These verses were despatched just before a fever set in—from which her recovery at seventy-seven years of age was remarkable. She was bled seven times in a few weeks. A friend, Miss Frowd, nursed her, visited her schools, managed her clothing clubs, and wrote her letters; and she kept a little bag pinned to her curtain whence she sent relief by her doctor to the poor around, who were suffering from a visitation of typhus, besides that two of their cottages were burnt down within sight of her bedroom window, one through lightning.
Her letters, when again she could write them, are as amusing and spirited as ever. There is one to Mr. Wilberforce, which shows that the march of intellect had made considerable progress in 1823, considerably to the good lady's dismay, for she held that though perhaps ten out of a hundred children might have abilities worth cultivation, the other ninety were better with no knowledge save of their Bible and Catechism. A little girl from one of the threepenny semi-genteel schools was brought into Mrs. More's room. A gentleman present asked her what she was reading.
"Oh, Sir, the whole circle of the sciences."
"Indeed!" said he, "that must be a very large work."
"No, Sir, it is a very small book, and I bought it for half-a-crown." Probably it was the same study as that of her neighbour in the next parish, who an-
