Page:Early Reminiscences.djvu/148

110 darted after her, caught her in his arms before the recoil of the wave ensued. She was hurried off, undressed and put to bed, and never ventured on the pier again.

On one occasion at Lew, the pane of glass in her window was broken, and Sam Dawe, the carpenter, was sent to mend it. He arrived early, and not knowing that anyone was in bed in the room came in and began at the window. Poor little Aunt Harriet held herself hid under the bed-clothes, and hardly ventured to raise her head above the surface to breathe and sneeze. Dawe, at the window, heard the sound, and turned slowly about. Aunt Harriet had dived again, and he saw nothing. So he resumed his work in his wonted leisurely way, but had not proceeded far before up came the little head again, and sneezed once more. Again Dawe turned and contemplated the bed and could discern no human being. So once more he resumed his work. Once more he was interrupted by a shrill sneeze. This was too much; he put down the lump of putty and knife, and walking to the bed, pulled down the clothes, and disclosed the little face surrounded by a halo of muslin and the lace frill of a night-cap. "Lord bless you, miss!" said Dawe, "I didn't know you was here, or anyone. You see, you're as small as a flea. I'll have done the window presently—sneeze away."

My Aunt Margaret, born in 1803, was the beauty of the family, with the loveliest complexion imaginable. She had a disappointment in early life, and in pique accepted Rawson Bodham Gardiner, one of the ugliest men Nature ever turned out, and unamiable to boot. He took up with Irvingism, and was, I believe, promoted to be an angel. Certainly he was a libel on angelic beauty as dreamed of by painters and poets. She, gentle, sweet, and not having received any definite Church teaching complied with her husband's religious vagaries. She died in 1853. When on her death-bed, the Irvingites tried to perform a miracle and cure her. One of the soi-disant Apostles, Drummond, I believe, was summoned to her and in an authoritative tone bade her rise up and walk. The poor creature did rise from her bed, staggered round the room, sank on her bed again, and instantly expired.

The eldest son was Samuel Rawson Gardiner, the historian, a man with a marvellous memory for dates and facts. He quitted