THE RESIDENCE OF HANNAH MORE.

N the month of January, 1825-during a fall of sleet and snow, we left Bristol to pay a visit to Hannah More at BARLEY WOOD, her then residence, close to the pretty and retired village of Wrington, in Somersetshire.

Trembling on the threshold of a Life of Literature -quivering with apprehension as to what our fate might be if we dared to pass its iron gates, and ask to sit in the awful presence of those who had raised

the veil of the Inner Temple,

'whose names

In Fame's eternal volume live for aye!'

a note of invitation from Hannah More, written by her own hand, was an event that made the heart thrill with delight-not altogether unallied to fear and even now, after the lapse of nearly a quarter of a century, with its mingled burthen of triumphs and depressions, it recals one of the most impressive memories of a long and active career of authorship to which that valuable and admirable woman was the earliest, if not the strongest, prompter. We had previously made acquaintance with many memorable women of the epoch: we had bowed to the turbaned head of Miss Benger; gossipped with Miss Spence; been affectionately greeted by the excellent and accomplished sisters, Jane and Maria Porter; attracted, as by a golden link, to the lofty genius and generous heart of unhappy Lætitia Landon ;

corresponded with Felicia Hemans; been stirred to activity by honoured and venerated Maria Edgeworth; and received from good Barbara Hofland encouragement to appear in print'-notwithstanding the too popular opinion which refuses faith in the possibility that women may think and write and yet keep their homes in order, and augment the comforts of all around them. But none of these had inspired us with the awe which seemed inseparable from the idea of an interview with Hannah More, whose great work in life had been accomplished before we entered it; whose lessons had been our guides from youth upwards, and whose friends were the now buried immortalities of a gone-by age. Her Strictures on Female Education' had been our Polar star from infancy; and its author could not fail to be, in imagination, so wise, so lofty, so self-contained, so far above, and so different from, all other women, that while we eagerly desired, we feared, to meet her.

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The snow was deep on the ground, and the friends with whom we sojourned said it was' madness' to set out for Wrington on such a morning, particularly as the venerable lady's hours for reception were but from twelve till three; but we were decided, and the journey of some ten miles was passed in speculations as to what she would say, how she would look-and also as to what we should say! Say?' why nothing; how could we speak to Hannah More, or before Hannah More! who had depicted so truthfully the character of 'Lucilla Stanley' in 'Cœlebs,' and of course expected every woman to be a Lucilla; who had written Practical Piety,' and 'Christian Morals;' who had suggested to Royalty how a Princess should be educated, who had been complimented by Dr. Johnson, who had sat to Sir Joshua Reynolds, exchanged wit with Sheridan, enjoyed the social eloquence of Burke, had sufficient bravery to set Walpole in the right path, and been the honoured counsellor of Porteus and Wilberforce, and the familiar friend of David Garrick !

We had too much faith in the righteousness of her name-we honoured her too devoutly to imagine her-Mrs. Hannah More-anything like any other human being we had ever seen; we recalled to memory how she had been fêted, and embroidered for,'* by Royalty, we could hardly conceive

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*The late Duchess of Gloucester was so charmed by Mrs. Hannah More's work,' Hints

how she could have put off the stiff stays' of such grand' society to wander amid the Mendip hills, enduring-not the rusticity, for that might interest, or the vulgarity, for that might be pardoned—but the deep, and dark, and dangerous ignorance which had sent her humble neighbours to a fortune-teller to discover if the lady who wanted them to learn to read, and work, was not a 'methodist ;' while some expected to be paid for permitting their children to attend a Sunday School, and others suggested that she wanted to sell them as slaves for the colonies! But the darker the ignorance, the greater became the necessity for her exertions, such exertions as she never wearied of, until physical strength gave way beneath mental energy. All that she had written, and all we had heard of her, gathered about our memory, as the wheels rolled softly in the snow, or sinking still deeper, crackled upon the frozen paths. We knew that her mind when she resided with her sisters in Bristol, engaged in the actual business of scholastic education, had drawn inspiration and health from her visits to the beautiful neighbourhood in which she was now spending the twilight of her radiant day; we attempted to rub our frozen breaths from off the starry glass, and look out, but we could only discern lofty hedges through the mist of snow; we knew that we were in the centre, round which her Practical Piety' had been evidenced by the perpetual exercise of universal benevolence; whose liberality, true as it was to the Divine precepts of her Master, was in advance of her period; we counted up the schools which owed their existence not only to her money and influence, but to her actual bodily exertion, and that while struggling with infirm health, and years that will exact augmented toll as they roll on. Her friends had told us she was totally unspoiled by the flattery and attention of the great ; escaping from the society she never loved more than when she quitted it, but which she left from a sense of duty; zealous without bigotry; and liberal with a Christian spirit; and the more we recalled her excellencies, the more did we desire that the interview so longed for, might be over— simply from a deep sense of our own unworthiness. At length we saw the chimneys of Barley Wood above the trees, and driving along between high

