Читать книгу Eleanor Ormerod, LL. D., Economic Entomologist : Autobiography and Correspondence - Eleanor A. Ormerod - Страница 6

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I was born at Sedbury Park, in West Gloucestershire, on a sunny Sunday morning (the 11th of May, 1828), being the youngest of the ten children of George and Sarah Ormerod, of Sedbury Park, Gloucestershire, and Tyldesley, Lancashire. As a long time had elapsed since the birth of the last of the other children (my two sisters and seven brothers), my arrival could hardly have been a family comfort. Nursery arrangements, which had been broken up, had to be re-established. I have been told that I started on what was to be my long life journey, with a face pale as a sheet, a quantity of black hair, and a constitution that refused anything tendered excepting a concoction of a kind of rusk made only at Monmouth. The very earliest event of which I have a clear remembrance was being knocked down on the nursery stairs when I was three years old by a cousin of my own age. The damage was small, but the indignity great, and, moreover, the young man stole the lump of sugar which was meant to console me, so the grievance made an impression. A year later a real shock happened to my small mind. Whilst my sister, Georgiana, five years my senior, was warming herself in the nursery, her frock caught fire. She flew down the room, threw herself on the sheepskin rug at the door, and rolled till the fire was put out. But she was so badly burnt that the injuries required dressing, and this event also made a great impression on me. Other reminiscences of pleasure and of pain come back, in thinking over those long past days, but none of such special and wonderful interest as that of being held up to see King William IV. Little as I was, I had been taken to one of the theatres, and my father carried me along one of the galleries, and raised me in his arms that I might look through the glass window at the back of one of the boxes and see His Majesty. I do not in the least believe that I saw the right man. However, it is something to remember that about the year 1835, if I had not been so frightened, I might have seen the King.

In regard to any special likings of my earliest years it seems to me, from what I can remember or have been told, that there were signs even then of the chief tastes which have accompanied me through life—an intense love of flowers; a fondness for insect investigation; and a fondness also for writing. In my babyhood, even before I could speak, the sight of a bunch of flowers was the signal for both arms being held out to beg for the coveted treasure, and the taste was utilised when I was a little older, in checking a somewhat incomprehensible failure of health during the spring visit of the family to London. Some one suggested trying the effect of a supply of flower roots and seeds for me to exercise my love of gardening on, and the experiment was successful. I can remember my delight at the sight of the boxes of common garden plants—pansies, daisies, and the like; and I suppose some feeling of the restored comfort has remained through all these years to give a charm (not peculiarly exciting in itself) to the smell of bast mats and other appurtenances of the outside of Covent Garden market.

My first insect observation I remember perfectly. It was typical of many others since. I was quite right, absolutely and demonstrably right, but I was above my audience and fared accordingly. One day while the family were engaged watching the letting out of a pond, or some similar matter, I was perched on a chair, and given to watch, to keep me quiet at home, a tumbler of water with about half a dozen great water grubs in it. One of them had been much injured and his companions proceeded quite to demolish him. I was exceedingly interested, and when the family came home gave them the results of my observations, which were entirely disbelieved. Arguing was not permitted, so I said nothing (as far as I remember); but I had made my first step in Entomology.

Writing was a great pleasure. A treat was to go into the library and to sit near, without disturbing, my father, and “write a letter” on a bit of paper granted for epistolary purposes. The letter was presently sealed with one of the great armorial seals which my father wore—as gentlemen did then—in a bunch at what was called the “fob.” The whole affair must have been of a very elementary sort, but it was no bad application of the schoolroom lessons, for thus, quite at my own free will, I was practising the spelling of easy words, and their combination into little sentences, and also how to bring pen, ink, and paper into connection without necessitating an inky deluge. In those days children were not “amused” as is the fashion now. We neither went to parties, nor were there children’s parties at home, but I fancy we were just as happy. As soon as possible a certain amount of lessons, given by my mother, formed the backbone of the day’s employment. In the higher branches requisite for preparation for Public School work, my mother was so successful as to have the pleasure of receiving a special message of appreciation of her work sent to my father by Dr. Arnold, Head master of Rugby. All my brothers were educated under Dr. Arnold, two as his private pupils, and the five younger as Rugby schoolboys, and he spoke with great appreciation of the sound foundation which had been laid by my mother for the school work, especially as regarded religious instruction. From the fact of my brothers being so much older than I, the latter point is the only one which remains in my memory; but I have a clear recollection of my mother’s mustering her family class on Sunday afternoons, i.e., all whose age afforded her any excuse to lay hands on them. Whether in the earlier foundation or more advanced work, my mother’s own great store of solid information, and her gift for imparting it, enabled her to keep us steadily progressing. Everything was thoroughly learned, and once learned never permitted to be forgotten. Nothing was attempted that could not be well understood, and this was expected to be mastered. In playtime we were allowed great liberty to follow our own pursuits, in which the elders of the family generally participated, and as we grew older we made collections (in which my sister Georgiana’s love of shells laid the foundation of what was afterwards a collection of 3,000 species), and carried on “experiments,” everlasting re-arrangement of our small libraries, and amateur book-binding. All imaginable ways of using our hands kept us very happily employed indoors. Out of doors there was great enjoyment in the pursuits which a country property gives room for, and I think I was a very happy child, although I fancy what is called a “very old-fashioned” one, from not having companions of my own age.

