The Grey Brethren, and Other Fragments in Prose and Verse

Some of the happiest remembrances of my childhood are of days spent in a little Quaker colony on a high hill. The walk was in itself a preparation, for the hill was long and steep and at the mercy of the north-east wind; but at the top, sheltered by a copse and a few tall trees, stood a small house, reached by a flagged pathway skirting one side of a bright trim garden.