then we see her at fifteen suddenly sobered by the death of her
mother, a lady of "excellent beauty and good understanding," and
taking upon her young shoulders the entire management of her father's
household. With naive satisfaction she tells of how well she succeeded
and how she won the esteem of her mother's relations and friends,
being ever "ambitious to keep the best company," which she thanks God
she did all the days of her life.

Her father, like other loyal gentlemen, cheerfully suffered beggary in
the King's cause. His estates and property were confiscated and he
himself arrested. He managed to escape to Oxford, whither his
daughters followed him, to lodge over a baker's shop in a poor garret
with scarcely any clothes or money, they who had till then lived in
"great plenty and great order."

The seat of learning was strangely transformed by the presence there
of the moribund Court indulging in its last fling of gaieties and
gallantries on the eve of the debacle of Marston Moor. Soldiers
swarmed in the streets and were billeted over the college gates, and
gardens and groves were the trysting-place of courtiers and beautiful
ladies in that fair spring-time. Oxford melted down its plate for the
King and gave up its ancient halls to masques and plays for the
amusement of the Queen.

Sir John Harrison and his young daughters played their part in this
brilliant society. Mistress Anne's tender heart was moved to pity by
the "sad spectacle of war," when starving, half-naked prisoners were
marched past the windows of their lodging, but nothing could damp for
long her high spirits and girlish gaiety. We are told (not by herself,
but by the arch-gossip, old Aubrey) that in the company of Lady