he story, as she told it to me:

"In the summer of 1811 there was a fine company of players in Norfolk,
and we children were as a special treat taken to see them. I remember
the names of Mr. Placide, Mr. Green, Mr. Young and Mr. Poe, with their
wives. I can recall Mrs. Young as a large, fair woman with golden hair;
but my most distinct recollection is of Mrs. Poe. She was rather small,
with a round, rosy, laughing face, short dark curls and beautiful large
blue eyes. Her manner was gay and saucy, and the audience was
continually applauding her. She appeared to me a young girl, but was
past thirty, and had been twice married.

"At this time," continued my mother, "we were living on Main street, and
my uncle, Dr. Robert Butt, of the House of Burgesses, lived close by, on
Burmuda street. The large, bright garret-room of his house was used by
our little cousins as a play-room, and was separated from that of the
adjoining house by only a wooden partition. One day, when we were
playing here, we heard voices on the other side of the partition, and,
peeping through a small knothole, saw two pretty children, with whom we
soon made acquaintance. Mr. and Mrs. Poe had taken lodgings in this
garret with a little boy and girl and an old Welsh nurse. Sometimes this
woman would say to us, 'Hush, hush, dumplings, don't make a noise,' and
we knew that some one was sick in that room. Most of the time she had
the children out of doors, and in the evenings we would play with them
on the sidewalk. The boy was a merry, romping little fellow, but hard to
manage. One day, when he would persist in playing in the middle of the
street, a runaway horse came dashing around a corner, and I remember how
the nurse rushed toward him, screaming: 'Ho! Hedgar! Hedgar!' snatching
him away at the risk of her own life.

"This nurse was a very nice old woman, plump, rosy and good-natured. She
wore a huge white cap with flaring frills, and pronounced her words in a
way that amused us. She was devoted to the children, who were spoiled
and wilful. The little girl was running all about, and the boy appeared
about three years old."

Of this old lady it may be here said that she was really the mother of
Mrs. Poe, whom she called "Betty." As an actress of the name of Arnold,
she had played in various companies in both this country and Europe,
taking parts in which comic songs were sung. Her pretty daughter,
Elizabeth, she had brought up to her own profession, and