
 her philanthropic ardour, very executive, and 
 among other charming gifts, possessing one ines- 
 timable to those who live out of the stream of life 
 
 T
 
 290 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 themselves — she was a first-class reporter, able to 
 make her listeners partake in all she saw and did 
 But the first mouths of the new life could not be 
 otherwise than sorrowful. 
 
 Throughout the long and chequered years of 
 Mrs. Se well's life, one joy had never failed her. 
 Each year, as the time came round, the Spring was 
 ever longed for, w\aited for, watched for— she was 
 never so absorbed in either the joys or sorrow^s of 
 life as to forget to listen for the " Voice " w^hich 
 failed not to say : — 
 
 " I come, I come ! ye have called me long, — 
 I come o'er the mountains with light and song ; 
 Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth 
 By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, 
 By the primrose-stars in the. shadowy grass, 
 By the green leaves opening as I pass." 
 
 In the year following " the darling's " death, the 
 Spring w^as again welcomed, but it was with a 
 chastened joy — the Voice w^as the Voice of Spring, 
 but the words were not the same : — 
 
 "But ye I — ye are changed since ye met me last; 
 A shade of earth has been round you cast ! 
 There is that come over your brow and eye 
 Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die ! 
 You smile — but your smile has a dimness yet — 
 Oh what have ye looked on since last we met ? 
 
 " Ye are changed, ye are changed ! and I see not here 
 All whom I saw in the vanished year! 
 
 Are they gone? Is their voice from the green hills 
 
 passed ? 
 Ye have looked on Death since ye met me last."
 
 CLOSING YEARS 291 
 
 In a letter dated March 10, the bereaved mother 
 writes : — 
 
 "... Still I am sacl. The primroses coming, aud no 
 darling to carry them to — the birds beginning to sing to 
 each other, and my bird is flown away, and will sing to 
 me no more here ; and I am deaf, and cannot hear her 
 singing in that enclosed garden full of perfumes, though I 
 am sure she is there ; and I rejoice for that, but cannot 
 help saying ' How long ! ' " 
 
 The dear mother often spoke with pleasure of 
 the fact that her own birthday and Anna's both 
 occurred early in the Spring ; she always rejoiced 
 in finding affinities with the bright and hopeful, all 
 her life continuing on the side of youth and hope. 
 Their birthdays into "The Better Land" waited 
 for no Autumn, only for advanced and perfected 
 Spring — the daughter dying in May, and the 
 mother early in June. In their death they could 
 still follow " The Voice of Spring," and say : — 
 
 " For me, I depart to a brighter shore ; 
 Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more ; 
 I go where the loved, who have left you, dwell, 
 And the flowers are not Death's : fare ye well, farewell ! " 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 ( Wlun the house had hccn cleaned and painted.) 
 
 "You have been building and beautifying for others, 
 and have had the charm of unselfish labour; the great 
 drawback in mine has been that I had no one to do it for 
 but myself, and it has been such a dry, heartless service, 
 that I almost dislike the look of my clean walls and well-
 
 292 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 painted stairs. I have been wanting my Nannie ; but, 
 oh, how sorry she would be to be recalled to this poor lean 
 world ! I think she M^ould say with Samuel, ' Why hast 
 thou called me up ? ' or rather, ' Why hast thou called me 
 doion ? ' How near heaven becomes when your darlings 
 are there ! Wherever it may be, or whatever it is, we 
 know it will satisfy all our desires." 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 (After the death of a young heli^er very dear to Mrs. 
 
 Williamson.) 
 
 "... These severing strokes from our dear companions 
 have brought us into our last dispensation — our complete- 
 ness is gone. That generous, flattering love that could 
 see no fault in us, which unconsciously placed us on good 
 terms with ourselves, and beguiled us away from dis- 
 couraging influences with the sense that we were every- 
 thing to some one, and that no one else could ever be the 
 same — that is for ever gone. 
 
 " Our path is not so flowery now — there are none of 
 those little love-songs we used to sing together when no 
 one else heard — no one else could know the tunes. . . . 
 Yes, everything is changed. These are the last days with 
 us — the time of perfecting and finishing up, and doing the 
 things that remain. Our expectation is only from Him, 
 who alone knows what the ' lone heart ' means. Oh for 
 the reunion ! Can it ever be ? Only the spiritual body 
 could bear such joy. Many a time in the day, when it 
 looks all fair weather, I comfort myself with the sweet joy 
 of folding my beloved again to my heart." 
 
 {After returning from Church.) 
 
 "This morning in the Church, when the Organ was 
 beautifully playing 'Wherefore with Angels and Arch- 
 angels, and with all the company of heaven' — I could 
 fancy I heard my Nannie's sweet voice among them, and 
 I strained my hoarse little pipe to join in with her. Oh !
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 293 
 
 beloved, what will that meeting be, and the age after age, 
 and the more and more ! " 
 
 " In my own experience I do not know what is meant 
 by getting over a deep heart-loss, though I am well aware 
 that circumstances arise which incline us to thank God 
 that He has taken away our treasures, and hidden them 
 away for a while, in His grand Storehouse. 
 
 " What wonderful and beautiful things must grow out 
 of sorrow and bereavement, that now, with only our dim 
 anticipations, we are able quietly to endure the tremendous 
 griefs of life ! When there existed no hope of a resurrec- 
 tion, there could have been but the choice between stoicism 
 and insanity. Christianity has no doubt increased our 
 power of feeling, but it has also provided us with an 
 anodyne." 
 
 But her note was not always sad, even in ad- 
 dressing the very few whom she trusted with her 
 sadness. The young and ardent about her saw 
 little of it at any time, and the following letter to 
 ]\Irs. "Williamson strikes a cheerful chord : — 
 
 "Noveniber 2, 1S79. 
 
 " I want to know, dear friend, how it fares with thee — 
 how the tenement is keeping in repair, and whether this 
 early cold is warning thee to take more care. 
 
 " Your photograph stands in a little frame upon my 
 chimney-piece. I frequently go up to it and say, ' How 
 do thee fare, precious friend ? ' It answers always in the 
 same words, or I do not understand variations, 'What I 
 see clearly ought to be done, I have faith to undertake. 
 Do thou likewise ; ' and I answer, ' friend, give me thy 
 faith. Thou hast received abundantly according to it. I 
 cannot do like thee.' 
 
 " How gorgeous will the autumn tints be, from the 
 pleasant windows at Fairs to we ! It will truly be a fair- 
 stowe, and it will charm your eye and taste, and will feel 
 to you like a great cathedral full of praise.
 
 294 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 " During this summer, up to the present time, I have 
 usually taken my early morning service between seven 
 and eight o'clock, in a quiet walk on the edge of Mr. 
 Buxton's pretty park. I cannot express the refreshment, 
 help, and enjoyment this has been to me. It is goodly to 
 praise with all the praising creatures, and they are so 
 cheerful that one can but feel our Father means us all 
 to be truly happy, and has provided for our being so. 
 Sorrowful yet always rejoicing, not stopping short at the 
 first word. Well, I think we do not, we could not ; every 
 day comes laden with mercy, and the greatest mercy of 
 all is that we feel it to be so." 
 
 The previous habits of our lives tell strongly on 
 our later years. Those, then, have a great advantage 
 who have habituated themselves to a kind and 
 loving consideration for others. The infirmities 
 of age pass over such comparatively lightly — they 
 escape the danger of dwelling too much on their 
 own ailments when their hearts are so full of other 
 things. The power for active service may be les- 
 sened, but if life has been rightly used, a reserve of 
 experience has been accumulating, which, laid out 
 to the best advantage, may prove to be the highest 
 offering of the life. When both the head and the 
 heart can still do so much, it becomes of little con- 
 sequence that the hands and feet can do little. 
 
 Dora Greenwell writes : — " It is \vonderful what 
 the heart can go through, when it has some one 
 thing that it really delights in, to turn to as a 
 green spot. A beloved being is best of all, but 
 even a favourite, congenial occupation, will do a 
 great deal." 
 
 Mrs. Sewell was still rich in " beloved beings "
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 295 
 
 and congenial occupations. Many of her morning 
 hours were spent in converse with those who 
 needed just the counsel and sympathy she knew 
 so well how to give. It was interestinof to observe 
 how fearlessly these inquirers trusted her with 
 their ignorance, without a thought of being de- 
 spised for it. The consciousness of it only made 
 them feel the more sure of her help and sympathy. 
 The following letter reveals the secret of her 
 patience : — 
 
 " When one sees one's friends tossed and troubled, and 
 then turns within one's own heart, and feels so filled full 
 with blessingr — when that love and trust are granted to us 
 so richly which others sigh for, — ^how can we wish, having 
 this, to ask or desire anything more than this peace of 
 God shed abroad in the heart ? How could we bear life, 
 or our fellow-creatures, without it ? From it comes the 
 saintly gift of patience — the love that covers the many 
 sins with its own atmosphere of tender colour and tone. 
 It is this that makes bearable the waywardness and wil- 
 fulness of both young and old — causing it to appear only 
 as the ruggedness which casts needful shadows, the full 
 meaning of wdiich will be one day understood in God's 
 own clear light." 
 
