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 248 EARLY REMINISCENCES ingenuity displayed in carrying them out. There is an extensive slate quarry on the property, and between the beds of slate is a brown course, which my father discovered to be cement; this burnt and then moistened became hard as Portland cement. He burnt much of this, and used it for planting a tremendously heavy cornice on the house, the weight of which eventually split the walls that were from nine to ten feet thick. But he also employed it on a bath. This was sunk in the floor of what is now the pantry, and where I behove it is still to be found hidden away. Now this cement when set is of a very dark brown colour. When the bath was structurally complete, my father showed it to my mother, who recoiled at the sight of it. " My dear Edward," said she,4 * this will never do. It is precisely like a grave." " Ithas rather a depressing appearance," admitted my father. " But when filled with hot water, all sense of depression will pass away. Graves are always cold, you know." " But, Edward, you will never get a visitor to venture into such a hollow tomb." My father considered awhile, and then said : " I will send for Rundle, and have it painted like madrepores." Now Rundle was a plumber, painter, glazier, builder, musician, at Bridestowe, whom my father had employed to paint all the hall and drawing-room doors imitation maple. Rundle came. My mother had a collection of polished madrepores, and these were spread before the eyes of the artist. Some specimens of giallo antico, serpentine, lapis lazuli, and porphyry were placed at his disposal. The effect when completed was surprisingly beautiful. The bath called on the spectator to strip and plunge into it. Now it fell out next week that Mr. H-came to stay with us, and my father exultingly showed him the bath, and promised that he should inaugurate it, before dinner. Nothing loath, Mr. H- locked himself in, with a supply of sponge, back-brush, and soap, and the hot water turned on. A quarter of an hour later, violent ringing of the bell from the bath-room proclaimed that Mr. H-was in need of something. The house-maid hastened to respond, and through the keyhole, the bather shouted : " For Heaven's sake, bring Mr. Baring-Gould here quickly—and a can of turpentine." When my father arrived, the door was cautiously opened,