。　Receiving　no　reply；　I　looked　up　to　discover　why　my　question　was　not　answered；　and　I　saw　my　parents　gazing　at　each　other　with　lamentable　eyes。　In　some　way；　I　know　not　how；　I　was　conscious　of　the　presence　of　an　incommunicable　mystery；　and　I　kept　silence；　though　tortured　with　curiosity；　nor　did　I　ever　repeat　my　inquiry。
  About　a　fortnight　later；　my　Mother　began　to　go　three　times　a　week　all　the　long　way　from　Islington　to　Pimlico；　in　order　to　visit　a　certain　practitioner；　who　undertook　to　apply　a　special　treatment　to　her　case。　This　involved　great　fatigue　and　distress　to　her；　but　so　far　as　I　was　personally　concerned　it　did　me　a　great　deal　of　good。　I　invariably　accompanied　her；　and　when　she　was　very　tired　and　weak；　I　enjoyed　the　pride　of　believing　that　I　protected　her。　The　movement；　the　exercise；　the　occupation；　lifted　my　morbid　fears　and　superstitions　like　a　cloud。　The　medical　treatment　to　which　my　poor　Mother　was　subjected　was　very　painful；　and　she　had　a　peculiar　sensitiveness　to　pain。　She　carried　on　her　evangelical　work　as　long　as　she　possibly　could；　continuing　to　converse　with　her　fellow　passengers　on　spiritual　matters。　It　was　wonderful　that　a　woman；　so　reserved　and　proud　as　she　by　nature　was；　could　conquer　so　completely　her　natural　timidity。　In　those　last　months；　she　scarcely　ever　got　into　a　railway　carriage　or　into　an　omnibus；　without　presently　offering　tracts　to　the　persons　sitting　within　reach　of　her；　or　endeavouring　to　begin　a　conversation　with　some　one　of　the　sufficiency　of　the　Blood　of　Jesus　to　cleanse　the　human　heart　from　sin。　Her　manners　were　so　gentle　and　persuasive；　she　looked　so　innocent；　her　small；　sparkling　features　were　lighted　up　with　so　much　benevolence；　that　I　do　not　think　she　ever　met　with　discourtesy　or　roughness。　Imitative　imp　that　I　was；　I　sometimes　took　part　in　these　strange　conversations；　and　was　mightily　puffed　up　by　compliments　paid；　in　whispers；　to　my　infant　piety。　But　my　Mother　very　properly　discouraged　this；　as　tending　in　me　to　spiritual　pride。
  If　my　parents；　in　their　desire　to　separate　themselves　from　the　world；　had　regretted　that　through　their　happiness　they　seemed　to　have　forfeited　the　Christian　privilege　of　affliction；　they　could　not　continue　to　complain　of　any　absence　of　temporal　adversity。　Everything　seemed　to　combine；　in　the　course　of　this　fatal　year　1856；　to　harass　and　alarm　them。　Just　at　the　moment　when　illness　created　a　special　drain　upon　their　resources；　their　slender　income；　instead　of　being　increased；　was　seriously　diminished。　There　is　little　sympathy　felt　in　this　world　of　rhetoric　for　the　silent　sufferings　of　the　genteel　poor；　yet　there　is　no　class　that　deserves　a　more　charitable　commiseration。
