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changed to me since I was in Switzerland last. My parents, my Blanche, and sweet Fanny! My dear husband, however, is my world, but the mother's love lit up that world with her sweet sympathy. I am still very happy, but I have learned to tremble. I had lived so long without losing. [Speaking of a girl who had lost her mother:] But it's only a mother who approves one not only through but for everything—or, if she could wish any change, any increase here or abatement there, still "covers our faults with her kisses, and loves us the same." All other affection is too wise, too clear-sighted, too impartial. In short, a girl with or without a mother seems to me to be placed in two quite different positions - each having advantages no doubt, but the transition out of the former into the latter is like a new birth, or a dying out of one world into another, where all trials and disappointments and mortifications come closer, and require an armor of the soul that it does not consciously need with the shield of the mother's partiality to ward them off. . . We are all different in the amount and the quality of the sympathy we require. Some stand alone quite contentedly in joy or trial. Others want to call together their friends and neighbors when "the piece of silver is found." "Rejoice with me!" is their cry. Others, like Irish mourners, always invite their circle of intimates to howl with them at a wake of some dead hope or possession. I myself am terribly prone to wax egotistical about my happinessmy silver piece, found when I looked not for any terribly liable to dilate upon its value and all its peculiarities. That's my snare!

To Miss Mary Wrench.

1 BEAUFORT VILLAS, WESTON-SUPER-MARE, December 1, 1865.

When William is well [he had a feverish cold]

the proposed month in Edinburgh seems delightful, and I

think it would be good and pleasant too for him to meet clever men. It seems hard to shut up a mind like his with only a woman to reflect its brightness and its depths. He had such a nice note from Mr. Mill the other day does my child know whom I mean? J. S. Mill - who had sent William his book. They used to know each other very well many years ago, and to meet at a debating club. Curiously, William had told me he made nothing of speaking at it, and I had believed him, and Mr. Mill in this note refers to his speeches as "some of the best ever delivered there." . . . I respect him quite as much as I love him, and oh, I love him fearfully! ... I am as well as a woman can be who has got so far down life's hill. But indeed were there no looking-glasses, and were my own darling mother alive, I should not feel older than twenty years ago. . . . Last Wednesday week I finished my German story, and thought I should have no more, but on Saturday Mr. Strahan asked me to take up Eugenie de Guérin's Letters. As Christmas draws on, I shall be excited about my cheque. How thankful I am for this occupation, and how pleased I shall be if the cheque exceeds my estimate. I always feel this cruse of oil of translation cannot flow on much longer, but I thoroughly appreciate it while it lasts. . . . Write and tell me all about the wardrobe. How does it stand just now? Do you like these silk reps I see everywhere? I am so fond of dresses and cloaks of the same, whatever it be. I had thought of having a new black silk this winter, but have given up the notion, and got my dear Blanche's done up - I grudge expense on my own dress very much. I like to hear all about your attire. What are the bonnets to be? I think little blue velvets would be very pretty, with quiet, dove-like dresses and cloaks. . . . Good-by, child of my affections!

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CHAPTER XXIII.

AMONG FRIENDS.

(From the Memoir.)

WE left Weston-super-Mare with tender regret, as we always did any place where we had been quite aloneleft it for an interval of social life in Edinburgh — and in the February of 1866 found ourselves once more at Newton Place. During the eleven months that we spent there we had very frequent guests - dear young nieces, dear old friends of mine originally, but now of his, for he adopted them heartily, and not any of them, I know well, have forgotten or will forget the simple cordiality of his welcome. It is true that the prospect of any interruption to our duality was sometimes perturbing to the student, who loved his regular work and his habitual ways; true that when those even we best loved left and we returned to each other, I heard the words that above all words made my heart leap with joy: "Now I have my ideal of life." But none came to us who were not friends indeed; we had no surface acquaintance, no conventional sociality, and at the close of every visit we received we found ourselves enriched by pleasant memories and enlarged interests. Early in 1867 we made our winter flight to Brighton.

To Miss Mary Wrench.

NEWTON PLACE, KESWICK, February 22, 1866. I do not like to leave your letter unanswered, or you will not accredit me with the interest I really took in it. I could wish the ball to have been less grotesque, because

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the laughter at people is not so good for us as the laughter with them but you are not satirical, and satire even where it exists is one of the faults we outlive. I am sure was much admired, and I like her to have had this taste of gayety, so natural and therefore so healthy to youth. I for my part immensely appreciated my taste of society- never cared for it so much—perhaps was never so well fitted to enjoy it as now, when all shyness is over, and from the habit of living with a mind of William's stamp, I feel more able to cope with minds in general. How loving and dear all our friends were wonderfully so! Darling Mrs. Jones's hospitality was beyond telling. Mrs. Stirling, Mrs. Lorimer, Mrs. Blackie, were all so much more affectionate than I could have expected. And then my young friends Fanny and Augusta were so dear that sweet Augusta's affection I take as a great compliment. Then, the pleasant new acquaintances we made, and the nice way they all had of wishing we were going to live in Edinburgh! Altogether I don't know that I ever had a more pleasant social experience, and I am very fond of society. My light and black moirés quite set me up in the way of evening dress, so I had nothing to get, and felt nicely dressed which even at my time of life is satisfactory, how much more so at yours, my darling! We dined out five times at Mr. Blackwood's, Mr. Lorimer's, Mrs. Stirling's, the Smiths', and the Constables', and went in the evening to the Blackies', twice to the Simons', to Miss S. Grahame's, and to Mrs. Ferrier's. . . . Sweet Mrs. L

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is quite an anexalted, sublimed

gel. Her fearful illness seems to have her. The children are all delightful. Spite of her very delicate health she teaches them daily, is their only teacher, and finds time for all her duties. In short, she has made the deepest impression on me. Dear Mrs. B too is in very delicate health. I called three or four times and had nice long chats with her. I took the dear little Lor

imers one day to see a diorama, and saw terrible caricatures of some of our beloved Swiss mountains. Then we went to two concerts; at one heard Grisi and Mario (oh, how I cried with enjoyment), and at the other, for which Mr. R. Smith sent us tickets, heard Titiens and Joachim. In short, the month was one of unalloyed enjoyment, and my visit to your dear aunt will always be a happy memory. .. Mrs. is a most saintly woman, and narrow as her Calvinism seems to me, yet hers is a faith that "leads harmonious days." One of our Edinburgh delights was William being admirably photographed by the most artistic photographer I have ever come across, a Mr. Rejlander who was staying with the Constables for a fortnight, and doing lovely things of that lovely family. William's head is a great success. "T is a large photoso thoughtful and really good looking. All others have been such caricatures of him. His beard makes him if anything better looking, though I love and miss the dear large mouth and well-formed chin. . . . The cold when we got here on Saturday was intense, but we have conquered it by roaring fires, and, thank God, William has not taken cold. Yesterday was the most glorious of days snow on the mountains and a cloudless sky, and the lake mirroring both.

KESWICK, October 17, 1866. This will, I hope, reach you on the morning of your birthday, and tell you how lovingly I think of you, and warmly hope (and believe) that there are many, many birthdays in store for you, bright, beautiful, complete; compared to this birthday (though this is happy) as the full-blown fragrance of the flower to the hard green bud, or the "purple light of noon" to the first faint flush in the east. This I look for and over and beyond this a growth of all that is best and highest in you, an approach to your ideal, which is, I am sure, something more than personal satisfaction, even of the sweetest sort. May you

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