I give here, at the outset of her married life, the best picture I have been able to draw of my mother's character. Her letters no doubt reveal it by degrees thoroughly and truly, but I think what I have to say may fill up the gaps. It must, however, be kept in mind that I am speaking of a much later time, as my memories of her are naturally more vivid in her later-middle and old age.

These old letters speak of her as gay and merry, and I have been told by old friends of hers that she had the charm of abounding life and high spirits. In my childish reminiscences, I think of her as serene but somewhat grave. The merriment, the jokes, the fun, would all be from my father. One can realise how heavy was the burden of anxiety borne by her so calmly, from seeing what deep effect it produced on her character.

Her charm is difficult to express, but all who knew her well felt its power. Acquaintances at first sometimes strangely misunderstood what she was, and felt awed by a certain reserved gravity of expression before she spoke. One thing is certain that I never knew anyone who was so naturally good.

I mean that I have known those who impress one as having conquered their evil, but with her there seemed no evil to conquer. It was impossible to imagine a selfish or vain thought, an unjust action or untruthful word, an unkind or harsh judgment. Everything about her was wholesome and natural.