Aunt Mary was still more peculiar in her ways than Aunt Charlotte; she had a strange fancy that when she was in bed and asleep " things " might fall into her mouth. What " things " she meant to imply I do not know, but once, on being asked, she answered that " pins might drop from the top of the bed, and as she always lay on her back with her mouth open they might fall down her throat." To obviate this she could either have adopted the plan of shutting her mouth or of sleeping on her side, but Aunt Mary preferred her own method, which was to tie a large handkerchief over her mouth just under her nose.
THE ROMANTIC STORY OF MRS. GEORGE COXE ( 1 753-1 843), TOLD BY HER GREAT-NIECE, CHARLOTTE AUGUSTA STEPHENSON
When I was young I used to be staying a good deal with an uncle [really great-uncle, as he was the brother of the writer's maternal grandmother, Lady Rivers'] and aunt in the country \Twyford, near Winchester, in which town was the church he served]. My uncle was a clergyman, and still did duty in a moderate degree, but the living he held being some distance from his residence he kept a curate to do the work of the parish, doing little more himself than to perform the service in his church on Sundays. His age and previous hard work entitled him, he thought, to the indulgence of rest at the end of a long life. He had held a curacy in Ireland when he was a young man, which was no sinecure, and subsequently was appointed chaplain to the gaol at Lincoln, a post which required great energy and industry; but I cannot say that my uncle possessed either of these qualities — he was not active in his habits nor fond of exertion in any way, and indulged himself in the dolce far niente till it became a confirmed and quite a second nature of mooning and dawdling. With all this he was good and kind and most generous, and you loved without exactly respecting him, feeling towards him as you would to a child who wants to be taken care of and protected.
The house he had chosen when he took possession of the living was of moderate size and modest appearance, but there was a good large garden at the back, and beyond this two paddocks, with a bright rippling stream running through them, crossed by a rustic bridge. At the extreme end of these paddocks my uncle had built himself an arbour. It was just large enough to hold two people, and here he would sit,
quite alone, summer and winter, wrapped up in his old cloak and meditating.
Not a sound could be heard in this secluded little nook except the rustling of the leaves and twittering of the birds in summer, or the soothing ripple of the little stream in winter. My uncle's dislike of all noise was morbid and excessive, and he gave way to this fancy, to the inconvenience of everyone about him. All the room doors in the house were kept open with weights to prevent the possibility of a bang; no clocks were allowed to strike; the servants moved about shod in list shoes, and the very cocks and hens in the neighbourhood were warned not to crow and cackle. If a stray cock happened to crow within hearing of his study, my uncle would speak of it in the most plaintive tones, as if the creature was perfectly aware of the distress he caused, and crowed on purpose to annoy him. It was very funny at such times to hear how he would describe himself as the most unfortunate being upon earth, and, though he was in reality a very tenderhearted man and would not hurt a fly, to hear how he would propose the most horrible tortures for the unconscious bird.
My aunt was a person of very different character. She was originally possessed of a strong mind and with plenty of good sense, but early trouble and great sorrow had weakened the one and nearly destroyed the other.
She was a widow when my uncle married her, and the story of her youth and first marriage is so romantic and interesting that I will write down all I can remember of it, thinking there are some who may like to read this history of true love enacted so many years. ago.