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he would rise majestically； announce in solemn tones that he refused to be insulted in his own house； and depart； banging the door loudly behind him。 Across the hall he went into the drawing…room and banged that door； out of the drawing…room into the vestibule （here there are two doors； so the bang was double…barrelled）； through the vestibule into the garden； if the row was of the first magnitude。 If not he banged his way back into the dining…room by the serving entrance； and very probably sat doper； the exercise having relieved his feelings。 Especially was this so if the offending son had banged himself out of the house by some other route。
Only the other day I examined those Bradenham doors and their hinges。 The workmanship of them is really wonderful。 After half a century of banging added to their ordinary wear； they are as good as when they were made。 We do not see such joinery nowadays。
Considered as a whole it would have been difficult to find a more jovial party than we were at Bradenham in the days of my youth； especially when my father was in a good mood。 The noise of course was tremendous； because everybody had plenty to say and was fully determined that it should not be hidden from the world。 In the midst of all this hubbub sat my dearest mother — like an angel that had lost her way and found herself in pandemonium。 Not being blest with the Haggard voice； though she had a very sweet one of her own； often and often she was reduced to the necessity of signifying her wishes by signs。 Indeed it became a habit of hers； if she needed the salt or anything else； to point to it； and beckon it towards her。 One of her daughters…inlaw once asked my mother how on earth she made herself heard in the midst of so much noise at table。
“My dear；” she answered； “I whisper！ When I whisper they all stop talking； because they wonder what is the matter。 Then I get my chance。”
Here I will try to give some description of this mother with whom we were blest。 Twenty…two years have passed since she left us； but I can say honestly that every one of those years has brought me to a deeper appreciation of her beautiful character。 Indeed she seems to be much nearer to me now that she is dead than she was while she still lived。 It is as though our intimacy and mutual understanding has grown in a way as real as it is mysterious。 Someone says that the dead are never dead to us until they are forgotten； and if that be so； in my case my mother lives indeed。 No night goes by that I do not think of her and pray that we may meet again to part no more。 If our present positions were reversed； this would please me； could I know of it； and so I trust that this offering of a son’s unalterable gratitude and affection may please her； for after all such things are the most fragrant flowers that we can lay upon the graves of our beloved。 The Protestant Faith seems vaguely to inculcate that we should not pray for the dead。 If so； I differ from the Protestant Faith； who hold that we should not only pray for them but to them； that they will judge our frailties with tenderness and will not forget us who do not forget them。 Even if the message is delivered only after ten thousand years； it will still be a message that most of us would be glad to hear； and if it is never delivered at all； still it will have been sent； and what can man do more？
I know that my mother believed that such efforts are not in vain； for she was filled with a very earnest faith。 After her death； in the drawer of her writing…table were found four lines； feebly inscribed in pencil； which are believed to be the last words she wrote。 They are before me now and I transcribe them：
Lo！ in the shadowy valley here He stands：
？My soul pale sliding down Earth’s icy slope
Descends to meet Him； with beseeching hands
？Trembling with Fear — and yet upraised in Hope。
My mother was married when she was twenty…five years of age； and children came in what ladies nowadays would consider superabundance。 The eldest； my sister Ella； was born in Rome in March 1845； while they were still upon a marriage tour； and subsequently； in quick succession； the others followed。 The last of us； my brother Arthur； appeared in November 1860 — well do I remember my father in a flowered dressing…gown telling us to be quiet because we had a little brother。 This allows nearly sixteen years between the eldest and the youngest； including one who came into the world still…born。 Although she had ten children living； my mother never ceased to regret this boy； and I remember her crying； when she pointed out to me where he was buried in Bradenham churchyard。
My mother never was a beauty in the ordinary sense of the word； but in youth； to judge by the pictures which I have seen of her （photographs were not then known）； she must have been very refined and charming in appearance； and indeed remained so all her life。 Her abilities were great； taking her all in all she was perhaps the ablest woman whom I have known； though she had no iron background to her character； for that she was too gentle。 Her bent no doubt was literary； and had circumstances permitted I am sure she would have made a name in that branch of art to which in the intervals of her crowded life she gravitated by nature。 Also she was a good musician； and drew well。 Of her mental abilities I have however spoken in a brief memoir which I published as a preface to a new edition of my mother’s poem； “Life and its Author。”
I think that the greatest of her gifts； however； was that of conversation。 No more charming panion could be imagined。 Also she had the art of drawing the best out of anyone with whom she might be talking； as the sympathetic sometimes can do。 In a minute or two she would find which was his or her strongest point and to this turn the conversation。 Notwithstanding the tumultuous nature of her life； her illnesses and other distractions； she contrived to read a great deal； and to keep herself au courant with all thought movements and the political affairs of the day。 Further she did her very best to teach her numerous children the truths of religion； and to lead them into the ways of righteousness and peace。 I fear； however； that at times we got beyond her。 It is not easy for any woman to follow and direct all the physical and mental developments of a huge and vigorous family who are continually ing and going； first from schools and elsewhere； and later from every quarter of the world。
She never plained； but I cannot think that the life she was called upon to lead was very congenial to her。 When young in India； where at that time English ladies were rare； as was natural in the case of one of her charm who was known also to be a considerable heiress； she was much sought after and feted。 Then she returned to England and married； and for her the responsibilities of life began with a vengeance； to cease no more until she died。 These indeed were plicated by the fact that a time came when she had to think a good deal about ways and means； especially after my father； who had the passion of his generation for land； insisted upon investing most of her fortune in that security just at the mencement of its great fall in value。 Her various duties； including that of