This comfortable family home, made by throwing two houses together, with its walled-in courtyard leading to the sugar refinery and my father’s offices, was our town residence for eight very happy years. Here the group of brothers and sisters grew up together, taking daily walks with our governess into the lovely environs of the then small town. We became familiar with St. Vincent’s Rocks and the Hot Wells, with Clifton Down and Leigh Woods, which were not built on then. The Suspension Bridge across the Avon was a thing of the future, and Cook’s Folly stood far away on the wild Durdham Down. In another direction, Mother Pugsley’s field, with its healing spring, leading out of Kingsdown Parade, was a favourite walk—for passing down the fine avenue of elms we stood at the great iron gates of Sir Richard Vaughan’s place, to admire the peacocks, and then passed up the lane towards Redland, where violets grew on the grassy banks and natural curiosities could be collected. All these neighbourhoods were delightfully free and open. Our governess encouraged our natural tastes, and the children’s pennies were often expended in purchasing the landscape stones and Bristol diamonds offered for sale on Clifton Down. In still another direction, the ‘Brook,’ leading through pleasant fields to the distant Beaufort woods, had a never-ending charm. Daily, and often twice a day, the group of children with their governess wandered to these pleasant spots. In the summer time Weston-super-Mare and Clevedon gave endless seaside delights, and furnished a charming picture-gallery through all the subsequent wanderings of later life.
During the last years of our Bristol life, a house at Olveston, about nine miles from town, was rented as a summer residence. This afforded fresh delight. Not only was the neighbourhood beautiful, and interesting with views of the Welsh mountains seen across the Severn from a high common near by, and the remains of an old abbey where wolves’ heads were formerly taken as tribute still remained; but the large, well-stocked garden was separated from the orchard by a rapid stream, over which two tiny bridges were thrown.
To active, imaginative children this little domain was a source of never-ending enjoyment, whether cherishing pet animals, cultivating gardens, or playing Robinson Crusoe. When not staying in town we lived in this pleasant place, my father driving out from business daily.
Only on rare occasions did any of the children go to school. Governesses and masters at home supplied the necessary book knowledge; and a passion for reading grew up, which made the present of a new book the greatest delight, and our own pocket-money was chiefly spent in buying books.
Whilst the home life was thus rich and satisfying to children, echoes from the outside world came vaguely to us. The Bristol Riots took place during this period, and I remember watching the glare of incendiary fires from the heights round our country home. Also I vividly recall the ‘chairing’ of Bright and Protheroe, with their red and yellow colours, and the illumination of the house and premises in Nelson Street, in honour of this Liberal victory.
Our interest was early enlisted in the anti-slavery struggle then vigorously proceeding in England, and Wilberforce was an heroic name. The children voluntarily gave up the use of sugar, as a ‘slave product,’ although it was only in later years, when living in America, that they threw themselves ardently into the tremendous fight.
My father was an active member of the Independent body, and strongly opposed to the Established Church. ‘Rags of Popery’ was a phrase early learned in a parrot-like way. But a very strong sense of religion was early implanted. The Bible was held in affectionate reverence. Mrs. Sherwood’s stories were favourite books; and although we soon learned to skip the endless disquisitions on metaphysical dogmas which they contained, yet goodness, gentleness, and reverence were inseparably blended with breezy commons, lovely woods, clear streams, and waterfalls, from reading those charming story-books. Religion thus became associated with all that was beautiful in Nature and lovely in social life.
Müller and Craik, the founders of the Plymouth Brethren, were then beginning their work in Bristol, and I was much impressed by the earnest eloquence of the young Scotch evangelist.
EMIGRATION TO THE UNITED STATES
The first eleven years of life had been passed under these happy influences of a healthy English home, when a great change of social surroundings took place, by my father’s emigration to the United States with his large and increasing family.