Then, after a few more inquiries, Mrs. More came to public matters.
"I thought," she said, "I was too old to take such a deep interest in the affairs of this kingdom and this city; but, my dear, we stand on the edge of a volcano, and, from all I hear, Bristol is ill-prepared. There is a growing feeling of hatred against the magistrates, and the zeal of Sir Charles Wetherall has carried him beyond the bounds of discretion. Would you like to borrow any books? They are at your service. In that book-case there are many volumes written by me. I often sit here, and think over the writing of those books, and how little I ever expected that they would have a large sale, and bring me in, as they did, thirty thousand pounds. It often fills me with self-abasement, not self-glorification."
"I will not take a book to-day, dear madam; and here is Miss Frowde come to warn me that I have stayed long enough."
"See!" Mrs. More said, "there is the little steam-packet puffing busily up the river. I am blessed in my old age, to see before my windows the two great discoveries of the age, steam-power made useful for locomotion, and coal-gas for light. I am very happy here, my dear, but remember an old woman's advice, and do not spoil Susan Priday, or any servant, by over indulgence. Very often, as in my own case, carelessness, and dislike of trouble is the real root of the evil. God bless you and keep you, my dear," she said, as Joyce bent to kiss her. "Is there much excitement abroad about the passing of the Reform Bill?"
"Not that I have seen," Joyce answered; "but I daresay there may be in the city."
"Well, the result is in God's hands; we must pray and labour for peace, that blessed gift of God's love—peace."
It was a sweet parting word, and one to which Joyce often recurred in later years, almost as Hannah More's legacy to her—Peace.
