"we went as children joyous, or oprest,

in some absorbing care, or blest,

in nodding conversation—hand in hand."

—honora shee (the lover's diary).

my aunt appeared to me to be failing in health a good deal at the beginning of 1888, and, though she sometimes seemed to be stronger, and chatted with all her old interest in the things of the past, there were days when she was so quiet and drowsy that i feared to rouse her by talking. at other times she would like me to talk and read to her as usual, but was so languid and tired that a little smile and pressure of the hand i held was the only response she made. in april she had a slight attack of bronchitis, and her doctor ordered her opium to ease her lungs. she much objected to all opiates, but her doctor's treatment seemed to ease her. she would not let me sleep in her house, as she thought, as usual, that it would "disorganize the household," but i went now nearly every night across the park in the fragrant spring nights to inquire, under her maid's window, if mrs. "ben" was asleep.

the owls had nested for years in a great tree by my aunt's bedroom windows, and i loved to watch them in the moonlight hawking for the food they had to supply in such abundance now to the screeching owlets in the nest. the old birds used to sit on aunt ben's window-sill, and hoot, and had done so, much to her pleasure, for the sixty {272} or seventy years of her residence in the house; but now her maid shook her head sadly, as she leant out of the window to tell me of her mistress's condition, saying "that's an omen, m'am; the dear mistress must be going soon." i answered irritably that the owls had hooted there since mr. benjamin's time, as her mistress had often told her, but felt her "time will show, m'am," to be unanswerable.

on these may nights, if he was at home, parnell would walk across the park with me and wait on a seat for me till i had obtained the latest bulletin.

one morning, very early, when her night had been restless, i made mary ann (my aunt's personal maid) come down and let me in. on going up to the great four-post bed where the dear little old lady lay, looking as small and frail as a child, she put out one, now feeble, white hand, and held mine. i told the maid she could go and rest a bit, and i would call her if my aunt wanted her.

when she was gone, my aunt, who was breathing with difficulty, whispered as i bent down to kiss her hand, "you do believe, do you not, my swan?" i answered, "yes, auntie, of course i do believe, most firmly." she said, "i am glad. i wish you could come with me, my darling!" and i sobbingly told her that i wished i could too.

i stayed by her side and smoothed her hand till she ceased to breathe, and then waited by her as all her servants who had been with her for many years filed past the bed, and took a last look at their stern but just and much-loved mistress.

she left a great void in my life, and the sensation of being always wanted and tied to one place that i had sometimes felt so keenly hard i would now have given {273} much to feel again. with this old lady died, so far as my acquaintance went, the last of the old world—that old world of leisure and books and gentle courtesy of days when men might wear their gallantry without foolishness, and women knew the value of their sex.

through all those years in which i waited on my aunt i never heard her use a clipped word, or use a sentence not grammatically perfect and beautifully rounded off, and although in the hurry of modern life i sometimes felt impatient when chided for some swallowed pronunciation or ignored g's, i look back upon the years of my life spent in that old-world atmosphere as a very precious memory.

after my aunt's death eltham became intolerable to me, and i took a small country house near mottingham till i could let my own house. directly we left eltham the pretty garden was devastated by relic-hunters, who pulled the place to pieces in obtaining mementoes of "the house where parnell had lived."

the house at mottingham was damp, and we longed for the sea.

for various reasons we had been obliged to relinquish any idea of living in the little house we had finished, with so much pleasure, at eastbourne, and at last we had removed the few things we had stored there, and in 1887 had finally decided to take the end house of walsingham terrace (no. 10), brighton. shortly after my aunt's death we went down to live there. the position then was attractive to us: cornfields from one side of the house away up to shoreham basin and harbour, a waste of hay at the back of the house, an excellent train service and a sufficient distance from brighton proper to enable us to avoid the crowd. while we were living there people used to walk and drive out to see "parnell's house," but this was not {274} particularly annoying, as when he was at home we went out early, or late—anyhow, at a time when the average person is kept at home by appetite. personally, if it was not glaringly inconvenient, i was always rather proud and interested in the popular attention parnell attracted wherever he went.

