THE united force of the younger generation has been brought upon me to record, with theaid of diaries and letters, the circumstances connected with Chantry House and my twodear elder brothers. Once this could not have been done without more pain than I couldbrook, but the lapse of time heals wounds, brings compensations, and, when the heart hasceased from aching and yearning, makes the memory of what once filled it a treasure to bebrought forward with joy and thankfulness. Nor would it be well that some of thosementioned in the coming narrative should be wholly forgotten, and their place know themno more.To explain all, I must go back to a time long before the morning when my father astonishedus all by exclaiming, 'Poor old James Winslow! So Chantry House is came to us afterall!' Previous to that event I do not think we were aware of the existence of that place, farless of its being a possible inheritance, for my parents would never have permittedthemselves or their family to be unsettled by the notion of doubtful contingencies.