sent from your and their fond
parent and most loving father,
A. T. CHICHESTER.

I suppose you know poor aunt E. M. has left you her piano. If your
grandpapa does not think it too large and would let it go to
Culham, should you object?

In August 1846 Bessie completed a long poem founded on a belief "which
prevails in parts of Burgundy, that the first flower which blossoms on
the grave of a departed friend links the soul of the departed in eternal
love to that of the person who gathers it." The verses are moderately
smooth and pretty, but give no great promise of excellence in that
department.

It is, however, characteristic of the writer that she represents the
"departed friend" not as a lover, but as the father of the girl who has
gathered the first blossom, and that she concludes:

And strength was given to her through prayer
In patience all her woe to bear,
Clearly her duty to discern,
And never more her life to spurn.
She lived, not wrapt in selfish grief;
Wherever she could give relief--
In poverty, sickness, or despair,
A spirit of comfort, she was there;
One of that heavenly sisterhood
Who only live for others' good.

Such words are like a feather thrown up in the air, they show the
direction of the prevailing current.

For two years longer the visits to Culham and Oxford recur at frequent
intervals, and there is repeated mention of the names of old friends.
Every event of interest that affects them--births, deaths, marriages,
arrivals, departures, promotions, bridesmaids' dresses--all are duly
chronicled. Once we are told of two merry girls shut up with some of his
pet MSS. by Mr. Coxe, the librarian of the Bodleian, who was too busy
to join them. They emerged from his den in a state of enthusiasm which
satisfied even his requirements; but they had to undergo a severe
brushing from "his own clothes-brush and at his own hands," for,
"learned dust as it was, we could not carry it through Oxford."

In 1847 the youngest brother, Tom, met with an alarming accident at
Westminster School. By some means when preparing to act in a play his
cloak caught fire, and he was almost burnt to death. Bessie used to tell
how the little fellow was found kneeling with raised hands, and praying
aloud, in the midst of a crowd of terrified boys, whilst the flames
leapt up above his head. He was so much injured th