here parnell had the dining-room as his own sitting-room, where he kept the roll-top desk i had given him for all his papers and political work, while down in the basement there was a room in which he had a furnace fitted up, and where we used to burn the crushed ore before assaying it. we spent many hours down there, and i sometimes feared the excessive heat must have been bad for him; but he did not think so, and would become so absorbed in this work that i used to have the greatest difficulty in getting him out for the gallop on his horse president across the downs, which did him so much good.

i found at length the only way was to get his cap and whip and show them to the dogs. immediately i did this they would begin to bark wildly and jump up at him to make him start for the run they loved so much. parnell would then say reproachfully, "oh, queenie, how can you deceive the poor dogs like that?" and i would answer that the only way to keep them believing in us was to go at once for that belated ride. once started none of the party, dogs or horses, enjoyed it more than he.

in this house we had from the side windows of parnell's and from my room in which he afterwards died, a view of the most wonderful sunsets i have ever seen in england. then the whole west was a veritable fairyland of gold and crimson, and the harbour and shoreham town, with the little country church of aldrington against the setting of the downs, were touched with a pearly mist of {275} light that lifted them far out of the prosaic ugliness we knew by the blank light of midday. parnell used to say to me as we walked away to the golden harbour, "is it really like this, my queen, or as we see it at noon?" i could only reply that it was both—the both that made life at once so interesting and so difficult.

often in the following spring my king and i would drive out as far as the foot of the downs near the training stables beyond southwick; and then, climbing to the crest of the hills, go for long walks, away over the downs, walking or resting as we felt inclined, returning as night fell, to drive home.

one sunny morning, lengthening into a brighter day, i especially remember, when the south-west wind sent the flickering shadows across the downs where its sea-scents mingled with the sweet pungency of the young herbage. as we walked along hand in hand we were gay in the glorious spring of the year, feeling that while love walked so closely with us youth could not lag too far behind, and in the wide expanse of the south downs, which appealed so much to both our natures, we forgot all care and trouble.

very far away, standing clear against the skyline, there was a figure of a shepherd, his flock a little lower showed grey against the dull green distance. he stood motionless, as these lonely down shepherds do. the tumbled heap by him, we said, was his dog. so we watched him some miles away for more than an hour. we wondered what he thought of, and whether all this lonely loveliness meant anything to him, or if he would be glad to change his quiet life for the rush and hurry of a town.

presently, from where we sat, at the highest point of the hills, we saw some horses going at full gallop over the training ground, the horses straining at the bit, and {276} seemingly glad to be alive. the dull thud of the hoofs came up to us to mingle with the incessant trilling of the skylarks and the bleating of the distant sheep. now we turned seaward, overlooking shoreham harbour, and watched the vessels going out to sea on voyages fraught with unknown possibilities.

in spite of the excessive beauty of the scene, in the region of thought it had a saddening effect on us; and, as the last gleams of sunlight fell across the sea, lightly touching the sails as they slipped out of the light into the wider darkness of the leaden waves, we turned and retraced our steps, i leaning on his arm as we went down to the valley again.

a favourite haunt of ours at brighton was a little shop in pool valley altogether devoted to the sale of pebbles and crystals of various sorts, also of jet. parnell did not like the jet, but was greatly interested in the pebbles and the polishing of them.

he spent much time after we had found this shop in watching the process of cutting crystals and polishing the pebbles. onyx ball beads he selected in sizes with the greatest care, and had a long chain of them made for me with a gold ball between each two onyx beads. to these he had added a locket composed of crystal and onyx, and was much pleased with the result.

the chain, when finished, was a little heavy, but he had had such a happy time in selecting each bead and so carefully matching the markings that i wore it with a light heart till he noticed it was rubbing my neck, and insisted upon my taking it off there and then for ever.

another favourite haunt of ours was smith's second-hand bookshop in north street, where he would stand for an hour at a time poring over old books on mechanics, {277} or mining, while i dug out "bargains" amongst the poets of a bygone age, and discussed books with the proprietor.