  At　the　best　of　times；　the　money　which　my　parents　had　to　spend　was　an　exiguous　and　an　inelastic　sum。　Strictly　economical；　proudin　an　old…fashioned　mode　now　quite　out　of　fashionto　conceal　the　fact　of　their　poverty；　painfully　scrupulous　to　avoid　giving　inconvenience　to　shop…people；　tradesmen　or　servants；　their　whole　financial　career　had　to　be　carried　on　with　the　adroitness　of　a　campaign　through　a　hostile　country。　But　now；　at　the　moment　when　fresh　pressing　claims　were　made　on　their　resources；　my　Mother's　small　capital　suddenly　disappeared。　It　had　been　placed；　on　bad　advice　（they　were　as　children　in　such　matters）；　in　a　Cornish　mine；　the　grotesque　name　of　which；　Wheal　Maria；　became　familiar　to　my　ears。　One　day　the　river　Tamar；　in　a　playful　mood；　broke　into　Wheal　Maria；　and　not　a　penny　more　was　ever　lifted　from　that　unfortunate　enterprise。　About　the　same　time；　a　small　annuity　which　my　Mother　had　inherited　also　ceased　to　be　paid。
  On　my　Father's　books　and　lectures；　therefore；　the　whole　weight　now　rested；　and　that　at　a　moment　when　he　was　depressed　and　unnerved　by　anxiety。　It　was　contrary　to　his　principles　to　borrow　money；　so　that　it　became　necessary　to　pay　doctor's　and　chemist's　bills　punctually；　and　yet　to　carry　on　the　little　household　with　the　very　small　margin。　Each　artifice　of　economy　was　now　exercised　to　enable　this　to　be　done　without　falling　into　debt；　and　every　branch　of　expenditure　was　cut　down；　clothes；　books；　the　little　garden　which　was　my　Father's　pride；　all　felt　the　pressure　of　new　poverty。　Even　our　food；　which　had　always　been　simple；　now　became　Spartan　indeed；　and　I　am　sure　that　my　Mother　often　pretended　to　have　no　appetite　that　there　might　remain　enough　to　satisfy　my　hunger。　Fortunately　my　Father　was　able　to　take　us　away　in　the　autumn　for　six　weeks　by　the　sea　in　Wales；　the　expenses　of　this　tour　being　paid　for　by　a　professional　engagement；　so　that　my　seventh　birthday　was　spent　in　an　ecstasy　of　happiness；　on　golden　sands；　under　a　brilliant　sky；　and　in　sight　of　the　glorious　azure　ocean　beating　in　from　an　infinitude　of　melting　horizons。　Here；　too；　my　Mother；　perched　in　a　nook　of　the　high　rocks；　surveyed　the　west；　and　forgot　for　a　little　while　her　weakness　and　the　gnawing；　grinding　pain。
  But　in　October；　our　sorrows　seemed　to　close　in　upon　us。　We　went　back　to　London；　and　for　the　first　time　in　their　married　life；　my　parents　were　divided。　My　Mother　was　now　so　seriously　weaker　that　the　omnibus　journeys　to　Pimlico　became　impossible。　My　Father　could　not　leave　his　work　and　so　my　Mother　and　I　had　to　take　a　gloomy　lodging　close　to　the　doctor's　house。　The　experiences　upon　which　I　presently　entered　were　of　a　nature　in　which　childhood　rarely　takes　a　part。　I　was　now　my　Mother's　sole　and　ceaseless　companion；　the　silent　witness　of　her　suffering；　of　her　patience；　of　her　vain　and　delusive　attempts　to　obtain　alleviation　of　her　anguish。　For　nearly　three　months　I　breathed　the　atmosphere　of　pain；　saw　no　other　light；　heard　no　other　sounds；　thought　no　other　thoughts　than　those　which　accompany　physical　suffering　and　weariness。　To　my　memory　these　weeks　seem　years；　I　have　no　measure　of　their　monotony。　The　lodgings　were　bare　and　yet　tawdry；　out　of　dingy　windows　we　looked　from　a　second　storey　upon　a　dull　small　street；　drowned　in　autumnal　fog。　My　Father　came　to　see　us　when　he　could；　but　otherwise；　save　when　we　made　our　morning　expedition　to　the　doctor；　or　when　a　slatternly　girl　waited　upon　us　with　our　distasteful　meals；　we　were　alone；　without　any　other　occupation　than　to　look　forward　to　that　occasional　abatement　of　suffering　which　was　what　we　hoped　for　most。
