1882-1884] Frank's Notes on His Father 261 



during their engagement. It was a deep regret to her that 

 she had not kept his scraps of notes when they were a "art 

 for a day or two. But the letters I have already given and 

 some others she called her " precious packet," and always 

 took with her wherever she went. When William, on look- 

 ing through his own letters, found one to her from my 

 father, she wrote to me: 'It felt like a fresh treasure; you 

 shall see it." 



My brother Francis was now engaged in writing the Life 

 of my father. My mother had beforehand a shrinking dread 

 of the publicity, but the truth and feeling with which 

 it was written changed her fear into satisfaction, and it 

 became only a happiness to her. 



Jan. 18, 1883, Cambrid'jc. 



It is true that I don't care for art, but I do care about a 

 poor widow, so you must keep the 10. On Sunday I 

 took two little walks, and altogether I am quite at my best. 

 Rasmus called in his pram., driven by Ida. I was pleased 

 at his putting out his arms to me as soon as he saw me and 

 trotting about the room quite tame. . . . 



I have been reading Frank's notes on F., and I am quite 

 delighted with them. The picture is so minute and exact 

 that it is like a written photograph, and so full of tender 

 observation on Frank's part. The whole picture makes me 

 feel astonished at myself that I can make out a cheerful 

 life after losing him. He filled so much space with his 

 interest, sympathy and graciousness, besides his love under- 

 lying and pervading all. I think Frank has done so wisely 

 in writing down everything. I wrote a little note to him, 

 as I knew I should break down in telling him what I ... 



SPRINGFIELD, CAMBRIDGE, Friday [Feb. S3]. 



Well, our dinner was most elegant. The soup was univer- 

 sally admired after the company went. It was all pleasant 

 and easy but what a difference I now feel in company talk. 

 I used sometimes to feel that it was too impersonal for my 

 taste; but now it is utter gossip from first to last, and you 

 feel such a want of a real interest coming out through the 

 merriment that used to be so delightful. . . . 



