youthful, but rather that he was impelled to that step by a
sincere and warm regard for the widow of his friend. A portrait
of her, painted by Geyer during the lifetime of my father, gives
one a very favourable impression of what she must have been. Even
from the time when my recollection of her is quite distinct, she
always had to wear a cap owing to some slight affection of the
head, so that I have no recollection of her as a young and pretty
mother. Her trying position at the head of a numerous family (of
which I was the seventh surviving member), the difficulty of
obtaining the wherewithal to rear them, and of keeping up
appearances on very limited resources, did not conduce to evolve
that tender sweetness and solicitude which are usually associated
with motherhood. I hardly ever recollect her having fondled me.
Indeed, demonstrations of affection were not common in our
family, although a certain impetuous, almost passionate and
boisterous manner always characterised our dealings. This being
so, it naturally seemed to me quite a great event when one night
I, fretful with sleepiness, looked up at her with tearful eyes as
she was taking me to bed, and saw her gaze back at me proudly and
fondly, and speak of me to a visitor then present with a certain
amount of tenderness.

What struck me more particularly about her was the strange
enthusiasm and almost pathetic manner with which she spoke of the
great and of the beautiful in Art. Under this heading, however,
she would never have let me suppose that she included dramatic
art, but only Poetry, Music, and Painting. Consequently, she
often even threatened me with her curse should I ever express a
desire to go on the stage. Moreover, she was very religiously
inclined. With intense fervour she would often give us long