 Another letter touches on the responsibilities of 
 human intercourse : — 
 
 " How often we have been conscious that a light word 
 spoken, a suggestion thrown out, has changed the whole 
 current and atmosphere of conversation, raising its tone, 
 or it may be depressing it to a very low level ! Possessing, 
 as we certainly do, these latent forces wdthin ourselves — 
 these stimulating agencies to develop either the better or 
 the worse, — how careful we should be that we call forth 
 only the latent angel."
 
 296 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 In summer-time, especially if any visitor were 
 staying with her, Mrs. Sewell liked to take her 
 callers into the " summer-parlour " in the garden, 
 where she was more secure from interruption than 
 anywhere in the house. There many a sorrow has 
 been poured out, comforted, or, if it chanced to be 
 of home manufacture, rebuked. The Bible-woman, 
 who came every Saturday morning to tell her long 
 story of the week's work, was often received there, 
 and there Mrs. Sewell would take letters which 
 came asking her advice and sympathy in difficult 
 matters, to think and pray over them before 
 writing in reply. I give two specimens of her 
 answers : — 
 
 " As far as I have heard and read, the really great things 
 in the world have not been done by great companies or 
 great men, but by one man here, and another woman 
 there, whom the Lord chose because He could trust them. 
 He may choose you, my dear, to be a light in a dark 
 place. You can't tell what sort of people you may be set 
 down among, but whatever they are, you are put there to 
 do them good, and get good yourself." 
 
 "... You ask me questions I cannot answer. With 
 regard to the great enemy of mankind, I leave that with- 
 out any speculation or desire, excepting that he should be 
 shut up." 
 
 To a Friend who had been visiting Old Cation, and had a 
 great afpreciation of " Warren's Pot " — an innovation 
 which Mrs. Seivcll's cook had resented. 
 
 " Your letter this morning was like balm and honey. 
 I was waiting till it came, for I was sure it would come —
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 297 
 
 we could not leave off quite all of a sudden to speak to 
 one another, even thoufrh the world is dashincj along at 
 such a rate. I wanted to tell you again how full of love 
 and pleasantness you left my heart — so comforted and 
 refreshed. I like the word refreshed : it sounds like 
 new life and strength together. This is a fine talent, this 
 talent of refreshing, which some persons especially possess. 
 Don't you think it micjht be classed among the Gifts to 
 be exercised for the Great Refresher ? There are many, 
 many, with heavy hands and sinking hearts, waiting for 
 these sweet messengers. 
 
 "My dear Philip spent last evening with me. After 
 tea we sat in the greenhouse, and I read to him ' The Man 
 at the Gate,' which he mucli appreciated. We had a 
 sweet and comfortable talk together, till the moon was 
 walking in her brightness, and we found that time had 
 been travelling even faster than our thoughts. 
 
 " I am so glad you are better for your little visit here. 
 Was it not a little one ? I trust, in the Autumn, when my 
 garden is full of flowers and fables, that we shall see your 
 dear face here again. My maids were quite ' took up with 
 you,' as they expressed it. The ' Pot cloud ' has been 
 lifted from Cook's face, and she is quite bright again. 
 ' Bear ye one another's burdens,' though it may be only 
 a pot. 
 
 "I found this morning, in the inkstand of your room, 
 a knife with an ivory handle ; it looks as if it had been a 
 faithful pocket companion to some one for some years, and 
 might have had a suffering time of it. Is it yours ? 
 
 " I remember with much humiliation what a penance 
 my letters are to read, and I have to inflict it upon another 
 friend before the post leaves, so no more." 
 
 The " flowers aud fables " of that pretty garden 
 linger fondly in the memory of all w^ho rested 
 there. To the right of the house, under an arch- 
 way where convolvulus and canariensis climbed up 
 to meet the Gloire de Dijon rose, one passed the 
 dividing hedge, and came in sight of the pansy
 
 298 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 bed — a daily delight to its mistress, on account 
 of the variety of expression in the flowers' faces. 
 " Do look at that pert little thing." she would say. 
 " Did you ever see anything so saucy ? " When 
 told that the Germans called them "stepmothers" 
 because they had such cross faces, she was up in 
 arms on behalf of both stepmothers and pansies. 
 The old country name, " Jump-up-and-kiss-me," 
 she thought much more suitable for some of them, 
 and others were " pansies for thoughts," grave and 
 pensive. Then there were the favourite white 
 auemone-japonicas, " like happy schoolgirls with 
 such open faces," opposite the summer-parlour ; 
 and coming back along the straight walk at the 
 top, one went down to the house again by the 
 path skirting the bed of wild-flowers. The latest 
 improvement there was to sink two large earthen 
 pans, painted dark green, and fill them with water 
 for the lilies and forget-me-nots to look into. 
 
 " I have two ferns here that are mad for new 
 fashions," Mrs. Sewell said one morning ; "all the 
 frills and furbelows that you could think of" 
 
 They were hedgerow ferns which, planted in the 
 richer soil of her garden, had thrown out a crop of 
 green curls above their natural fronds. 
 
 ** It's a perfect caricature of fashion," she said ; 
 " and this other one — how lady-like it looks beside 
 them ! Now all these ferns, when we see them 
 crowded up in the hedge, are limited and small ; 
 they can't put out their powers. Plant them here, 
 and we see how they develop, with the help of
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 299 
 
 human science. They are just like mankind, 
 struggling for perfection — struggling blindly, so 
 that these " — pointing to the curly ferns — " when 
 they get well fed, with plenty of space, instead of 
 developing in a nice, orderly way, run off into all 
 these frolics." 
 
 On the other side of the lattice-screen behind the 
 ferns, very dear neighbours had lived, but they left 
 several years before Mrs. Sewell's death, oft re- 
 membered and lamented. From a thick clump of 
 beech-trees beyond — 
 
 " The deep, mellow cush of the wood-pigeon's note 
 Made music that sweetened the calm." 
 
 j\Irs. Sewell interpreted it to say, " You he-e so 
 pretty ! You be-e so pretty ! " and a low sound 
 
 used to come, like an answer from the mate, " Yes, 
 
 >> 
 
 yes. 
 
 There was a little bark house for bees on the 
 top walk. One autumn, Mrs. Sewell writes : — 
 
 "We had a tremendous storm last Thursday. The 
 leaves were sent off quite without warning, and the gar- 
 den, which was quite pretty last week, lost all its glory." 
 
 This storm was probably responsible for the 
 foUowinor ; 
 
 o 
 
 ''Now I must end with a tragedy. Having observed 
 no bees going in and out since the great rain, I felt 
 anxious, thinking it must be too early for them to go to 
 
 sleep, and when G was here, I got him to lift off the 
 
 top of their house, — and they were all dead corpses. As 
 I turned sorrowfully away, a gracious pigeon said, ' That 
 le a pity ! '"
 
 300 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 A visitor once had the misfortune to call the 
 bees' house "an apiary." Mrs. Sewell turned 
 upon him and said, " It's a hee-hut ! " 
 
 Another case of fine language she took very 
 patiently, the speaker being below herself in posi- 
 tion. A person usefully employed in London, 
 having occasion to come to Norwich, asked, as a 
 great honour, for permission to call on the illus- 
 trious authoress. On arriving, she dramatically 
 kissed the hand held out to her, and began a 
 speech — an outpour of admiration, which the hostess 
 benevolently allowed her to finish, as it would 
 have been a great disappointment for anything 
 so elaborately got up to fail in reaching its object. 
 As soon as it was over, the admired lady began, 
 in her usual quiet w^ay, to speak of the w^ork in 
 
 which Miss R was engaged ; but whatever 
 
 was said only became the occasion for a fresh 
 display of complimentary eloquence. When at 
 last the visitor took her departure, as Mrs. Sewell 
 
 closed the door after her, she said, "Miss R 
 
 is a good body, but afflicted in her manners." 
 
 I told her of Mr. Smithies' remark, when he had 
 been presented with a testimonial accompanied 
 by most flattering speeches — "If we must be 
 rewarded, or rather punished in this way, I think 
 we might stipulate to have our praise administered 
 in homoeopathic doses, not in shovelfuls." 
 
 When confined to the house by a cold, she 
 wrote : — 
 
 " In one way or the other, I find plenty to do and think
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 301 
 
 about. I know nothing about long weary days. I often 
 think how wonderful it is that every day finds its own 
 little occupation and excitement, sufficient to keep the 
 wheels going, even though we may not have what is 
 called an important vocation." 
 
 I once told her of a Hospital Missionary, who, 
 at the close of his long service, said to me, " For 
 thirty years I have spent my time in going up 
 and down, in and out, among the same rows of 
 white beds." " That sounds rather monotonous," 
 I said; but he answered, "No; His compassions 
 were new every morning." 
 
