Beaux and Belles of England | Page 5

period of her existence was a woman of
amiable and simple manners, unaffected piety, and exemplary virtue. I
remember her well; and I speak not only from report, but from my own

knowledge. She died in the year 1780.
My grandmother Elizabeth, whom I may, without the vanity of
consanguinity, term a truly good woman, in the early part of her life
devoted much of her time to botanic study. She frequently passed many
successive months with Lady Tynt, of Haswell, in Somersetshire, who
was her godmother, and who was the Lady Bountiful of the
surrounding villages. Animated by so distinguished an example, the
young Elizabeth, who was remarkably handsome,[2] took particular
delight in visiting the old, the indigent, and the infirm, resident within
many miles of Haswell, and in preparing such medicines as were useful
to the maladies of the peasantry. She was the village doctress, and, with
her worthy godmother, seldom passed a day without exemplifying the
benevolence of her nature.
My mother was born at Bridgwater, in Somersetshire, in the house near
the bridge, which is now occupied by Jonathan Chub, Esq., a relation of
my beloved and lamented parent, and a gentleman who, to
acknowledged worth and a powerful understanding, adds a superior
claim to attention by all the acquirements of a scholar and a
philosopher.
My mother, who never was what may be called a handsome woman,
had nevertheless, in her youth, a peculiarly neat figure, and a vivacity
of manner which obtained her many suitors. Among others, a young
gentleman of good family, of the name of Storr, paid his addresses. My
father was the object of my mother's choice, though her relations rather
wished her to form a matrimonial alliance with Mr. S. The conflict
between affection and duty was at length decided in favour of my
father, and the rejected lover set out in despair for Bristol. From thence,
in a few days after his arrival, he took his passage in a merchantman for
a distant part of the globe; and from that hour no intelligence ever
arrived of his fate or fortune. I have often heard my mother speak of
this gentleman with regret and sorrow.
My mother was between twenty and thirty years of age at the period of
her marriage. The ceremony was performed at Dunyatt, in the county of
Somerset. My father was shortly after settled at Bristol, and during the
second year after their union a son was born to bless and honour
them.[3]
Three years after my mother gave birth to a daughter, named Elizabeth,

who died of the smallpox at the age of two years and ten months. In the
second winter following this event, which deeply afflicted the most
affectionate of parents, I was born. She had afterward two sons:
William, who died at the age of six years; and George, who is now a
respectable merchant at Leghorn, in Tuscany.
All the offspring of my parents were, in their infancy, uncommonly
handsome, excepting myself. The boys were fair and lusty, with auburn
hair, light blue eyes, and countenances peculiarly animated and lovely,
I was swarthy; my eyes were singularly large in proportion to my face,
which was small and round, exhibiting features peculiarly marked with
the most pensive and melancholy cast.
The great difference betwixt my brothers and myself, in point of
personal beauty, tended much to endear me to my parents, particularly
to my father, whom I strongly resembled. The early propensities of my
life were tinctured with romantic and singular characteristics; some of
which I shall here mention, as proofs that the mind is never to be
diverted from its original bent, and that every event of my life has more
or less been marked by the progressive evils of a too acute sensibility.
The nursery in which I passed my hours of infancy was so near the
great aisle of the minster that the organ, which reechoed its deep tones,
accompanied by the chanting of the choristers, was distinctly heard
both at morning and evening service. I remember with what pleasure I
used to listen, and how much I was delighted whenever I was permitted
to sit on the winding steps which led from the aisle to the cloisters. I
can at this moment recall to memory the sensations I then
experienced--the tones that seemed to thrill through my heart, the
longing which I felt to unite my feeble voice to the full anthem, and the
awful though sublime impression which the church service never failed
to make upon my feelings. While my brothers were playing on the
green before the minster, the servant who attended us has often, by my
earnest entreaties, suffered me to remain beneath the great eagle which
stood in the centre of the aisle, to support the