Chantry House

A NURSERY PROSE ‘And if it be the heart of man Which our existence measures, Far longer is our childhood’s span Than that of manly pleasures. ‘For long each month and year is then, Their thoughts and days extending, But months and years pass swift with men To time’s last goal descending.’ ISAAC WILLIAMS. My father, John Edward Winslow, was a barrister, and held an appointment in the Admiralty Office, which employed him for many hours of the day at Somerset House. My mOther, whose maiden name was Mary Griffith, belonged to a naval family. Her father had been lost in a West Indian hurricane at sea, and her uncle, Admiral Sir John Griffith, was the hero of the family, having been at Trafalgar and distinguished himself in cutting out expeditions. My eldest brother bore his name. The second was named after the Duke of Clarence, with whom my mOther had once danced at a ball on board ship at Portsmouth, and who had been rather fond of my uncle. Indeed, I believe my father’s appointment had been obtained through his interest, just about the time of Clarence’s birth