On looking back over the years of my early childhood, the period when instruction—commonly known as education—is imparted, it seems to me that this followed the distinction between education and the mere acquirement of knowledge (well brought out by one of the Coleridges), and embraced the former much more fully than is the case at the present day. There was no undue pressure on bodily or mental powers, but the work was steady and constant. The instruction, except in music, was given by my mother, who had, in an eminent degree, the gift of teaching. Although at the present time home education is frequently held up to contempt, still some recollections of my own home teaching may be of interest. The subjects studied were those included in what is called a “solid English education.” First in order was biblical knowledge and moral precepts, practical as well as expository, which seem to have glided into my head without my being aware how, excepting in the case of the enormity of any deviation from truth. In each of the six week-days’ work came a chapter of Scripture, read aloud, half in English, and half in French, by my sister and me. The “lessons,” i.e., recitation, inspection of exercises, &c., followed. The subjects at first were few—but they were thoroughly explained. Geography, for example, was taken at first in its broad bearings, viz., countries, provinces, chief towns, mountains, rivers, and so on (what comes back to my mind as corresponding to “large print”), and gradually the “small print” was added, with as minute information as was considered necessary. Use of the map was strictly enforced, and repetition to impress it on the memory. I seem to hear my mother inculcating briskness in giving names of county towns—“Northumberland? Now then! quick as lightning, answer.” “Newcastle, Morpeth and Alnwick, in Northumberland”; and to enforce attention a tap of my mother’s thimble on the table, or possibly, if stupidity required great rousing, with more gentle application on the top of my head. If things were bad beyond endurance, the book was sent with a skim across the room, which had an enlivening effect; but this rarely happened. My mother gave the morning hours to the work (unless there was some higher claim upon them, such as my father requiring her for some purpose or other) but she always declared that she would have nothing to do with the preparation of lessons in the afternoon. If all went fairly well, as usual, the passage for next day’s lesson was carefully read over at my mother’s side, and difficulties explained, and then I was expected to learn it by myself. What we knew as “doing lessons”—which now I believe passes under the more advanced name of “preparation”—was left to my own care, and if this proved next morning not to have been duly given I had reason to amend my ways. The preparation hour was from four to five o’clock, but if the lessons had not been learned by that time they were expected to be done somehow, though I think my mother was very lenient if any tolerably presentable reason were given for short measure. If the work were completed in less than the allotted time, I was allowed to amuse myself by reading poetry, of which I was excessively fond, from the great volume of “Extracts” from which my lesson had been learned. This plan seems to me to have had many advantages. For one thing, I carried the morning’s explanations in my head till called upon, and for another, I think it gave some degree of self-reliance, as well as a habit of useful, quiet self-employment for a definite time. This was, in all reason, expected to be carefully adhered to, and I can well remember when I had hurried home from a summer’s walk how the muscles in my legs would twitch whilst I endeavoured to learn a French verb.

One educational detail which, as far as my experience goes, appears to have been much better conducted in my young days than at present, was that reading aloud to the little people had not then come into vogue. I have no recollection of being allowed to lie about on the carpet, heels in the air, whilst some one read a book to me. There was also the peculiarity to which, if I remember rightly, Sir Benjamin Brodie attributes in his autobiography some of his success in life, viz., work was almost continuous. There was never an interval of some weeks’ holidays. A holiday was granted on some great occasion, such as the anniversary of my father and mother’s wedding-day and birthdays, and on the birthdays of other members of the family, but (if occurring on consecutive days) somewhat under protest; and half-holidays were not uncommon in summer. These consisted of my being excused the afternoon preparation of lessons, and as the pretext for asking was generally the weather’s being “so very fine,” I conjecture it was thought that an extra run in the fresh air was perhaps a healthy variety of occupation. Any way, the learning lost must have been small, for excepting the written part of the work the lessons were expected to appear next morning in perfect form, however miscellaneously acquired. One way or other there were occasional breaks by pleasant episodes such as picnics, on fine summer days, to one of the many old ruined castles, or disused little Monmouthshire churches, or Roman remains in the neighbourhood, where my father worked up the material for some forthcoming archæological essay and my mother executed some of her beautiful sketches (plate VI.). The carriage-load of young ones enjoyed themselves exceedingly, and prevented the work from becoming monotonous or burdensome. And there were joyful days before and after going from home, and now and then, when it was impossible for my mother to give her morning up to the work, if she had not appointed one of the elder of the young fry her deputy for the occasion. I remember, too, that I took my book in play hours, when and where I wished; sometimes on a fine summer afternoon the “where” might be sitting on a horizontal bough of a large old Portugal laurel in the garden. And I fancy that the perch in the fresh air, with the green light shimmering round me, was as good for my bodily health (by no means robust) as my entertaining little book for my progress in reading.

It was remarkable the small quantity of food which it was at one time thought the right thing for ladies to take in public. I suppose from early habit, my mother, who was active both in body and mind, used to eat very little. At lunch she would divide a slice of meat with me. Although now the death, in her confinement, of the Princess Charlotte, “the people’s darling,” which plunged the nation in sorrow, is a thing only of history, yet it is on record how she almost implored for more food, the special desire being mutton chops. Though not in any way connected with the Royal Family, my mother held in memory the unhappy event from its consequences. Sir Richard Croft, whose medical attentions had been so inefficient to the Princess, was shortly after called to attend in a similar capacity on Mrs. Thackeray, wife of Dr. Thackeray, then or after Provost of King’s College, Cambridge. For some reason or other he left his patient for a while, and the story went that, finding pistols in the room where he was resting, he shot himself. Miss Cotton—Mrs. Thackeray’s sister—was a friend of my mother. Miss Thackeray, the infant who was ushered into the world by the death of both her mother and the doctor, survived, and in her young-lady days was particularly fond of dancing; and I have the remembrance of my first London ball being at her aunt’s house.

PLATE I.

Sedbury Park House and Grounds, distant view.

Mansion House, Sedbury Park; Miss Georgiana Ormerod on the left, Miss Eleanor Ormerod on the right.

(pp. 14, 48.)