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.