ze this fact we shall see how close
her connection with it was, and cease to wonder that the Magazine
should end after her death.

Those who lived with my sister have no difficulty in tracing
likenesses between some of the characters in her books, and many whom
she met in real life; but let me say, once for all, that she never
drew "portraits" of people, and even if some of us now and then caught
glimpses of ourselves under the clothing she had robed us in, we only
felt ashamed to think how unlike we really were to the glorified
beings whom she put before the public.

Still less did she ever do with her pen, what an artistic family of
children used to threaten to do with their pencils when they were
vexed with each other, namely, to "draw you ugly."

It was one of the strongest features in my sister's character that she
"received but what she gave," and threw such a halo of sympathy and
trust round all with whom she came in contact, that she seemed to see
them "with larger other eyes than ours," and treated them accordingly.
On the whole, I am sure this was good in its results, though the pain
occasionally of awakening to disappointment was acute; but she
generally contrived to cover up the wound with some new shoot of Hope.
On those in whom she trusted I think her faith acted favourably. I
recollect one friend whose conscience did not allow him to rest quite
easy under the rosy light through which he felt he was viewed, saying
to her: "It's the trust that such women as you repose in us men, which
makes us desire to become more like what you believe us to be."

If her universal sympathy sometimes led her to what we might hastily
consider "waste her time" on the petty interests and troubles of
people who appeared to us unworthy, what were we that we should blame
her? The value of each soul is equal in God's sight; and when the
books are opened there may be more entries than we now can count of
hearts comforted, self-respect restored, and souls raised by her help
to fresh love and trust in God,--ay, even of old sins and deeds of
shame turned into rungs on the ladder to heaven by feet that have
learned to tread the evil beneath them. It was this well-spring of
sympathy in her which made my sister rejoice as she did in the
teaching of the now Chaplain-General, Dr. J.C. Edghill, when he was
yet attached to the iron church in the South Camp, Aldershot. "He
preaches the gospel of Hope," she said--hope that is in the latent