the early residence of a poetess of Nature.  Besides this advantage of situation, she had the privilege of access to the treasures of a large library.  The records of her early days show her to have been a child of extreme beauty, with a brilliant complexion and long, curling, golden hair.  But her personal beauty was not the only thing that arrested attention.  Her talents and sweetness of disposition retained the notice which her attractiveness had obtained.  The old gardener used to say that “Miss Felicia could ’tice him to do whatever she pleased.”  And he was not the only one who fell under her gentle constraint.  She was a general favourite.

This girl of many hopes had no regular education.  She was never at school.  Her mother’s teaching and her own avidity for information were almost her only means of instruction.  Mrs. Browne was a woman of high acquirements, both intellectual and moral, eminently adapted for the training of so sensitive a mind.  For a time the child was taught French, English grammar, and the rudiments of Latin by a gentleman who used to regret that she was not a man, to have borne away the highest honours at college!  A remarkable memory was of great benefit to her.  Her sister states that she could repeat pages of poetry from her favourite authors after having read them over but once.  On one occasion, to satisfy the incredulity of one of her brothers, she learned by heart the whole of Heber’s poem of “Europe,” containing four hundred and twenty-four lines, in an hour and twenty minutes.  She repeated it without a single mistake or a moment’s hesitation.  Long pieces of both prose and poetry she would often recite after having twice glanced over them.  This power of memory stood her in good stead in her later life, when physical weakness prevented her from writing down what she had composed.  Her thoughts had to be retained in her mind, and then dictated.

When Felicia Browne was about eleven years old she spent the winter in London with her father and mother.  But this visit had not the charm for her that it has for most young people.  She saw nothing in the metropolis to compensate for the loss of the country.  The sights and scenes of the busy throng were not so congenial as the sights and scenes of the quiet little Welsh home.  “She longed to rejoin her younger brother and sister in their favourite rural haunts and amusements—­the nutting wood, the beloved apple-tree, the old arbour, with its swing, the post-office tree, in whose trunk a daily interchange of letters was established, the pool where fairy-ships were launched (generally painted and decorated by herself), and, dearer still, the fresh, free ramble on the seashore, or the mountain ‘expedition’ to the Signal Station, or the Roman Encampment.”  Town parties and town conventionalities had little in them to gain favour in the eyes of this bonnie free country lass.  Not that she did not sometimes derive pleasure from the sights she was taken to.  Especially was she impressed by her visits to some of the great works of art.  On entering a gallery of sculpture, she involuntarily exclaimed, “Oh, hush:—­don’t speak!”