 " That just describes my life," she said. " People 
 think I must be dull ! Why, I wake every morn- 
 ing with quiet joy, expecting the new mercies the 
 day is sure to bring, and He never disappoints 
 me. If in the evening He w^ ere to ask, ' Lackest 
 thou anything ? ' I could only reply, ' Nothing, 
 Lord.' " 
 
 Perhaps one of the pleasantest things that hap- 
 pened any day was to hear the sound of carriage- 
 wheels, and " Bessie's" well-known step. " Grand- 
 mother " would be at the door to welcome " my 
 girls," who had no end of things to tell. In some 
 unaccountable way Bessie must have learned man- 
 ners, for she was deeply impressed wdth the con- 
 viction that a call should not extend beyond a 
 quarter of an hour. As soon as that had expired, 
 she began to paw and fret to be off, and the father's 
 voice would be heard calling, " Come, girls, come ; 
 Bessie wants to be going," Then a number of
 
 302 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 heads would be tlirust out of an open window, 
 calling out, " Oli, Bessie dear, do be quiet ; we 
 liaveu't half done yet. Do stand still, there's a 
 dear ; do." This procured perhaps another five 
 minutes — then again came the summons, " Come, 
 girls, come; I can't hold Bessie any longer." Then 
 out rushed the merry girls, clambering up the car- 
 riage as best they could, as people must when 
 horses cannot be made to stand still — the dear 
 Grandmother looking on at the fun all the time, 
 — the proudest and happiest of Grandmothers. It 
 was a pretty sight to see her standing at the gate, 
 watching her precious ones until they were out of 
 sight — then stopping to speak to any poor neigh- 
 bour who might be passing by, inviting them to 
 step inside the gate and have a look at her flowers. 
 If it were late in the afternoon, men were often 
 returning from work, and she would gather a 
 handful of flowers for them to take home to 
 " missus" and the children. 
 
 To a Friend suffering the trials of house-cleaning. 
 
 " . . , ' A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind ' (or 
 sympathetic). I am in deep sympathy with you now — 
 in the turmoil of house-cleaning, ill supported, the sweep 
 and whitewashers contrary — Cook gone home to see if she 
 can mend up sufficiently to take lier place again — Emily, 
 and a good, Christian, know-nothing woman, to help attire 
 the house in her Spring clothes, and give her a sweet, 
 cheerful face. Amie and I lielp and arrange, and cook 
 a little, and clean a little, and put up with a great deal. 
 We do not make long faces, but often liave a hearty 
 laugh over these passing troubles, which are just the
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 303 
 
 size and weight you make them. All work is interest- 
 ing if you throw your energies into it, and if it is worth 
 doing. 
 
 " I have stopped a moment, enchanted with the blue, 
 blue sky, the fine white clouds sailing over it, and the 
 delicate green of the beech-trees. Oh, if you could but 
 see it with me, and gaze and wonder and praise ! 
 
 " Did you ever read a tiny little book, ' The Practice 
 of the Presence of God ' ? — the experience of Brother Law- 
 rence. If not, I will send it to you. If we could attain 
 to his experience, we should know nothing about picking 
 and choosing, but only accepting." 
 
 " She taught me one lesson which I shall never 
 forgfet," writes a friend. " I was smarting under a 
 trouble for which there seemed no redress, and no 
 liuman help ; — and to her, my best earthly com- 
 forter and adviser, I had confided it, sure of her 
 ready sympathy and attention. In two words 
 her help and her comfort w^ere given. ' Accept it,' 
 she said. 'There is nothing else for you, and 
 nothing better.' And so I found it." 
 
 From this time, letters are abundant, and the 
 story of the years that remain can be told almost 
 entirely in Mrs. Sewell's own w^ords. 
 
 To a Friend, advising her to defer a promised visit iintil 
 the extreme cold had^msscd away. 
 
 "... I am hardy, and do not suffer as some do. The 
 darling needing so very much care happily kept me from 
 self-indulgent habits, for which I thank her, as I do for 
 many other things — my jewel! And yet, oh how I do 
 W'ish you could see my dear robins, sparrows, thrushes, 
 and blackbirds, instead of only your poor little citizens !
 
 304 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 Then there is the exquisitely dazzling snow in the sun- 
 shine — the bare branches of the trees covered with 
 diamonds, the brilliant shining stars at nio-ht ! 
 
 " Shall we ever believe that we are ourselves when we 
 get into our neiv bodies, and find ourselves able to con- 
 verse with delight upon that which now lies to us almost 
 in a haze, or only occasionally emerges out of the mist, to 
 sparkle for a moment ? 
 
 " I like to try to make myself at home in that which is 
 to be, and though I see but through a glass very darkly, 
 yet this little helps to quicken desire, and release our feet 
 from the mud." 
 
 " I don't know where Heaven is ; therefore I am more 
 than satisfied to spend a portion of Eternity here, and see 
 some of the evil transmuted into good." 
 
 Speaking of some excellent people in high 
 places : — 
 
 " It is so encouraging to see the capabilities and excel- 
 lences that exist in so many of our fellow-creatures. 
 They seem to say to us, ' Up and gird yourselves.' 
 
 " If we could but begin again, retaining what we have 
 learned, I wonder if we should do better. Perhaps not — 
 in this limited body that coughs, and catches cold, and 
 gets so frozen. We'll have to wait. As I sit here, with 
 my stiff hands making all kinds of erratic dashes, I can 
 even rejoice that my darling is all safe and warm in the 
 sunshine of His presence." 
 
 On her birthday, April 6 : — 
 
 " I knew I should hear from you this morning ; you 
 always send me loving thoughts on my birthday. I think 
 it is my periodical setting-up day. I find afresh every 
 year that I have so many dear friends, and that they keep 
 on loving me from year to year. 13irthdays would be 
 excellent institutions were it only for the pleasant little 
 inflation they bring."
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 305 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 " It was tliis day fortnight, one of the days which 
 Southey somewhere says send into the heart a summer 
 feeling, when all the insect tribes leave their dark nooks 
 and coverts, and issue forth for one more day of joyful 
 existence. I took my Sunday morning service in the 
 garden, and felt my heart unspeakably full of joy and 
 peace and gladness — it was to me such a privilege to give 
 myself and every one I had to the Lord, and so safe ! It 
 was a temple service that morning to be remembered." 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 " I have at last got rid of a cold and cough that kept 
 me in the house till lately, speaking unkind things of the 
 east wind, which has been unusually spiteful, even for a 
 Norfolk east wind — never remorseful. The flowers turned 
 up their faces pitifully, or hung down their heads despair- 
 ingly. But oh how quick they are to ' take heart again ! ' 
 Yesterday's sweet, mild, gentle rain has quite inspired 
 them, and they and the birds are rejoicing together, and I 
 could not keep back my note of praise even had I desired 
 to do so. I took my walk in the old way early this morn- 
 ing, and saw the trees standing in their new garments, in 
 the first still hush of this resurrection morning. I think 
 the Great Assembly will be silent before they break out in 
 the great general acclamation of joy and praise." 
 
 In the spring of 1880, "The Martyr's Tree" was 
 completed. Two lines, written of the martyr, are 
 expressive of the writer's spirit at this time : — 
 
 " As through the mist, he saw the radiant clime 
 That borders on the way-worn waste of time." 
 
 She lived in prospect of the " glory shiuing far," 
 
 though in no haste to depart to it. 
 
 u
 
 3o6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 (Probably May 1880.) 
 
 " Norwich has been mad to-day with the elections. My 
 sisters came in this morning : they had been invited to 
 come and see a Liberal demonstration. I cannot forget 
 the fervour of my patriotic devotion to the Blue colour. 
 My father was a stauncli Whig, and as I always thought 
 my father right in everything, I have never changed sides." 
 
 Speaking of those early days, the fear of invasion, 
 precautions taken, &c. : — 
 
 " All these emotions iilled us with indescribable fire 
 and enthusiasm : though I was a little Quaker girl, and 
 my father was a good Quaker, nothing availed to tem- 
 per U3 down. When I open' my eyes in the ' beautiful 
 country,' the bliss unspeakable to me would be to see my 
 father standing with my Nannie beside him — his 'little 
 maid,' as he used to call her." 
 
 To Mrs. Brightiven. 
 
 " How I should like to be associated with you in all 
 your interesting work ! — but my lot is 
 
 • To keep the forward road in view, 
 
 Delighted to sit still, 
 And evermore, if not to do, 
 To bear God's holy vpill.' 
 
 And what a blessing it is to be permitted to rejoice in 
 the sweet and precious work of another ; united in fttU 
 sympathy and companionship, to thank God for every 
 member of tlie body that is efficiently and hopefully 
 working in its place, for the benefit of the whole ! Oh 
 that the rising generation that are learning to read might 
 be taught to read God's Works and not trashy novels ! — 
 tlie juvenile race of sceptics would then learn another 
 lanfTuacje. You see I am almost frantic for the children, 
 and that good Mother Nature should not be left to stand 
 only upon her scientific foot."
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 307 
 
 To the Same, 
 
 " My very dear Friend, — How pleasant it is to write 
 ' very dear,' even when there has been little personal 
 acquaintance ! This needlessness of the body gives me 
 very many delightful thoughts as to the resurrection 
 power that will be given to us to recognise all those great 
 and good ones of all times, into wliose spirit we have 
 drunk here. 
 
 " As I have to-day only a few minutes to spare, I must 
 at once attend to your questions, and say how sorry I am 
 I can give you no help on the subject which so painfully 
 interests both you and me, and many more. 
 
