high that they were declared by a wicked Portsmouth wit to speak habitually of Queen Elizabeth as Cousin Betsy Tudor.
This was the nest in which my grandmother had been reared.
She had lived from childhood in the house of her grandfather, Judge Wentworth; her great-grandfather was the first of the three royal governors of that name, and the two others were her near kinsmen.
She might, indeed, have sat for the heroine of Whittier's ballad, Amy Wentworth; but it was a soldier, not a sailor, Amy Wentworth; but it was a soldier, not a sailor, whom she married; and when she went to Englandfortunately under the proper escort of a kinswoman — she was apparently received, both by her husband's relatives and her own, with all the warmth that might have been expected — that is, with none at all. Yet she had sweet and winning qualities which finally triumphed over all obstacles; and her married life, though full of vicissitudes, was, on the whole, happy.
They dwelt in England, in Jamaica, in St. Andrews, in Campobello, then in Jamaica aga