48 MEMOIR OP ALFEED SMEE. [Chap. V. 



this woman get her own livelihood? He accordingly accosted 

 her, and asked her, Why did she always sit there doing nothing? 

 Why did she not sell newspapers to the passers-by, and thereby 

 earn something instead of begging. It was a good position for 

 that purpose, for the house was a corner one, in a busy and 

 frequented part of the city of London. " Alas," replied the poor 

 woman, " I have no money to get the newspapers, and nobody 

 will give me credit." " If that is all," said my father, " take this 

 sovereign, and get some newspapers, and let me see you to- 

 morrow selling them." The woman did so, and for many years 

 she might have been observed at the same corner, selling her 

 stock of papers, and looking much happier than when she solicited 

 alms of the passers-by. She is now dead — having died of old 

 age. I doubt not that sovereign given her in that manner 

 enabled her to end her days in more comfort, and certainly 

 with greater happiness. For her little business throve every 

 year more and more ; indeed, it must have become a capital 

 speculation, for after her death another old woman appeared 

 carrying on the same business. 



Many instances similar to the above might be enumerated to 

 show my father's beneficence. After his death, how many of the 

 poor came to tell his faftiily that they, too, mourned his loss — 

 that they, too, had indeed lost a true friend ! 



From Alfred Smee's genial and social disposition it may be 

 inferred that he loved society, and shone in it. Much as my 

 father liked being in society, yet never could he tolerate the 

 London season being in the spring and summer months, when 

 the country was looking its best. For no sooner did the 

 flowers begin to bloom, the trees to push forward their buds, 

 and the birds to warble their melodious songs, than his soul 

 panted to be amidst such scenes, rather than in hot ill- ventilated 

 rooms during the lovely months of May, June, and July. Why 

 the season could not be in winter, when people would more 

 enjoy social intercourse in warm rooms than they could in hot 

 weather, he never could understand. He was not a fox-hunter 

 himself, and perhaps had not sufficient sympathy with the par- 

 takers of that sport, and, therefore, he could not appreciate the 

 -motives for persons preferring the country in the winter to the 

 summer. 



My father's mode of reading was cursory. He had a peculiar 

 facility in seizing at once what was valuable in any book without 

 perusing it from beginning to end. He would read philosophic 



