58 A Century of Family Letters [CHAP, iv 



park. We came away about 8 o'clock, Harry and Frank 

 riding the ponies driving and tearing all the way, and the 

 rest of us in the landelet. 



We spent Sunday at Maer, taking cold meat, and I 

 never saw it look so pretty. There was a profusion of 

 roses in blow and there was a wildness about it that I 

 thought was very delightful. We drank tea with Mrs Har- 

 ding, which I had rather not have done as I wanted to 

 spend more time at Maer, but she was so pressing we could 

 not resist. We liked our Sunday so much that we think of 

 going again next Sunday. 



Jessie Allen, commenting on this account, sends " a very 

 tender kiss to the Doveleys, the tenderest to Emma, but do 

 not tell her so. How much I should have liked to see her 

 little prim face on the water." 



Fanny Allen wrote to her niece Elizabeth Wedgwood 

 (Oct. 11, 1813): "Sarah gives an excellent report of the 

 poetical taste of little Emma. I hope this will grow on her. 

 Is she not the first of you that has read through Paradise 

 Lost ? You must not let this be a reproach to you any 

 longer now Emma has set you the example." My mother 

 told us how when she was only five, she began Paradise 

 Lost, but soon asked her mother to finish it for her, and how 

 nice it was of her mother not to refuse. 



Little more is to be gleaned of her early childhood. 

 In January, 1816, when she was nearly eight years old, her 

 mother told how the two little girls were to pay a visit 

 alone, ' at which they are much pleased, and the more so 

 because they are to go by themselves as we can't spare 

 Mary, and they bridle not a little at the idea of dressing 

 and doing for themselves." Sarah Wedgwood wrote to 

 Jessie Allen (Feb. 26, 1817): "Little Emma continues to 

 be the sweetest little girl in the world. The whooping- 

 cough makes her more sweet and gentle than ever. I find 

 that she retains that first place that she has ever held in that 

 part of my affections which are devoted to children. As 

 Mr Wordsworth divides his poems into ' poems referring to 

 the period of childhood,' ditto to old age, etc., why may not 

 I my affections V' 



A pleasant account of the Maer family life three years 

 later, when Emma was eleven years old, is given in a journal 