 " I know the general 02)inion is that a woman once 
 habitually a drunkard is unreclairaable. / would not say 
 so, because I know one of this class entirely reclaimed — 
 the worst and most shameful case I have ever known ; 
 but I can scarcely tell you how it came about. I believe 
 it was the fruit of persevering, ingenious, hopeful love, in 
 some who would not cease to hope, and would take no de- 
 nial, and who were fruitful in schemes, fertile in encourage- 
 ments, prudent in help, I believe it is the tenderest 
 essence of Christian love that is required for this work : 
 wMrning and argument seem to avail nothing. ' He laid 
 His liands upon them and healed them ' — it is just that 
 close, tender, uncalculating self-denial which is so specially 
 difficult to exercise towards these poor revolting creatures. 
 I do most earnestly hope that you may have so much of 
 the spirit of wisdom and love in your Committee on 
 Friday, that you may be able to find a way to these hope- 
 less, helpless ones. I should be so glad to hear of any- 
 thing practical. There is no possible class for these — if 
 they are gathered, it will be one by one." 
 
 To the Scone. 
 
 " To develop and not to satisfy were but to intensify 
 human sorrow by the increase of human wants. 
 
 "Does, therefore, universal culture tend to universal 
 happiness ? "
 
 3o8 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 "... I have delightful accounts of vour charmincj 
 place. I should like to have my weary eyes rejoiced 
 with it, but to-day I had almost as much joy as I could 
 carry in a ferny corner of my own little garden, where 
 the most brilliant American creeper was glorifying the 
 ferns. How good God is, in giving us intense perceptions 
 of natural beauty ! 
 
 " I am delighted with the book you have sent me 
 (Patience Strong).^ I tliink I find as much pleasure and 
 surjjrise in it as you expected I should. The writer has 
 a most happy and unique talent in throwing away the 
 old clothing of our thoughts, and giving us a fresh dress 
 with many lovely and tasteful decorations. I have not 
 read very far yet, but at the earlier part, Patience and 
 her mother made me think much of my Nannie when 
 we were together — wlien we fought the battle of life with 
 one heart and one soul. I often think now that even 
 lieaven itself could scarcely exceed the full content of 
 that united, vigorous fellowship in thought and action, 
 for I do not centre the bliss of heaven in Best, but in 
 restful work. In reading, this afternoon, I came upon a 
 passage which struck me very much, relative to pain. It 
 says — ' Pain is a thing of the spirit, and it may be that 
 only those who can make of it a sacrament are baptized 
 into the full intimacy of suffering with Christ: M'ith such, 
 it works towards a far more exceedinsj and eternal weight 
 of glory.' . . , Ah, dear friend, how happy I should be to 
 hear that the frail temple in which your spirit dwells was 
 permitted to be a little stronger ! My constant thought 
 with comfort is this — that we have each one of us a definite 
 2)lace and work preparing for us in the next stage of the 
 great For Ever, and that we are as definitely being pre- 
 pared for it now, and as tenderly, as the wisdom and love of 
 llim who delights in His people can arrange it. He sees 
 the end from the beginning, and surely it is an animating 
 satisfaction that He has chosen us to suffer for Him, and 
 for purposes connected with His great redemptive worl 
 
 IV. 
 
 1 " Patience Strong's Outing."
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 309 
 
 The same tliouglit is further carried out in the 
 following letter to a friend in deep affliction : — 
 
 "... My dear friend, how little did I suppose the 
 suflering you have again been passing through ! I have 
 been gladdening myself with the thought that the trial was 
 passing over. What a place you are fitting for! This 
 thought keeps continually pressing itself upon me. I could 
 not bear to look upon this keen trial without regarding it 
 in its honour and recompense, and this I must do. I have 
 been thinking many times lately of the condescension of 
 our Lord in leaving it to His faithful servants to fill up 
 the measure of His sufferings, to set an example in those 
 things which the shortness of His earthly life prevented 
 His doing Himself. He has given you, oh how many 
 times, His thorny crown to wear ! and I do not love you 
 enough to put a thorn into you ; I should pick them all 
 out. Oh how well that you are in His loving Hands, 
 and under His loving care, -svhere the ignorant affection 
 of friends cannot interfere to harm you ! " 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 "Buxton, April 5, 1881. 
 
 " To-morrow is my eighty-fourth birthday, and I must 
 send you the line so long delayed. I have often wondered 
 if you have been brought down as low as I have been by 
 cold, and the dark stormy weather. I have often thought 
 that the little shred of life might unexpectedly give way 
 and make no ado about it ; but I have so far weathered 
 the storms, and am now on a visit to my dear sisters, think- 
 ing a little change might stimulate life, and set me going 
 again. I have not been ill, only the warm blood was 
 chilled, and could not find its way about the old house. 
 This morning I have been out for a walk before breakfast, 
 and hope to continue to do so. This long habit has be- 
 come essential to both body and mind. I scarcely feel I 
 have had my breakfast unless I take in the air first. 
 
 " ^th. — Tiiis letter was laid aside yesterday, and now the 
 clock has struck eighty-four. I think it will not strike again.
 
 3IO LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 Diiriug tlie last few months I have perceptibly felt wearing 
 down, not because the works were much out of order, but 
 because they have completed the circle for which they 
 were wound up. So let it be — whatever my God wills. 
 I now only want to finish my course in the near presence 
 of Him who brou<j-ht me into existence ; who has redeemed 
 me ; has borne with my manners in .the wilderness, and 
 given me the blessed hope of spending a joyful eternity 
 in His presence and service. Time can only be called 
 short in comparison with eternity — looking back to my 
 childhood, life does not at all represent itself to me as 
 ' the weaver's shuttle/ 
 
 "... We have not a leaf on tree or hedge yet, but the 
 primroses and daffodils are forced to keep their season — 
 the law of their nature is so strong upon them." 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 " My days might be occupied in counting my mercies 
 on all sides. 
 
 " Thank God that He has placed us in this hard school, 
 with such a holiday at the end." 
 
 " I filled my Nannie's own little glass vase with single 
 white hyacinths and double white daisies, so fragrant and 
 lovely. If the garden will afford a flower, I always put 
 it in this vase by the side of her likeness in my bedroom, 
 and then we talk together; at least, I talk as if she 
 heard." 
 
 Speaking of the anniversaries of her husband's 
 death and Anna's : — 
 
 " I have not got over my double loss, but I have become 
 satisfied to live with it." 
 
 Durinoj the severe weather of the winter of 
 1 880-8 1, when much confined to the house, Mrs.
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 311 
 
 Sewell began " a new industry," wliich became a 
 
 great enjoyment and solace to ber. " Broidery 
 
 upon satin," she wrote, " and have accomplished 
 
 two beautiful pieces, quite to my own surprise and 
 
 everybody else's." I believe the correct name for 
 
 her material was " Roman sheeting." She worked 
 
 all her flowers with single threads of filozel, and 
 
 even in the leaves, rarely condescended to take a 
 
 double thread, unless they were very large. She 
 
 planned her own patterns, with a little help from 
 
 her granddaughters in drawing them out, and put 
 
 in her colours from the livinsf flower whenever she 
 
 could get it — in winter, from copies. This work 
 
 was her pastime, not to be pursued when she had 
 
 anything more important to do ; nevertheless, by 
 
 September she had six or eight " beautiful pieces " 
 
 completed, life-like as paintings. There was a 
 
 Village Industrial Exhibition that month, in tbe 
 
 museum-rooms which Mr. Buxton had built in bis 
 
 grounds, and she had great pleasure in sending two 
 
 pieces — blackberries and white clematis — which 
 
 occupied places of honour. By this time she 
 
 thought very ill of her first performances, and was 
 
 bent on accomplishing a number of pieces in her 
 
 best style, one for her son and his wife, one for her 
 
 sisters, and one each for her grandchildren and two 
 
 or three chief friends. Having now done a great 
 
 deal towards this, one evening, when the four girls 
 
 came to tea, she brought out her whole stock for 
 
 them to appraise, lay aside the best for their elders, 
 
 and make choice for themselves. It was very
 
 312 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 toucliing to Lear her say afterwards, " I should 
 like to live to finish some for the dear boys too." 
 The " dear boys," being the youngest, came last in 
 turn. Each piece was large enough to serve for a 
 very large cushion, or a mounted screen. The diffi- 
 culty is to bring one's mind to expose anything so 
 precious to the risks of use. Her beautiful study 
 of honeysuckles is my treasured possession. It 
 gave her a great deal of trouble, for she said the 
 leaves were " so verT/ unsentimental," it was hard 
 to make them effective. 
 
 Her sitrht, thouo-h wonderful for her a2;e, was not 
 the sight of youth, and with fingers so often stiff, 
 it is surprising that she could work as she did. 
 
 The years since Anna's death had brought many 
 losses. Mrs. Buxton's death quickly followed. This 
 was an irreparable loss ; and other dear friends 
 left the neighbourhood. During this year, another 
 family very dear to Mrs. Sewell removed from 
 Catton. The circle of life narrowed around her ; 
 the "pleasant speech" of friends came less fre- 
 quently ; her ears were next to hear the footfall of 
 the Messenger who would call her away.
 
 ( 3^3 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LAST STEP. 
 
 " In Thy presence is fulness of J03' ; at Thy right hand there are 
 pleasures for evermore." 
 
 On November 30, 1881, Mrs. Sewell wrote : — 
 
 " I keep the even tenor of my way at a great rate — not 
 intellectually engaged, but remaking both sets of curtains 
 for dining and drawing rooms, after dyeing ; and consider- 
 ing that there are twelve curtains in all, you may fancy 
 that hasty diligence and speed have been requisite; but 
 they are just done, and look well. My upholstery-woman 
 could not come, and A.'s time was filled in other ways, so 
 I put on my youth again, and found it quite fresh." 
 