on the Education of a Princess,' that she gave a fête for the purpose of introducing her to the nobility, and embroidered a dress for her with her own hands.

hedges of ever-greens, whose bright leaves occasionally pierced through masses of snow, we drew up with a frosty crash at the door of the schoolmaster's daughter.*

It was a pretty cottage-simply and purely rustic; even in winter, it looked cheerful, with its eaves where swallows build, its covering of English thatch, and its many homely props-pillars hewn from the adjacent wood,

which the axe of the woodman had not desecrated by fashioning. It has been accurately copied by Mr. Tucker of Bristol, to whose graceful pencil we are indebted for these valuable aids to memory.

A country serving girl gave us entrance; and we stood for a moment in the hall. We had pictured to ourselves an old lady shrouded in black velvet,

Barley Wood was built by Hannah More in the year 1800; she purchased the siteabout half a mile from the village of Wrington. Previously, her dwelling had been at Cowslip Green, about two miles from Wrington, which, until she resided there, had never heard the sound of a Bristol post-horn. Mrs. H. More's father was a man of respectable family, who kept a boy's school in the neighbourhood of Bristol: he left four daughters, but no son; and, as they all died unmarried, the direct family is extinct.

of a stately and severe presence, leaning (if she might rise to receive us) on an ivory-headed cane, and resuming quickly her seat on a carved and dignified high-backed chair; and we fancied that a large Bible, clasped with silver, should rest on a table beside her: we were kept waiting for a few minutes in the parlour, in which were hung several old and interesting engravings. The stillness and torpor of a frosty atmosphere had hushed all external noise, save the cold chilling whistle that moves no leafmonotonous and dull; the snow was cleared away from the porch, and food for the wild birds had been strewed within the circle; several songsters, their feathers all on end, looking like fuzz-balls, were still there, and the earth's white covering was marked with the impress of their feet; the long slender toes of the fragile lark, the broad foot of the wood-pigeon, the deliberate prints of the thrush and the blackbird-told of the considerate charity that ministered to their wants: once a glittering shower of crystals fell from a spangled bough, and a flock of starlings wheeled up, but to return again to the same spot. While watching these stranger birds, a demure-looking servant ushered us up-stairs, and though all was so still without, within we heard voices and the very merry laugh of a child— a glowing fire diffused through the half-opened door the heat and light which are so delightful after a chilling drive. When we entered, a glance showed that the room was not too large for comfort, that the walls were lined with books, and that a group consisting of three ladies and a little boy were round a table, upon which there was an abundant supply of cake and wine; to the cake the little fellow was doing ample justice, and a diminutive old lady was in the act of adding another piece to that already upon his plate; she moved to meet us—it was the least possible movement, but it was most courteous. Instead of black velvet, Hannah More wore a dress of very light green silk-a white China crape shawl was folded over her shoulders; her white hair was frizzed, after a by-gone fashion, above her brow, and that backed, as it were, by a very full double border of rich lace -the reality was as dissimilar from the picture painted by our imagination as anything could well be; such a sparkling, light, bright- summery'looking old lady-more like a beneficent fairy, than the biting author of 'Mr. Fantom,' though in perfect harmony with The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.' The visitor and her son took their leave; Mrs. Hannah'

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