extent with the Press, and later had written one or two books, so that
ink was in my brother's blood.

Our mother was almost his opposite in character. She was quick, almost
imperious in temper, vivacious and witty of speech, full of sense and
sensibility, in revolt--I see it now--against the narrow conditions of
her lot, and yet bravely determined to do her best, not merely for her
husband and children, but for the rather austere little community in
which she was always a central figure. There was a charm about her to
which all sorts and sizes of people surrendered at discretion, and she
loved books more modern and more mundane than the dingy volumes on my
father's shelves. She had received, what was more rare then than now, a
liberal education, and, besides modern languages, had at least a moderate
acquaintance with the classics. She held herself gallantly in the dim,
half-educated society of her husband's chapel, but reserved her
friendships--sometimes with a touch of wilfulness--for those who
represented whatever there was of sweetness and light in the wider
society of the town. In one respect she was absolutely in harmony with my
father, and that was in her sympathy with the poor and in quiet,
unparaded determination to hold out a helping hand to all that sought it.
She had imagination, and she sent it on errands of good-will. I think my
brother inherited from her his alertness of mind and not a little of his
quickness of apprehension.

I can remember him coming back from Bruce's school all aglow with his
prizes, and I can recall, as if it were but yesterday, his audacious
speeches, and the new books with which, as soon as he earned a shilling,
he began to leaven the dull old library, much to the delectation of the
other children. I can recall a rough cartoon in one of the local journals
which was greeted with huge merriment in the family circle, because it