 After this, we were unprepared for the follow- 
 
 ing^ 
 
 " I am not very well. AYhen I last wrote, I felt so 
 remarkably well that I dared to talk about ' youth.' Since 
 then I have had a severe attack of the heart, which I had 
 supposed to be quite sound. For a week I had pain quite 
 strange to me. ... I asked the doctor whether I might 
 calculate on any certain time. He did not think I could. 
 I might live a year, or it might be very soon, and as I have 
 fully run out the term of the family lease, and this has 
 come on so rapidly, I think the latter most probable. My 
 dear friend, I feel shaken in having to meet the prospect 
 of death so suddenly, but quite unshaken from a perfect 
 peace and faith in Him who has so long been all my trust.
 
 314 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 I should be glad to live a little longer, if it pleases God. 
 There are a few things I should like to finish a little more 
 perfectly ; but the only perfect thing is perfectly to yield 
 oneself to the Will of God." 
 
 To another Friend (after speaking of her 
 approaching end). 
 
 "... What an unspeakable mercy that the great account 
 is signed and settled and sure, and that there is no fear of 
 failure or default with the ever-blessed creditor — no change 
 of purpose ! I am often surprised, with all my daily faults 
 and infirmities and shortcomings of all kinds, that I can 
 feel so composed in the spirit of my mind. How glad we 
 shall be to meet each other on the other side, when we shall 
 wake up in His likeness and be satisfied, and yet know each 
 other, and look forward and backward without a fear ! 
 Llessed be God our Father." 
 
 " Yes, the shadows are increasing. I live on the ' Ever- 
 lasting arms ' — still there is something very affecting and 
 pathetic in this dim struggling, when the fogs of time ivill 
 becloud the heights." 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 "Well, dear friend, since writing to you last, another 
 messenger has been sent distinctly to me, saying, ' Set thy 
 house in order, for I may come quickly.' ... I keep going 
 about the house as usual, but softly. I am not left alone, 
 lest an attack should come on suddenly. My blessed Lord 
 and Master possesses me in perfect peace. I cheerfully 
 leave all that is to be in His wise and merciful hands. 
 The suddenness of it has shaken me a little, but not dis- 
 turbed me. It is difficult to realise at once that I am so 
 soon to leave all my dear children and friends — so very 
 dear — but this will come step by step, as all life has 
 done, and the last step will be into the glorious land of 
 promise." 
 
 The "last step," however, was not as near as it
 
 THE LAST STEP. 315 
 
 liad seemed. The severe symptoms passed away, 
 and she was able to be released from the necessity 
 — very irksome to her independent nature — of 
 having some one always with her. The letters 
 of the following spring say little of her ailment ; 
 it was put into the background, and the " stirring 
 world" resumed its old place in her keen interest, 
 only watched in a more chastened spirit. The fol- 
 lowinoj letter to Mrs. Brio;ht\ven seems to have 
 been written durino; the winter : — 
 
 " I was so pleased to read in your letter that you had 
 beeu teaching some of the teachers and pupil-teachers 
 how to handle with loving, reverent, and admiring 
 hands some of the wonderful works of God. I believe 
 Natural History Lectures, delivered by holy, reverent 
 men, who understood, and could explain without preach- 
 ing, would be invaluable in the present state of our 
 population, when children's minds so early take a bias, 
 and young people are so ready to question if there be 
 any good God who loves His creatures. I would there 
 were a school for this very purpose. The usual College 
 Professors and Xatural History Lecturers do not exactly 
 serve the purjDose I mean. They usually treat the sub- 
 jects as bare science, thus edifying the mind without 
 touching the heart. I have no doubt a number of young 
 men might be found, and trained to treat these subjects 
 more in harmony with the mind of the Great Teacher. 
 After a time I think they M'ould find ample employment 
 and encouragement in the country ; but they must be 
 God's servants, or they would do no good. Cannot you 
 stimulate some to turn their attention to this ? There 
 are a multitude of poor fellows who have given up the 
 pleasures of the Public-house, and are wanting something 
 to fill their minds. Our Blue-Ribbon Armies are wanting 
 something to fill their evenings and occupy their thoughts. 
 We succeeded in uniting a Club of working men in New
 
 3i6 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 Catton this winter. They hailed the prospect of heing 
 taught something. The great difficulty is to get the 
 teachers — it is so difficult to find any one competent, who 
 is not overdone with eno^ai^ements. The Club is now 
 separated for the summer, but we are looking anxiously 
 to the gathering again in the autumn, and castincj about 
 how to secure the best help. It is, I suppose, this 
 anxiety which has made me run off on this subject." 
 
 This Club was a subject of great interest to Mrs. 
 Sewell, often referred to in her letters. The next 
 is to a young friend who w^as fretting over printers' 
 errors discovered in her first book — rather a lona\ 
 unwieldy one for a beginning : — 
 
 "Old Catton, March 23, 1882. 
 
 " I have seen ' The Child,' and now I want to encourage 
 you not to fret at the little crumples you may find in her 
 clothes. I felt how you feel, from old experience — but 
 they will all wear out in a day or two. You supplied 
 her with such a very heavy wardrobe for the size of the 
 box, that it is inevitable that some little defects may be 
 found, which neither the mother nor the dresser need 
 take to heart. I have been ready to gnash my teeth 
 over trifles which probably no one else would notice. 
 ... I am so glad to hear the doctor speak so well of 
 
 . This poor old world wants you both, never more, 
 
 I think ; not because there are not good people and good 
 works, but because of the wonderfully strong counter- 
 current. The most useful work now appears to me not 
 to reform the had, but to reform the good, that they may 
 be stroner to love and to shine. 
 
 I have greatly enjoyed this delightful weather, not- 
 withstanding that I have had a slight return of my — 
 shall I say friend or enemy ? — but I am getting round 
 again, and find that my great labour will be to do little 
 or nothinLT. Three lon<f calls from three kind friends one 
 after another, took the life-power out of me."
 
 THE LAST STEP. 317 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 ''April 3, 1S82. 
 
 "... I think I have grown much older in these few 
 months. On Thursday will be my birthday — eighty-five ! 
 I like the idea of time being no longer — having no longer 
 the calculation to make by these little driblets of space, 
 but goin<:r on and on with the grand ' For Ever,' alwavs 
 joyful, never weary, though probably tasked to the full 
 extent of our powers — there may be ambition then — a 
 glorious, unselfish ambition. When we think of these 
 things, how strong is the assurance within us that we 
 are not now what we shall be — what we are made to be ! 
 We are made to be fulhj satisfied ; now we are empty, 
 except for hope and anticipation. 
 
 " I often wonder at myself that I have such a zest and 
 zeal in carrying out improvements that probably I shall 
 never see ; but I suppose it is the natural instinct of 
 progress, implanted in man that the whole of the Divine 
 plan may be worked out." 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 "April II, 1S82. 
 
 " Now that the sun is shining again and the birds seem 
 to be out of their senses with glorious prospects, I get 
 courage to take my pen again. 
 
 " I have been out all the morning, superintending 
 garden operations. I have turned out the Aloes which 
 came from the Moorlands, and removed the Pampas grass, 
 and doted over my Daffodils, quite appreciating Words- 
 worth's feeling of his heart dancing with the Daffodils. 
 What pleasures our Father gives us ! 
 
 " . . . ' Thy sun shall no more go down, nor thy moon 
 withdraw itself — and this spiritually is true noio ; we 
 have not to wait for the great realisation to know what 
 is meant. 
 
 " I have again been stopped in writing ; my Cook has 
 just brought me in a beautiful Tlirush's nest, which last 
 night's wind has blown out of the tree close by the kitchen 
 window, and all the eggs are broken ; but they will gather
 
 3i8 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 heart, and after a few days' silent submission, will build 
 another nest." 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 "January 1883. 
 
 "Deaeest and best Friend, — Comforter in so many 
 days of suffering and sorrow, you have been brought with 
 such a flow of tender affection to my mind this morning, 
 that I felt as if I must take up my pen and see what it 
 would write. It was in this wise — the first Sabbath in 
 
 the New Year — dear G just off to her devoted work 
 
 in the Sunday-school for the whole day, which would 
 seem rather long to me till Philip came in the afternoon, 
 especially as the fog and wet shut up the garden ; so I 
 began my frequent perambulations up and down the 
 room, saying to myself in a somewhat doleful voice, ' Is 
 there nothing that either branch or rush can do ? ' feelino: 
 myself very much like a broken rush in a swamp ; and 
 then, how it was I can't say, my dear friend came into my 
 mind, now laid aside, after the vigorous life and energy of 
 years. 
 
