I "lisped in numbers," it was not in Yorkshire, for Yorkshire I left for
ever before even the first babblings of babyhood began. However,
"kissing goes by favour," and I was happy in the favour I enjoyed.

I may as well say it here: with my poetical productions I was never
satisfied any more than with my attempts at drawing. My verses seemed
mere farthing dips compared with the resplendent poetry of our country
which I read and loved, but my efforts employed and brightened many an
hour in my youth that otherwise would have been tedious and dreary.

Ours was a large family, nine children in all; nothing unusual in those
days. "A quiver full" was then a matter of parental pride. Woman was
more satisfied with home life then than now. The pursuit of pleasure was
not so keen. Our parents and our grandparents were simpler in their
tastes, more easily amused, more readily impressed with the wonderful and
the strange. Things that would leave us unmoved were to them matters of
moment. Railways were new and railway travelling was, to most people, an
event.

Our fathers talked of their last journey to London, their visit to the
Tower, to Westminster Abbey, the Monument, Madame Tussauds; how they
mistook the waxwork policeman for a real member of the force; how they
shuddered in the _Chamber of Horrors_; how they travelled on the new
Underground Railway; and saw the wonders of the Crystal Palace,
especially on fireworks night. They told us of their visit to the _Great
Eastern_, what a gigantic ship it was, what a marvel, and described its
every feature. They talked of General Tom Thumb, of Blondin, of Pepper's
Ghost, of the Christy Minstrels. Nowadays, a father will return from
London and not even mention the Tubes to his children. Why should he?
They know all about them and are surprised at nothing. The picture books