  It　is　difficult　for　me　to　recollect　how　these　interminable　hours　were　spent。　But　I　read　aloud　in　a　great　part　of　them。　I　have　now　in　my　mind's　cabinet　a　picture　of　my　chair　turned　towards　the　window；　partly　that　I　might　see　the　book　more　distinctly；　partly　not　to　see　quite　so　distinctly　that　dear　patient　figure　rocking　on　her　sofa；　or　leaning；　like　a　funeral　statue；　like　a　muse　upon　a　monument；　with　her　head　on　her　arms　against　the　mantelpiece。　I　read　the　Bible　every　day；　and　at　much　length；　also；with　I　cannot　but　think　some　praiseworthy　patience；a　book　of　incommunicable　dreariness；　called　Newton's　Thoughts　on　the　Apocalypse。　Newton　bore　a　great　resemblance　to　my　old　aversion；　Jukes；　and　I　made　a　sort　of　playful　compact　with　my　Mother　that　if　I　read　aloud　a　certain　number　of　pages　out　of　Thoughts　on　the　Apocalypse；　as　a　reward　I　should　be　allowed　to　recite　'my　own　favourite　hymns'。　Among　these　there　was　one　which　united　her　suffrages　with　mine。　Both　of　us　extremely　admired　the　piece　by　Toplady　which　begins：
  What　though　my　frail　eyelids　refuse　Continual　watchings　to　keep；　And；　punctual　as　midnight　renews；　Demand　the　refreshment　of　sleep。
  To　this　day；　I　cannot　repeat　this　hymn　without　a　sense　of　poignant　emotion；　nor　can　I　pretend　to　decide　how　much　of　this　is　due　to　its　merit　and　how　much　to　the　peculiar　nature　of　the　memories　it　recalls。　But　it　might　be　as　rude　as　I　genuinely　think　it　to　be　skilful；　and　I　should　continue　to　regard　it　as　a　sacred　poem。　Among　all　my　childish　memories　none　is　clearer　than　my　looking　up；after　reading；　in　my　high　treble；
  Kind　Author　and　Ground　of　my　hope；　Thee；　Thee　for　my　God　I　avow；　My　glad　Ebenezer　set　up；　And　own　Thou　hast　help'd　me　till　now；　I　muse　on　the　years　that　are　past；　Wherein　my　defence　Thou　hast　prov'd；　Nor　wilt　Thou　relinquish　at　last　A　sinner　so　signally　lov'd；
  and　hearing　my　Mother；　her　eyes　brimming　with　tears　and　her　alabastrine　fingers　tightly　locked　together；　murmur　in　unconscious　repetition：
  Nor　wilt　Thou　relinquish　at　last　A　sinner　so　signally　lov'd。
  In　our　lodgings　at　Pimlico　I　came　across　a　piece　of　verse　which　exercised　a　lasting　influence　on　my　taste。　It　was　called　'The　Cameronian's　Dream'；　and　it　had　been　written　by　a　certain　James　Hyslop；　a　schoolmaster　on　a　man…of…war。　I　do　not　know　how　it　came　into　my　possession；　but　I　remember　it　was　adorned　by　an　extremely　dim　and　ill…executed　wood…cut　of　a　lake　surrounded　by　mountains；　with　tombstones　in　the　foreground。　This　lugubrious　frontispiece　positively　fascinated　me；　and　lent　a　further　gloomy　charm　to　the　ballad　itself。　It　was　in　this　copy　of　mediocre　verses　that　the　sense　of　romance　first　appealed　to　me；　the　kind　of　nature…romance　which　is　connected　with　hills；　and　lakes；　and　the　picturesque　costumes　of　old　times。　The　following　stanza；　for　instance；　brought　a　revelation　to　me：
  'Twas　a　dream　of　those　ages　of　darkness　and　blood；　When　the　minister's　home　was　the　mountain　and　wood；　When　in　Wellwood's　dark　valley　the　standard　of　Zion；　All　bloody　a