et to him with the following inscription:

"Sacred to the memory of Richard Baker, Esq., late of Barham
House in this parish, who departed this life on the 16th September 1824,
aged 62 years." [35]

Soon after the death of her husband, Mrs. Baker must have left Elstree,
[36] for from 1827 to 1839, Barham House was occupied by Viscount
Northland. The Burtons continued to reside at Tours, and all went
well until cholera broke out. Old Mrs. Baker, hearing the news, and
accounting prevention better than cure, at once hurried across the
channel; nor did she breathe freely until she had plugged every nose at
Beausejour with the best Borneo camphor.

The apprehensive old lady, indeed, hovered round her grandchildren all
day like some guardian angel, resolutely determined that no conceivable
means should be spared to save them from the dreaded epidemic; and it
was not until she had seen them safely tucked in their snowy, lavendered
beds that her anxieties of the day really ceased. One night, however,
when she went, as was her custom, to look at the sleeping children
before retiring herself, she found, to her horror, that they were not
there. The whole household was roused, and there was an agonising hue
and cry; but, by and by, the culprits were seen slinking softly in at
the principal door. It seems that they had climbed down from their room
and had gone the round with the death carts and torches, to help collect
corpses; and enquiry revealed that they had worked considerably harder
than the paid men. When the cholera scare passed off Mrs. Baker took to
learning French, and with such success that in less than six months she
was able to speak several words, though she could never get hold of the
correct pronunciation. Despite, however, her knowledge of the language,
the good lady did not take kindly to France, and she often looked
wistfully northwards, quoting as she did so her favourite Cowper:

"England with all thy faults I love thee still."

She and Mrs. Ling, the old nurse, who pined for English beef and
beer, made some attempts to console each other, but with inappreciable
success, and finally the fellow-sufferers, their faces now beaming with
smiles, returned together to their England. And not even Campbell's
sailor lad was gladder to see again the "dear cliffs of Dover."

Our charmingly quaint picture of Richard, his sister and brother, in
wondrous French costumes, is from an oil painting [37] which has not