vance with immediate dismissal. It must be said for Mrs. More that
during her sisters' lifetime she had had nothing to do with the
housekeeping; further, she was in very ill health, and had not been down
stairs for seven years; but, with all the palliations that may be
offered, is it not startling to find that this woman's influence had
pervaded the civilized world with the exception of that little corner of
it which was to be found under her own roof? This incident, together
with the quarrel with Lactilla, suggests that Mrs. More did not exert
_personally_ a very strong influence. In regard to her servants she
relied upon the deathbed harangue with which Mrs. Martha had consigned
her to their care, and her confidence was kept up by the texts of
Scripture which they each night carefully repeated to her before
retiring to eat her game.

In the heyday of Hannah More's popularity there were living in Bristol
or its vicinity three young men who were to bring in the new literary
epoch by which Hannah has been forgotten--Coleridge, Southey and
Wordsworth. Both Southey and Coleridge were introduced to Mrs. More by
Cottle. Southey was invited to pass a day at Cowslip Green: he pleased
equally all five of the sisters, and Hannah pronounced him "one of the
most elegant and intellectual young men they had seen." In 1814, Cottle
conferred a like favor on Coleridge: they went down to Barley Wood,
where for the space of two hours Coleridge delighted the five-leaved
clover with his brilliant talk, but, unluckily, a titled visitor coming
in, the poor philosopher was left to finish his soliloquy alone.

Southey was born in Bristol, at No. 9 Wine street, now the sign of the
Golden Key. His father, a draper, carried on his business under the sign
of a hare: although all his life a shopkeeper, he had been brought up in
the country, and was passionately fond of country sports. He related of
his first experience of city life in London that, happening to look out
at the shop-door just as a porter was passing with a hare in his hands,
it brought the country so vividly before him that he burst into tears,
and the impression was so lasting that years after, when opening a shop
in Bristol, he took the hare for a sign, having it painted on a pane in
the window on each side of the door and printed on the shop-bills. Of
Robert Southey's recollections of Bristol there is his own very charming
account in the first volume of his _Life_ by his son.

W