 " These verses came into my mind, ' And the disciples 
 gathered themselves unto Jesus, and told Him what they 
 had done, and what they had taught. And He said, Come 
 ye yourselves apart into a desert place.' A desert place ! 
 We never send our friends, when they are weary and 
 worn, into a desert place to be refreshed and strengthened 
 — we choose for them the pleasantest places we can find, 
 where they may be delighted and diverted, and so come 
 back (rather dissipated) to labour again. The Blessed Lord 
 thought not so ; in the desert He prepared them to feed 
 the multitudes, not from their own resources, but from the 
 bread He had created and blest ; and I thought to myself, 
 so He is preparing my dear friend, in w^eakness, trial, and 
 prostration ; and I tried to be glad, and thank God that 
 He was dealing with vou as He dealt with His dearest 
 friends on earth ; but oh how difficult it is to enter into 
 the Lord's mind when suffering is in the case — and yet I 
 believe we should never love each other so much if we 
 were in the heyday of prosperity all the year round. By-
 
 THE LAST STEP. 319 
 
 and-by the spirit of heaviness M'ill melt away before 
 the brightness of the garment of praise ; but not quite 
 yet, till He comes to receive the Kingdom. When will 
 that be ? " 
 
 Sunday morning was always a time of solitude 
 to Mrs. Sewell : unless she were quite ill, she would 
 not hear of any one remaining away from church 
 and Sunday-school on her account. Nor would she 
 have chosen to be without solitary hours : talking 
 fatio;ued her, listeninsf beins^ an effort now that 
 slight deafness had come upon her, and she was 
 too sympathetic to be long silent when with a 
 companion. Yet as she grew weaker, she became 
 less independent of society. 
 
 To a Friend deeply tried. 
 
 " What a blessed arrangement it is that love and know- 
 ledge are not the same thing ! — for here I am, lovimr and 
 loving and loving, and yet in the most profound ignorance 
 of where you are, and how you are ; but I really cannot 
 endure this any longer. The wood-pigeons have begun 
 their compliments, and always remind me of you ; and 
 all the sweet Spring sounds of the last few days keep you 
 ever in my mind, and yet always shrouded in mist, and 
 painful thoughts will arise. . . . 
 
 "Your last dear letter touched the very core of my 
 heart — that you had been appointed to suffer the heaviest 
 of sufferings — for a dear child of the Father to walk in 
 darkness and have no lifdit. I marvelled at the honour 
 
 O 
 
 done you, and the trust reposed in you. One dimly un- 
 derstands these mysteries by thinking of the multitude 
 of trained servants of every class that will be needed in 
 the many mansions. What a firm and pitiful patience 
 the angels must possess, to be able to carry on their train- 
 ing in us and for us ! — as I suppose they do. Are they not
 
 320 LIFE OF MRS. SEWELL. 
 
 all ministering spirits ? But oh how thankful I am, my 
 dear friend, that the ordeal is past — I trust it is — and 
 that you are now abiding sweetly and peacefully in one 
 of ' the chambers that look to the east ; ' but do let me 
 hear ; a scrap, a card, anything will satisfy me, only I 
 must know whether to praise, pray, or sympathise. 
 
 " I have struggled through, so far, by dint of selfishness. 
 Wearing a quantity of clothes, making grand fires, feeding 
 myself with wholesome and pleasant food, I am strong 
 and comfortable ; and here I am this day (eighty-six on 
 Friday), without ache or pain or stiff joint, able to enjoy 
 my friends' company here, while earnestly looking forward 
 to the meeting above the clouds and out of the storms. 
 
 " I expected to have met those who ' have passed on 
 before,' before this. I can hardly believe that it is five 
 years since my jewel left me ; she is as fresh as ever in my 
 heart and in my thoughts. 
 
 " I will not say any more now, as in my ignorance I 
 may fail to say what I want to say — something helpful, 
 if I could but think of it ; but my true love cannot be a 
 mistake." 
 
 To Mrs. F. 
 
 "Old Cattox, May 30, 1SS3. 
 
 " Your delightful letter could not have been more op- 
 portune. I laid it down, and thanked God for it and for 
 you again and again : especially for those small details 
 which you called the ' barefaced ' part. That was the 
 cream of it to me. I am sure it is often very good to be 
 quite free and open with onr frmids for mutual cheer and 
 courage, and not to be dumb when we trust there is a 
 little working of the true life granted to our efforts. It 
 is the clnj work which is so painful and so discourag- 
 ing, and so common, that the thoughts and hopes of the 
 generality of workers rarely rise much beyond duty and 
 system. It is almost an unexpected surprise and pleasure 
 when a soul springs up new-born — yet surely we should 
 not rest satisfied short of this. . . . 
 
 " There appear to be times in God's providence when
 
 THE LAST STEP. 321 
 
 the Spirit goes forth witli more effectual power ; when 
 the ear is more ready to hear, and the heart to believe, 
 and the stammering tongue to speak eloquently. I have 
 thought that such a season is now being granted to our 
 country — perhaps before sterner times arrive. 
 
 " During the last winter, an attempt was made at New 
 Catton by a few (a very few) to gather the working-meu 
 together in the evening for social and educational pur- 
 poses. There had been nothing of the kind. The popu- 
 lation, though exceeding 3000, are almost entirely of the 
 working class, scarcely any gentlefolks. About three 
 working-men rose to the occasion, with the help of a 
 clergyman and a friend. A large meeting was held, re- 
 sulting in the formation of a Society and a Club. The 
 men themselves say this has quite improved the spirit 
 of the neighbourhood. Sceptical talk in the streets is not 
 now paraded as it was before, and one of the leading 
 members said if one of the gentlemen would give a Bible- 
 Class in the week, he believed all the men would attend 
 it. All opposition was taken away, and a good, neigh- 
 bourly spirit much increased. They have now separated, 
 to meet again in the Autumn. 
 
 " It has struck me that God's gracious intentions are 
 larger and richer than our expectations, and that when we 
 think of aoiuisement, He thinks of imjjrovement — that we 
 think of the body when He thinks of the soul. I can well 
 believe what you say about simple vocal prayer, and its 
 uniting effect when the impulse is given. . . . 
 
 " I have been reading two books which I think would 
 interest you. Pulsford is the author." 
 
 These books ("The Supremacy of Man" and 
 " Christ in His Seed ") were a source of deep 
 interest and pleasure to Mrs. Sewell. Though she 
 could not resist occasionally making fun of Puls- 
 ford's flow of exalted language, she delighted in 
 his thoughts. " Only, when he goes so very far 
 back in the counsels of the Almighty," slie said, 
 
 X
 
 32 2 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 " one is a little inclined to question bow far he 
 has been informed himself." 
 
 To Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 " I knew I should have a long, lonely Sabbath till my 
 dearest Philip's afternoon visit, so after reading The Book, 
 I decided to take your book, ' Wayside Wisdom,' with 
 me into the greenhouse, where it was delightfully warm 
 and genial, and fragrant with sweet flowers. All the 
 windows of my heart are thrown open to the day, and 
 the light comes in, and peace and joy and heartfelt praise. 
 His Works open to me as wonderful and beautiful ex- 
 ceedingly, and my heart is fed as with the bread of 
 heaven and the water of life." 
 
 To Mrs. F. 
 
 "Old Catton, Novemhcr 26, 18S3. 
 
 " I have been so very sorry to leave your welcome and 
 delightful letter so long unanswered, but for the last few 
 weeks my right hand has been crippled by the old enemy, 
 wdio, you may remember, was wont to afflict me. I have 
 been fain to leave undone much that I should have been 
 glad to do. After so many years of steady friendship, I 
 was not afraid that silence would drive you away. It 
 has been quite as much a heart-pain to me not to write, 
 as it would have been a hand-pain to do it ; but now that 
 I sit here in ease, pen in hand, I feel the want of a 
 greater relief than it can give ; so much of painful interest 
 surrounds us that one cannot be still about. This Bitter 
 Cry of London is sounding in my ears all the day long, 
 and the feeling that England must awake to it, or take 
 the fearful consequences, keeps pressing upon me with 
 the home question, What must / do ? It has long been 
 a strong belief of mine, that the union of a kingdom in 
 all its classes is essential to its safety and prosperity, and 
 our present dismemberment, and independence of each 
 other, appear to my short sight very ominous ; but I will 
 not go on writing on this subject now, for ever since
 
 THE LAST STEP. 323 
 
 receiving your last letter, my interest in your writing lias 
 much increased from knowing the subject which engages 
 your attention, . . . I can well believe what you say, that 
 you have found intense pleasure in writing — to use our 
 faculties with any sense of power is a healthful delight, 
 and to do justice to one's subject, and do good at the 
 same time, is one of the greatest pleasures we can have. 
 
 " I well remember how much enjoyment I had in 
 reading your MS., and being allowed to criticise it, and 
 how often your wise, caustic, and friendly criticisms have 
 saved my little matters from disgrace. Oh ! what a long 
 time it is since we were all so animated together at Blue 
 Lodge ! — when she was there who had not written a book, 
 but helped those who did write. Now I would fain hope 
 she sees her own book doing for her dear Lord His work 
 of mercy. I was much interested in hearing the other 
 day that a gentleman who holds an official position in 
 China, but is now staying in Xorwich, accidentally met 
 with ' Black Beauty,' sat down and read it through, then 
 went to Jarrold and ordered a hundred copies to give away. 
 Besides this, he offered to give readings from it to an 
 evening class of working men, which he is now doing. 
 
 " And now about your own men's class. My observa- 
 tion, in reply to your question, would incline me to say, 
 one lady who has a real influence is better than more. 
 Even country lads are capable of an enthusiasm which 
 does them good, and is stronger when undivided. Do you 
 not think that in their dull, often heavy life, amongst clods 
 animate and inanimate, to feel an admiration for some- 
 thing or some one great and noble, would be to them 
 both a delight and a benefit? Enthusiasm is sadly 
 snubbed now — we shall die without it. 
 
