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I cannot recall the sequel of incidents in this period of my life, for being so young when we moved to Wilson Street, the recollections of those early years are confused; but some things stand out, distinctly impressed on the memory.

My eldest sister had become possessed of a small telescope, and gazing through one of the garret windows, we thought we could spy the Duchess of Beaufort’s woods over the tops of the houses. There was a parapet running along the front of the house, and we were seized with a desire for a more extensive view through the precious telescope than the garret window afforded, so a petition for liberty to go on to the roof was sent to papa in our names by my lively eldest sister. The disappointing answer soon came:

Anna, Bessie, and Polly, Your request is mere folly,

The leads are too high For those who can’t fly.

If I let you go there, I suppose your next prayer

Will be for a hop To the chimney top!

So I charge you three misses, Not to show your phizes

On parapet wall, Or chimney so tall,