306 
Charles B. Goring, 1870—1919 
I can see him now, settling her by the fire, bringing her a footstool, taking her 
poor, dripping shawl off her shoulders, and hanging it up to dry. We thought for 
a time she was going to die ; but she got better in a little while, and sat, un- 
complainingly, coughing ; and, when she was not coughing, smiling at the fire. 
He had to tear off to the Prison, as soon as he could leave her, through the 
frightful storm, promising to bring help for her as soon as he could leave his work. 
He returned later in the morning, with an ambulance, and an order for a 
hospital : and again now, I can see him leading her carefully through the hall, 
lifting her into the carriage, nodding at her affectionately through the doorway, as 
the carriage drove off ; and then coming back to me for a moment, before he returned 
to his work, with that same muteness, that same look of an angel's apology in 
his eyes.... 
This was Charlie absolutely — this passion of pity for suffering. In his last two 
days on earth, during the height of his delirium, one memory recurred, and haunted 
him over and over again : the memory of two little children whose case had been 
tried at the Assizes, and whose bodies he had had to examine, and had found 
marked and mutilated by the fiendish cruelty of their parents. These children he 
could not forget : he mourned and lamented them, seeing them before him in his 
fever, and calling, and calling upon us to take them, and save them 
If I had not told you this, I could not have shown you all that I meant by my 
husband's humaneness : but I do not want the last impression that I, at any rate, 
leave with you, to be one of sadness. I want it to be one of happiness : because he 
was really an extraordinarily happy man. He was happy chiefly because of his 
nature and character, of course ; but, also, he was fortunate. He had got the things 
he most wanted in life. He never had any worldly ambitions at all. He had always 
wanted three things : first, freedom to live a life of the intellect — of observation, 
and of criticism ; and this he was able very largely to do, in spite of the fact that 
he also had to earn our living. And, secondly, he wanted Friendship : and he had 
Friendship. And, thirdly, he wanted Romantic Love : and he had Romantic Love. 
The things he wanted and hoped for when he was young, he found, and still wanted 
when he was middle-aged. And when he died at forty-nine, he took with him 
enthusiasms as eager as they were when he was twenty-five. 
I will say no more except to read you the inscription that I shall be putting over 
the place where his ashes will lie. 
For a great many years, I have had in my mind a line of words whose music and 
meaning I very much liked. I only vaguely knew where it came from. It corre- 
sponded to the Christian triad : " Faith, Hope, and Charity " ; and it ran thus ; 
" Love, Pity, and Equanimity." 
During the last few days, when I was wanting to find something beautiful, and 
expressive of him, to put in words above my husband's grave, I thought of this line 
again : and I have found out that it comes from a Buddhist Sutta. I am not very 
clear what a " Sutta " is ? but I think it means a " Gospel." This particular Sutta, 
