hardly think that my father was, after all, unable to resist the worldly
advantages which my aunt declared should be mine. It was, in fact,
difficult to keep me out of the obvious risks this house and company
provided for a young person like myself. He must have trusted to the
influence of my home to keep me in the ways of Friends. It is also to be
remembered, as regards my father's motives, that my Aunt Gainor was my only
relative, since of the Owens none were left.

My mother was a prime favourite with this masterful lady. She loved nothing
better than to give her fine silk petticoats or a pearl-coloured satin
gown; and if this should nowadays amaze Friends, let them but look in the
"Observer," and see what manner of finery was advertised in 1778 as stole
from our friend, Sarah Fisher, sometime Sarah Logan, a much respected
member of Meeting. In this, as in all else, my mother had her way, and,
like some of the upper class of Quakers, wore at times such raiment as
fifty years later would have surely brought about a visit from a committee
of overseers.

Waiting for Aunt Gainor, I fell upon an open parcel of books just come by
the late spring packet. Among these turned up a new and fine edition of
"Captain Gulliver's Travels," by Mr. Dean Swift. I lit first, among these
famous adventures, on an extraordinary passage, so wonderful, indeed, and
so amusing, that I heard not the entrance of my father, who at the door had
met my aunt, and with her some fine ladies of the governor's set. There
were Mrs. Ferguson, too well known in the politics of later years, but now
only a beautiful and gay woman, Madam Allen, and Madam Chew, the wife of
the Attorney-General.

They were eagerly discussing, and laughingly inquiring of my father, what
colour of masks for the street was to be preferred. He was in no wise