who knew the fatal truth could not bring themselves to believe it. He was
at work for the _Nineteenth Century_ the day before he was taken
with his final attack. But he himself, cheerful and smiling, never lost
the certainty that death hung over him by a thread.

"So much for his courage; and now for the other note that I would
touch--his friendship. His ideal of friendship was singularly lofty and
generous. He was the devoted and chivalrous champion of those he loved;
he took up their cause as his own, and much more than his own; he was the
friend of their friends and the enemy of their enemies. No man ever set a
higher value on this high connection, which, after all, whether brought
about by kinship, or sympathy, or association, or gratitude, or stress,
is under Heaven the surest solace of our poor humanity; and so it
coloured and guided the life of Wemyss Reid. His chief works were all
monuments to that faith; it inspired him in tasks which he knew would be
irksome and which could scarcely be successful, or which, at least, could
ill satisfy his own standard. This is a severe test for a man of letters,
but he met it without fail.... All this seems lame and tame enough when I
read it over. But it was true and vivid when Wemyss Reid was living, and
giving to his friends the high example of a brave and unselfish life.
Among them, his memory will be a precious fact, and an inheritance long
after any obituary notice is forgotten. It will live as long as they
live; he would scarcely have cared to be remembered by others." Lord
Rosebery's kindness to my brother--it was constant, delicate, and
unwavering--can never be forgotten by any of his relatives. He was the
first visitor to the house of mourning on Sunday, February 26th; he came
in haste, with the hope that he might still be in time to see my brother
alive.

Here, perhaps, is the place to mention some other of his friends: I mean,