"... Now, myJdear^Stephenson, I must satisfy my feelings by making in writing that acknowledgment which I have more than once verbally expressed. I am indebted to you for many years of cordial, honourable co-operation and support. You have admirably filled your important position, and wejhave all, in turn, profited by the good sense and good feelings by which your advice has always been distinguished. May you be rewarded as you deserve. The Queen does not possess a more valuable servant, or one more devotedly attached to the public interests. I have not failed to observe the self-denial with which you have sacrificed your natural and almost necessary enjoyments to the duties entrusted to you.... — Ever sincerely yours,
" C. E. Trevelyan."
My father's religious convictions were intense. It was said that as a young man his views were narrow, and indeed there was a time when Sunday was made rather a trying day to his children by a chill which fell on everything; when certain subjects were considered " not Sunday talk," certain books " not Sunday books." Later on, though his own beliefs were if anything intensified, he would always listen to the expression of other views, and was ready to discuss them with interest. He had a way of saying, " Well, I think that wrong, — it would be wrong for me, — ^you must judge for yourself."
In 1838 he married Julia Ehsabeth, the only daughter of Mr. WiUiam Richard Hamilton, a learned, cultivated, and most delightful man, to whom he was greatly attached. (See Note 9 to Crimean Letters.)
From 1839 to 1878 the family home was 12 Bolton Row (now part of the Curzon Hotel, Curzon Street,
12 BOLTON ROW 13
Mayfair). Sir Benjamin Stephenson took the house the year his son married, and there all the family removed from Hertford Street, and the new-married couple joined them. A very few months later Sir Benjamin died, his wife and daughters went to live at Winchester in the Cathedral Close, and Mr. Hamilton took over the house in London, and went there with his wife and two sons from Stanley Grove, his house in Chelsea, now St. Mark's College.
In 12 Bolton Row all my parents' five children were born; there Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton died, the latter in 1847, the former in 1859. It was a wonderful household, and after Mrs. Hamilton's death most skilfully managed by my mother. It needed not only a clever, but a tactful and unselfish woman to carry on such an establishment with so little fuss or friction as was here accomplished.
She had her husband and children to consider, and always two brothers, and until his death her father; while later on for a few years came her son, with his wife and two children. All these varied interests were carefully looked to, and her patience and tact were unfailing. It must have been a difficult task to ensure the harmony and content of such a mixed multitude.
There were not many holidays in those days. Until the elder girls were grown up there was never any idea of leaving home for country visits, except for a yearly visit of a few days every autumn to their lifelong friend Mr. Henry Cox at Hillingdon.
Every summer a house was taken in the country for a few weeks, to which the household were deported by road and rail, never too far from London for the daily going up to the office; so that to the heads of the house little real holiday can have resulted. Two quite extraordinary events were a fortnight spent in Belgium with the two elder children one spring, and another time a fortnight was spent in Paris, where they were taken by my mother's brother, Charles Hamilton. I always hope it was the real refreshment to them that they deserved.
12 Bolton Row was a very lively centre. As long as Mr. Hamilton lived it was the meeting-place of all his family, and there were big parties at Christmas and the New Year, and a children's ball every winter. Many interesting people whom some of us were too young to appreciate came to the house. There is a tradition that the youngest daughter once sat on the knee of the great Duke of Wellington; but if it is true, she was quite unaware of the extent of the privilege, though no doubt pleased to be taken notice of. Later on, as the children grew up, everything was done for their happiness and comfort, and one can only sigh to think how greedily it was all accepted and with how little real gratitude at the time.