Reading for Ninth Week

READING FOR WEEK 8

Extract from Mary Lamb, “Elizabeth Villiers,” from Mrs. Leicester’s School (1808)

My father is the curate[1] of a village church, about five milesfrom Amwell.[2] I was born in the parsonage-house,[3] which joins the churchyard. The first thing I can remember was my father teaching methe alphabet from the letters on a tombstone that stood at the head ofmy mother’s grave. I used to tap at my father’s study-door; I think I now hear him say,[4] “Who is there?—What do you want, little girl?”“Goand see mamma. Go and learn pretty letters.” Many times in the daywould my father lay aside his books and his papers to lead me to thisspot, and make me point to the letters, and then set me to spellsyllables and words: in this manner, the epitaph on my mother’s tomb being my primer[5] and my spelling-book, I learned to read.

I was one day sitting on a step placed across the churchyard stile,when a gentleman passing by, heard me distinctly repeat the letterswhich formed my mother’s name, and then say, Elizabeth Villiers,with a firm tone, as if I had performed some great matter.[6] Thisgentleman was my uncle James, my mother’s brother: he was a lieutenantin the navy, and had left England a few weeks after the marriage ofmy father and mother, and now, returned home from a long sea-voyage,he was coming to visit my mother; no tidings of her decease[7] havingreached him, though she had been dead more than a twelvemonth.[8]

When my uncle saw me sitting on the stile, and heard me pronounce mymother’s name, he looked earnestly in my face, and began to fancy aresemblance to his sister,[9] and to think I might be her child. I wastoo intent on my employment to observe him, and went spelling on. “Whohas taught you to spell so prettily,[10] my little maid?” said my uncle. “Mamma,” I replied; for I had an idea that the words on the tombstonewere somehow a part of mamma, and that she had taught me. “And who ismamma?” asked my uncle. “Elizabeth Villiers,” I replied; and then myuncle called me his dear little niece, and said he would go with me tomamma: he took hold of my hand, intending to lead me home, delightedthat he had found out who I was, because he imagined it would be sucha pleasant surprise to his sister to see her little daughter bringinghome her long lost sailor uncle.

I agreed to take him to mamma, but we had a dispute about the waythither.[11] My uncle was for going[12] along the road which led directly upto our house; I pointed to the church-yard, and said, that was the wayto mamma. Though impatient of any delay,[13] he was not willing to contestthe point[14] with his new relation, therefore he lifted me over thestile, and was then going to take me along the path to a gate he knewwas at the end of our garden; but no, I would not go that way neither:letting go his hand, I said, “You do not know the way—I will showyou:” and making what haste I could among the long grass and thistles,and jumping over the low graves, he said, as he followed what he called my wayward steps,[15]“What a positive soul[16] this little niece ofmine is! I knew the way to your mother’s house before you were born,child.” At last I stopped at my mother’s grave, and, pointing to thetombstone, said, “Here is mamma,” in a voice of exultation, as if I had now convinced him that I knew the way best: I looked up in hisface to see him acknowledge his mistake; but Oh, what a face ofsorrow did I see! I was so frightened, that I have but an imperfectrecollection of what followed.[17] I remember I pulled his coat, and cried “Sir, sir,” and tried to move him. I knew not what to do; my mindwas in a strange confusion; I thought I had done something wrong inbringing the gentleman to mamma to make him cry so sadly; but what itwas I could not tell. This grave had always been a scene of delightto me. In the house my father would often be weary of my prattle,[18] andsend me from him; but here he was all my own.[19] I might say anythingand be as frolicsome as I pleased[20] here; all was cheerfulness and goodhumour in our visits to mamma, as we called it. My father would tellme how quietly mamma slept there, and that he and his little Betsy[21]would one day sleep beside mamma in that grave; and when I went tobed, as I laid my little head on the pillow, I used to wish I wassleeping in the grave with my papa and mamma; and in my childishdreams I used to fancy myself there, and it was a place within theground, all smooth, and soft, and green. I never made out any figure of mamma,[22] but still it was the tombstone, and papa, and the smoothgreen grass, and my head resting upon the elbow of my father.

[1] Curate = an assistant to a clergyman, or priest. A curate would often do all the practical work of preaching in the church and giving spiritual advice to the community.

[2] Amwell is a village a little north of London.

[3] The parsonage-house = the church house (a house owned by the church, where clergymen or curates could live).

[4]I now hear him say = I have a strong memory of how he used to say.

[5] Primer = a book to teach children the alphabet.

[6] Performed some great matter = done something very skillful, or impressive.

[7] Tidings of her decease = news of her death.

[8] A twelvemonth = a year.

[9] Fancy aresemblance to his sister = think I looked like his sister.

[10] So prettily = so well; also “in such a cute way.”

[11] Thither = there (to the mother).

[12] Was for going = wanted to go.

[13] Impatient of any delay = unwilling to delay (seeing his sister).

[14] Contest the point = argue about the question (of which route to take).

[15] Wayward steps = mistaken, but unwilling to be corrected, steps.

[16] Positive soul = strong-minded person.

[17] But an imperfectrecollection of what followed = only an imperfect memory of what happened next.

[18] Weary of my prattle = tired of my childish talk.

[19] He was all my own = he (my father) devoted himself entirely to me.

[20] As frolicsome as I pleased = as playful as I wanted.

[21] “Betsy” is the name of the girl who is telling the story. “Betsy” is a childish version of “Elizabeth”—the little girl has the same name as her mother.

[22]I never made out any figure of mamma = I could never imagine mamma as a person, with a human figure. The little girl (Betsy) has no memory of what her mother looked like, so she thinks of her “mamma” as an idea rather than as a person.