 " The Working Men's Club at New Catton which I told 
 you of, and which was begun last year, has opened most 
 prosperously, and some of the very best results have arisen 
 from it. The men's characters and powers have in many 
 instances developed surprisingly. They have found their 
 places, and their hitherto unknown talents have found 
 space and scope. The self-denying energy with whicli 
 some of them have worked for the benefit of the classes
 
 324 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 has surprised and cliarmed me, and, I think, themselves 
 also. They look differently, they speak differently, and 
 stand differently, with more self-dependence. The laws 
 they have made themselves, they keep. A remarkably 
 friendly spirit has sprung up among them. The clergy- 
 man, Philip, and a schoolmaster are their friends for 
 counsel, but take no authority, and as a consequence are 
 very much valued. 
 
 " Do you not think that President Garfield's Life would 
 be a very improving one to read to boys ? But I must 
 change my subject if I am ever to leave off. 
 
 " I am pretty well in health : quite as well as such an 
 old woman can expect to be, and so thankful that I have 
 the use of my faculties, and oh ! so many mercies ! My 
 dear people are all in fair health, and none of them selfish 
 or idle. 
 
 " I expect in a very short time all my poetical works 
 will be brought out in two vols.^ They have hitherto been 
 so scattered; I have had to look them all through for 
 correction. The prose works are to come afterwards. 
 The ' Mother's Last Words ' are, I believe, to have an 
 Apotheosis, having reached a million. 
 
 "... Jarrold is printing a very small selection of my 
 ballads just now, the prohts to go to the aid of a mite 
 of the distress in London. I will send you one, although 
 I dare say you may remember them. . . . How many 
 mercies belong to a Christian life ! — and the more Chris- 
 tian, the more mercies. God is very good." 
 
 Mrs. Sewell never wrote auytliing more charac- 
 teristic of herself — few things more touching, than 
 " A Sad Story," included in the last little reprint of 
 her verses which she lived to see go forth, — " The 
 Suffering Poor." " That element of tragedy which 
 lies in the very fact of frequency " had deeply in- 
 wrought itself into her emotions. She writes the 
 
 1 "Poems and Ballads," by Mrs. Sewell, in 2 vols., 7s. 6d. : Jarrold & 
 Son.
 
 THE LAST STEP. 325 
 
 slow and undiamatic tragedy of a poor woman's 
 life in a home not worthy of the name. 
 
 " Oh, what a little thing would make 
 
 A toil-worn woman glad ! 
 But all the round of day and night 
 
 Is only sad, and sad ; 
 Shut out of light and air and room, 
 
 And pay and victuals bad. 
 
 " I've been a fool, I know, sometimes. 
 For really I could stop 
 And cry my heart away before 
 
 An ironmonger's shop, 
 And wish a little cooking-stove 
 "Would from the heavens drop. 
 
 " One might begin to see a chance 
 Of management once more, 
 Which seems to me a banished thing 
 
 From many people's door ; 
 We have not things to manage with. 
 And so — we've lost the power. 
 
 " I've sometimes thought, and sometimes dreamt. 
 
 About a little range. 
 And through me ran a thrill of joy, 
 
 A happy sort of change ; — 
 I saw the home-baked loaves come out. 
 
 All smelling sweet and strange. 
 
 " I thought of puddings made of rice 
 
 To fill the children well, 
 Just sweetened up with treacle too, 
 
 To make it taste and smell ; 
 And baked potatoes ! nice and hot ! 
 
 Almost too good to tell. 
 
 " Yes, then I'd manage with a hope. 
 And prize my little peli " — 
 
 That was the essence of all her plans for helping
 
 326 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 the poor — to make it possible for them to "manage 
 with a hope." About this time, the eldest daughter 
 of a family she knew well got married in a very 
 imprudent and reprehensible way — not quite " wi' 
 naether blankets nor sheets," but with very little 
 beside, Mrs. Sewell was grieved and disappointed, 
 but the thing was done, and she had a regard 
 for the young people's families, who were doing 
 their best to mend the matter. " So I sent the 
 Bible-woman," she said, "just to get her the things 
 a girl can't keep a decent home without — brushes, 
 and tubs, and pots, and so on ; and when her 
 father went to see her, she had her room as neat 
 as it could be — all her few little things bright and 
 tidy — and he burst into tears to think that the 
 girl had a chance ! If she wanted to keep a nice 
 home, she could." 
 
 Another letter touches on the same subject : — 
 
 " I have been wanting to know how you are, and what 
 you feel about this terrible ' Bitter Cry of Outcast London,' 
 The picture drawn haunts me day and night, and the 
 apparent impossibility of doing anything effectual to lessen 
 the evil. In a certain sense it is a comfort to see the 
 whole country roused to its foundations for a httle while, 
 but the times look big with omens of evih It begins to 
 be time to look up, or else to faint, and that would never 
 do. My holdfast is, The Lord Pteigneth." 
 
 Mrs. Sewell's last little published book was 
 " Sixpenny Charity," — one more appeal to help 
 the poor to "manage with a hope;" and in her 
 graphic way she describes the diflerence that even
 
 THE LAST STEP. 327 
 
 sixpence a week can make in a very needy 
 liome. 
 
 Emigration was anotlier subject that occupied 
 Ler tliouglits in her last winter on earth. She said 
 " an old woman was not the messenger to stir up 
 the world about it," but what she could, she did. 
 
 To Mrs. F. 
 
 " Old Catton, February 5, 1S84. 
 
 " It is only about three weeks since I regained the use 
 of my hand, and then fell ill, so that breathing often 
 became a business, not an insensible pleasure. I think I 
 have now started afresh, and there is so much to do, even 
 for the aged, that I really grudge to be idle ; and life and 
 thought and action are so intense and interesting, and so 
 various, that going to sleep (that is, die, if there be such 
 a thing, which I do not believe) feels postponable, whilst 
 there is any capacity left to help or comfort any one. I 
 beUeve this does not sound right at my age, when I ought 
 to be longing to depart. Oh ! if it was only by departing 
 that we could be with Jesus, one might indeed desire to 
 do it. In your sweet, quiet home, I think the pressure of 
 life cannot come as it does in the sound and stir of the 
 great city ; and yet I know you may there bring it more 
 profoundly near to the inmost centres of thought and 
 feeling, as you do, and ponder if there be any way out of 
 this great dismay. 
 
 " I do not think I ever felt our Blessed Lord's words on 
 the duty of personal self-denial so imperative before as I 
 do now, in seeing and knowing the utter destitution of 
 my fellow-creatures living almost within call. In most of 
 their essential features, the slums of Xorwich may be said 
 to rival those of London in the want of all things, and the 
 inevitable consequences. An appalling want of work pre- 
 vails almost everywhere, especially in the shoemaking (the 
 Norwich trade) — this has been at almost stagnation point 
 since a little before Christmas. A 's attention was
 
 328 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 drawn to a squalid mass of children ^yllom the officer 
 appointed to hunt them up had drawn into the great Sc. 
 Augustine Schools. They looked so utterly forlorn, that 
 she and another lady decided to find out their homes, 
 and the revelations would make another ' exceeding bitter 
 cry,' which must in some way be responded to. I think 
 misery must have made the people dumb or despairing, 
 as not one out of the multitude of families they visited 
 asked for anything, and evidently expected nothing. The 
 patient, sometimes even cheerful, endurance they mani- 
 fested was most pathetic. ... I think I never sympa- 
 thised with and admired the poor so much, and never 
 was so indignant and astonished at my own hard-hearted- 
 ness. What manner of men and women ought we to be, 
 with so many enjoyments, advantages, and opportunities, — 
 ' Our good things' ? 
 
 " I had this morning a visit from my old friend Jonathan 
 Grubb, whom you will know by name, if not personally. 
 Never did a man so little answer to his name. As he 
 kept talking, I wondered if I might claim to belong to the 
 same race of beings as himself, not because of any sublime 
 flights or heights of spiritual attainment, but for the 
 intense, practical, self-denying sympathy with his fellow- 
 creatures in the lowest abjectness of character and morals. 
 He gave a lecture last night to the members of the 
 Friends' First Day School, numbering looo, on ' Outcast 
 London, by one who has seen it.' He would more than 
 confirm G. Sims' account in every particular. Filled 
 with his Master's Spirit, he has never grown in the least 
 hard-hearted in the midst of his most revolting work ; 
 but he seemed as if he could have wept tears of blood 
 over it all. 
 
 " I have not read Mr. Drummond's work yet. I have 
 only seen Pteviews in The Friend. I had a letter from a 
 lady — a deep thinker — she says, ' I cannot think Drum- 
 mond's work can be entirely adopted.' I thought there 
 were very profitable truths in some of the quotations I 
 saw, but in the multitude of thoughts now presented to us, 
 we must feel free to reject or accept. 
 
 " I have now a charming collection of sermons by
 
 THE LAST STEP. 329 
 
 Phillips Brooke, an American. Tlie title is, ' The Candle 
 of the Lord ; ' that is the subject of one of tlie sermons : — 
 they are very elevating and invigorating. 
 
 " I have also another book, quite different, by George 
 the American, who, I suppose, thinks he will do our 
 country good by exasperating the feelings of our working 
 people. I have his second work, ' Social Problems.' I 
 am so very anxious about the state of our country, — one 
 cannot help believing there is much amiss, much that 
 needs alteration — much that I should like to look at 
 through the eyes of an impartial, straightforward man. 
 It has been quite a relief for me to find that George has 
 not obtained very enthusiastic audiences. I am told by a 
 farmer that he sees our malady very clearly, but not at all 
 the remedy. 
 