parnell always tried to get a few days' shooting every year in ireland on the grouse moors he hired at anghavanagh, and i had much pleasure in getting together hampers of provisions for him in london to take over with him, as the arrangements he had been used to before i met him were decidedly primitive and very trying to his health. i always found that a good supply of hams and tongues, with the very best tea that i could procure, a new spirit kettle (every year) and a goodly supply of rugs and blankets rendered him sufficiently comfortable, and returned him to me without the acute attacks of indigestion that had formerly rendered these holidays among the mountains so little gain to him in health.

i had to insist upon his learning to make his own tea to save him from the "stewed" tea made by his servant in ireland, and i found it better to label the tea i got for his personal use: "for presents," and that which he might give away: "for mr. parnell's own use," as he said plaintively, "they seem to like my tea best!"

he used to love these shooting expeditions, but would never stay more than a few days, as he could not bear to be away from me longer. i used to wish it were possible for me to go to ireland with him in order that he might enjoy his shooting to the full, but that was impossible, and he always declared that "three or four days broke the back of that little shoot, anyhow!"

for many months parnell tried to invent a vessel which would so cut through the water as to obviate any sensation of the motion of the waves. when he had done this the ship was to be built, and i would be enabled to cross the atlantic as comfortably as i now made the journey {278} to brighton! incidentally this invention was also to make our fortunes. although the building of the ship had to be indefinitely postponed, the models made and tested by parnell were really wonderful. he had had no training in mechanics, nor did he know anything of shipbuilding or engineering, except such information as he obtained from the various books he read for amusement at rare intervals—but these models he made, and tried off the underdeck of the chain pier at brighton, were extraordinarily ingenious.

i do not venture to record this on my own authority, for i know absolutely nothing of such matters, but the firm, who cast the copper "floats" for him from his plans, and continually altered and corrected the models after trials, came to the conclusion that mr. "smith" was on the verge of a very useful invention; though, to his annoyance, they would not dissociate the torpedo-like structure from portsmouth and the admiralty. i frequently took my children down to brighton for a few days' change, and on these occasions mr. parnell would stay at a place near the chain pier, and we would spend most of the day on the underdeck of the pier-head trying the "invention."

once a hobby like this got hold of him he could think of nothing else in his leisure time, and this note is a specimen of many sent round from his hotel:—

am making new float, which will sink five feet, and shall have it ready to try to-morrow at 12.30. will meet you on chain pier at that hour. am anxious to make this trial before returning, and we will take hassocks and burgess hill in afternoon on way back to look at houses to let.

this new model we tried in all weathers, and, as at last it seemed to answer perfectly, with the exception of its lack of speed, he said he would patent it, and get {279} someone who had more knowledge than he to overcome the speed difficulty. to my uninitiated mind the thing looked like a treble torpedo-boat. had he lived i think he would have gone further into the matter, but, by the time this was finished, one thing after another occurred with such rapidity that it was perforce laid aside.

i remember one rough, stormy day when we had been much worried and were wondering whether the time of waiting we had imposed upon ourselves (that ireland might not risk the leadership which seemed her only hope) till the way could be opened to our complete union before the world, was not to be too long for our endurance. it was a wild storm, and parnell had to hold me as we slowly beat our way to the pier-head. the chains were up to prevent anyone going on to the lower deck, but parnell lifted me over, and we tried the "float," though it was useless to do so, as the waves shattered the slight thing against the pier before parnell could sink it to the required depth.

then we stood looking out at the great waves—so near, and shaking the whole pier-head in their surge. parnell remarked that the old place could not last long, and as i turned to get a fresh hold on him, for i could not stand against the wind, and the motion of the sea sickened me, the blazing fires in his eyes leapt to mine, and, crushing me roughly to himself, he picked me up and held me clear over the sea, saying, "oh, my wife, my wife, i believe i'll jump in with you, and we shall be free for ever."

had i shown any fear i think he would have done it, but i only held him tight and said: "as you will, my only love, but the children?" he turned then, and carried me to the upper deck, hiding my eyes from the horrible roll and sucking of the sea beneath our feet.