DAILY LIFE. 



265 



He had now left the parsonage at Warrington : and after 

 lodging for a few days at Latchford (in the neighbourhood), he 

 removed to Trafford Place, on the outskirts of Manchester. 

 There they had as an inmate his loved friend Travers* Madge, 

 who was teaching pupils and conducting a Home Mission in 

 Manchester. In a letter written to Mary (April 20, 1862), 

 Philip describes his house ; and, then, their daily life : — " Well, 

 we wake : Travers coughs : I go down, make the fire, and I 

 also put small kettle to boil quickly over gas in the cellar. 

 Robbie and I then souse and wash there. . . . Meantime 

 Minna descends, and prepares breakfast. We have prayers 

 soon after seven. I leave a little before eight, armed with 

 basket of prog and empty can. Sometimes Robbie goes with 

 me, his school being near the station [Philip had a three-months' 

 ticket]. . . . The ride occupies forty-five minutes, during 

 which I read American papers, snooze, or otherwise repose my 

 mind. As it is through a rich market-gardening country, it 

 would be very pleasant, were it not for the vile -Bridgewater 

 canal, which stinks like a sewer, which it is ; yet I have seen 

 boys bathing in it. I get to Warrington at nine punctually, 

 dart at once to the Museum, lock myself in den, and bury 

 myself in Achatinellas and all other snails and shells, till a 

 quarter-past six; a long and rather wearying spell, stooping 

 over tables, holding my breath often, for nine hours and a 

 quarter, only eating in the middle, and that often over shells. 

 I consume four eggs per day, and other nourishing food in 

 proportion. Meantime Robbie goes to school, Travers to his 

 pupils, and Minna is queen over the house. . . . Minna's two 

 boys come back to dinner (Travers is always a lad to me, not- 

 withstanding his whitish gray hair, as Russell and I always are 

 to you, and with the same consent). ... If I could afford it, 

 I would have a photo, taken of my workshop, before I break 

 it up, so splendidly is it arranged and crammed with things. 

 I think a man deserves to be a Ph.D. for concocting it ! I 

 shall never have such a one again. There is nothing equal to 

 it at the British Museum, or Smithsonian ! Well, at a quarter 

 past six, I get hungry and tired, leave everything as it is, lock 