 " Do you know any interesting, easy books that would 
 be likely to create a desire to emigrate ? ' Letters from 
 Successful Emigrants,' with something of the 'Eobinsou 
 Crusoe ' aspect in it, might be inspiring. It would seem as 
 if England were intended to replenish the earth by the 
 rapid increase of her population — but so much ignorance 
 prevails on this subject, the spirit for it is not yet awak- 
 ened. The word ' emigrant ' scarcely brings other ideas 
 than leaving all your friends, getting into a ship, and 
 taking your chance you know not where. The boys who 
 are now training up in our Board Schools and Sunday- 
 schools, Temperance Societies, &c., ought to make good 
 colonists, and the education they get would all grow into 
 use more profitably than it might in the old country, 
 where people are treading on each other's toes. 
 
 " Oh ! dear friend, do excuse my running on about all 
 these things, but I feel so confident that you feel into my 
 heart as I into yours, and that we both love our country, 
 and would both rather bestir ourselves to give her the least 
 mite of help than only sit down to weep over her." 
 
 The fairer country — the hope she never failed 
 to dwell on, in all she wrote of the sorrows of the 
 " toiling folk," w^as drawing near. Her last birth-
 
 330 LIFE OF MRS. SB WELL. 
 
 day found her still able to delight in its love- 
 tokens. One of the letters she received I will 
 insert here : — 
 
 "April S, 1884. 
 
 " I woke early this morning, and lay thinking how much 
 joy would have been subtracted from my life if you had 
 never been born, and then I thought I was only one out 
 of very many who would not only thank God to-day that 
 you had ever lived, but that, in His great love and kind- 
 ness, it has pleased Him unusually to prolong your life ; 
 and still more that until quite lately you have enjoyed an 
 unusual degree of health and peace, and freedom from 
 those aches and pains which often make old age to be 
 rather dreaded than desired. We have decided that this 
 must be a day of praise — whatever clouds may come, we 
 will keep the sunshine in our hearts for God's great mercy 
 to us in permitting our beloved friend to enter in peace 
 on her eighty-seventh year. It always seems to me so 
 especially appropriate that you should be born in this 
 month of hope and brightness, when fresh flowers are 
 daily, hourly, coming from the great Giver, and the birds 
 are too full of joy to be very particular about interrupting 
 one another. 
 
 "... We have just been talking about the wonderful 
 arrangement in Nature for releasing the trees from their 
 leaves — so gently — so noiselessly. What machinery we 
 should need if we had it to do ! What ropes and pulleys 
 and ladders— what bustle and confusion there would be ! 
 Now, only as many leaves come down at a time as can be 
 easily got rid of, instead of our being blocked up, as we 
 should be if they all came down in a night ; and our eyes 
 have time to get used to their absence. 
 
 " It is sweet to think that it is the same loving and kind 
 Hand which is taking ws down, and He is doing it with 
 the same object in view, — that we may hide our decay for 
 a while, until the same Voice which in the Spring wakes 
 up everything to loveliness and beauty shall wake us up 
 to put on our beautiful garments, and wear the glorified 
 body, which will never grow old.
 
 THE LAST STEP. 331 
 
 " Dear friend, I daily pray that you may just yield your- 
 self to Him — perfectly and entirely ' lie passive in His 
 Hands,' and He will walk witli you step by step through 
 these Autumn days ; and the leaf of your life, which has 
 been sweet to Him, and to which He has granted a lonsr 
 Summer, will fall, guided by His Hand, and will be pre- 
 cious in His sight." 
 
 To Mrs. F. 
 
 — "Old Catton, Ma^j 1884. 
 
 " Just one line of dear love and thanks. I am recover- 
 ing from an acute attack in ray heart, not much expected 
 a few days since. All is well with me, dearest friend, 
 either way, and I do not choose. Mercy and goodness are 
 heaped up around me. May the best of blessings rest 
 on thee and thine. I must not write more than my 
 enduriu" love." 
 
 'O 
 
 Gently and gradually her strength gave way ; 
 yet still a word .of sorrow from one she loved drew 
 out a quick response. 
 
 To Mrs. F. 
 
 " Old Catton, 26th May. 
 
 "Most loving and true Feiend, — I have just read 
 your touching letter in my bed, and thank you so much 
 for it. Only a very few lines in return. I do earnestly 
 hope and pray that dear Mr. may now make con- 
 tinuous progress out of this fiery trial, and that your 
 health, beloved friend, may still be upheld to bear the 
 unwonted strain upon it. ' God is able.' 
 
 " I am in the ' Border Land,' not knowing whether the 
 next step may lead back into the old country, or whether 
 into that fair land where we all hope to meet together 
 and dwell for ever. I have not been well since Christmas, 
 but the last few weeks have sent me rapidly downward. 
 The props of the old house are naturally giving way, 
 after eighty-seven years of work, and especially my
 
 332 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 breathing, and general strength. I am very happy, F 
 
 dear, and no dark shadows lie before me ; and I have 
 all the comfort that the dear love of those around me can 
 give. The doctor thinks I may get better : if so I will 
 write and tell you. My affectionate love to you both, dear 
 friends. — Now and for ever yours, Mary Sewell. 
 
 " I do not keep to my bed, only a sleepless night kept 
 me later than usual, and I wanted to write to you myself, 
 and feared you might have left home, and I not been 
 able." 
 
 The pen which had written so many loving- 
 words, and cheered and helped so many human 
 hearts, had finished its work at last. Just fifteen 
 days after this letter was written, the writer left 
 the " old country." There is little to tell of those 
 last days. The fciilure of the breathing organs 
 made everything an effort, and words were few ; 
 yet she would brighten up for a few minutes with 
 all her old zest for hearing of fresh things doing in 
 the world. Within four or five days of her death 
 she listened eagerly to what a friend had to say 
 about emigration — the subject which had so much 
 occupied her mind during the previous winter. 
 
 Her son writes : — "Almost my dear mother's latest 
 expression was, ' I do not feel as if I were dying — • 
 only going into another room in the same house.' 
 
 " To her the Father's presence made wherever 
 she was His House, and all the plants, and birds, 
 and trees, and flowers, and sunshine, part of its 
 furniture that He had put there." 
 
 On the morning of her last day on earth — the 
 lOth of June — she be£^G;ed to be lifted from her bed
 
 THE LAST STEP. 333 
 
 to the couch beside the window. It was a glorious 
 summer day — the birds sang ; the fair earth was 
 adorned in its best furniture. She seemed to take 
 one look around, but no one could tell wliether she 
 saw anything, or heard the singing of the birds. 
 Consciousness ceased. It was as though some 
 Strono- One had taken her in His arms and closed 
 her eyes in deep sleep that she might not feel the 
 touch of the cold river of death ; and when she 
 awoke on the other side, He whom she had so loved 
 and trusted in her earthly home would be there — 
 " a living, bright reality." The time for the fulness 
 of joy had come. 
 
 The following lines were found among her papers, 
 in her handwritiuGj : — 
 
 " She died, yet is not dead ! 
 Ye saw a daisy on her tomb : 
 It bloomed to die, she died to bloom. 
 Her summer hath not sped. 
 She died, yet is not dead ! 
 Through pearly gates, on golden street. 
 She went her way with shining feet." 
 
 It was on a cloudless November day that I drove 
 from Buxton with "Elizabeth " (the sister so often 
 mentioned in the Autobiography) to the Friends' 
 Burying-Ground, about a mile distant, and found 
 myself standing before three graves— the sleeping- 
 places of the father, mother, and daughter. 
 
 The air was wonderfully soft and genial for
 
 334 LIFE OF MRS. SEW ELL. 
 
 November. The robiDS were singing as if there 
 was no such thing in the world as death. The 
 sunshine and song in which these sleeping ones had 
 delighted on earth seemed to have followed them 
 to^their last resting-place. Yet not the last — 
 
 " base, ungrateful thought, 
 To call the grave the last long home of man. 
 'Tis but a lod^incf, held from week to week, 
 Till Christ shall come." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BV BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EUINBl/KGH AND LONDON.
 
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 ( 2 ) 
 
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 but we believe it will do far more good than will ever be accomplished by those 
 huge masses of rubbish wliich are so often piled upon good men's graves." — Mr. 
 Spi'Rgeon in the Su'ord and Troicd. 
 
 LIFE OF THE REV. JAMES HAMILTON, D.D., F.L.S. 
 
 By the Kev. William Arnot. With Portrait. Post 8vo, 7s, 6d. 
 
 " It is rare that so fine a subject, endeared to the literary and religious English- 
 speaking world, finds so capital a biographer." — Princeton Hevieic. 
 
 ME^rOIR OF THE LATE REV. WILLIAM C. BURNS, 
 M. A., Missionary to China. AVith Portrait. Small crown 8vo, 3s. Gd. 
 " William Burns is one of the few men of modern times who have carried the 
 Christian idea into such active revelation in the life, as wo\ild compel, even from 
 the most sceptical, a reluctant consent to the Divine origin of the truths he 
 taught and lived by." — Contempm-ar>/ lievicic. 
 
 LONDON: JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.
 
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