one peculiarity which I shall not exemplify
by quotations. There are some feelings, as I find my father observing in
one of his own letters, which it is desirable 'rather to intimate than
to utter.' Among them many people, I think, would be inclined to reckon
their tender affections for members of their own family. They would
rather cover their strongest emotions under some veil of indirect
insinuation, whether of playful caress or ironical depreciation, than
write them down in explicit and unequivocal assertions. That, however,
was not Fitzjames's style in any case. His words were in all cases as
straightforward and downright as if he were giving evidence upon oath.
If he thinks ill of a man, he calls him bluntly a 'scoundrel' or 'a poor
creature,' and when he speaks of those who were nearest and dearest to
him he uses language of corresponding directness and energy. This method
had certainly an advantage when combined with unmistakable sincerity.
There could be no sort of doubt that he meant precisely what he said, or
that he was obeying the dictates of one of the warmest of hearts. But
point-blank language of this kind seems to acquire a certain impropriety
in print. I must ask my readers, therefore, to take it for granted that
no mother could have received more genuine assurances of the love of a
son; and that his other domestic affections found utterance with all the
strength of his masculine nature. 'I think myself,' as he sums up his
feelings on one occasion, 'the richest and happiest man in the world in
one of the greatest elements of richness and happiness'--that is, in the
love of those whom he loves. That was his abiding conviction, but I
shall be content with the general phrase.

One other topic must be just touched. His daughter Rosamond was at this
time an infant, just learning to speak, and was with her mother at Simla
in both summers, where also his youngest daughter, Dorothea, was born in
1871. Many of the letters to his mother are filled with nursery
anecdotes intended for a grandmother's private reading, and certainly
not to be repeated here. I mention the fact, however, because it was
really significant. When his elder children were in the nursery,
Fitzjames had seen comparatively little of them, partly because his
incessant work took him away from home during their waking hours, and
partly because he had not been initiated into the charm of infantile
playfulness, while, undoubtedly, his natural stiff