WHAT I REMEMBER, VOLUME 2 ***
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WHAT I REMEMBER
BY
THOMAS ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II
1887
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. IN THE NORTH OF ENGLAND
CHAPTER II. JOURNEY IN BRITTANY
CHAPTER III. AT PENRITH.--AT PARIS
CHAPTER IV. IN WESTERN FRANCE.--AGAIN IN PARIS
CHAPTER V. IN IRELAND.--AT ILFRACOMBE--IN FLORENCE
CHAPTER VI. IN FLORENCE
CHAPTER VII. CHARLES DICKENS
CHAPTER VIII. AT LUCCA BATHS
CHAPTER IX. THE GARROWS.--SCIENTIFIC CONGRESSES.--MY FIRST MARRIAGE
CHAPTER X ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
CHAPTER XI. REMINISCENCES AT FLORENCE
CHAPTER XII. REMINISCENCES AT FLORENCE
CHAPTER XIII. LETTERS FROM PEARD--GARIBALDI--LETTERS FROM PULSZKY
CHAPTER XIV. WALTER S. LANDOR.--G.P. MARSH
CHAPTER XV. MR. AND MRS. LEWES
CHAPTER XVI. LETTERS FROM MR. AND MRS. LEWES
CHAPTER XVII. MY MOTHER.--LETTERS OF MARY MITFORD.--LETTERS OF T.C. GRATTAN
CHAPTER XVIII. THEODOSIA TROLLOPE
CHAPTER XIX. DEATH OF MR. GARROW--PROTESTANT CEMETERY.--ANGEL IN THE HOUSE NO MORE
CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION
INDEX
CHAPTER I.
No! as I said at the end of the last chapter but one, before I was led away by the circumstances of that time to give the world the benefit of my magnetic reminiscences--_valeat quantum!_--I was not yet bitten, despite Colley Grattan's urgings, with any temptation to attempt fiction, and "passion, me boy!" But I am surprised on turning over my old diaries to find how much I was writing, and planning to write, in those days, and not less surprised at the amount of running about which I accomplished.
My life in those years of the thirties must have been a very busy one. I find myself writing and sending off a surprising number of "articles" on all sorts of subjects--reviews, sketches of travel, biographical notices, fragments from the byeways of history, and the like, to all kinds of periodical publications, many of them long since dead and forgotten. That the world should have forgotten all these articles "goes without saying." But what is not perhaps so common an incident in the career of a penman is, that _I_ had in the majority of cases utterly forgotten them, and all about them, until they were recalled to mind by turning the yellow pages of my treasured but almost equally forgotten journals! I beg to observe, also, that all this pen-work was not only printed, but _paid for_. My motives were of a decidedly mercenary description. "_Hic scribit famâ ductus, at ille fame._" I belonged emphatically to the latter category, and little indeed of my multifarious productions ever found its final resting place in the waste-paper basket. They were rejected often, but re-despatched a second and a third time, if necessary, to some other "organ," and eventually swallowed by some editor or other.
