thetically the power
of the emotions with which he was struggling.

Two severe losses marked the year 1888. Maine died on February 3. The
old friendship had lost none of its warmth; and Fitzjames had frequently
enjoyed visits to the lodge at Trinity Hall, where Maine, as master,
presided over the Christmas gatherings. Fitzjames commemorated his
friend by an article in the 'Saturday Review.[196] In a warm eulogy, he
praises the 'clearness and sobriety of Maine's generalisations as well
as their intrinsic probability,' and declares that the books were
written 'as if by inspiration.' Maine, he says, was equally brilliant as
a journalist, as a statesman, and as a thinker. Fitzjames speaks, though
a little restrained by his usual reserve, of the 'brotherly intimacy of
forty years, never interrupted by a passing cloud'; and ends by saying
that there are 'persons to whom the world can never have the same aspect
again as when Maine lived in it.' It had been a great pleasure, I may
add, that he had been able to appoint one of his friend's sons, who died
soon after the father, to a clerkship of assize on the South Wales
circuit.

In the autumn Maine was followed by Venables. Fitzjames paid an annual
visit to the house where Venables lived with his brother at Llysdinam,
on the border of Radnorshire. He often mentions in his letters the
filial affection with which he regarded Venables. In the previous year
(1887) he had an opportunity of expressing this more directly than
usual. One of Venables' friends, Mr. Pember, had suggested that they
might show their affection by presenting a stained glass window to a
church which Venables had built. Fitzjames took up the plan warmly, and
with the help of a few other friends carried out the scheme. When it was
made known to Venables, who of course was much gratified, Fitzjames
wrote to him a letter (August 1, 1887) of which I quote the important
part. 'I found your letter on my return from the country this morning.
You are quite right in thinking that I did say a great deal less than I
meant. I feel shy in putting into quite plain words what I feel about
you; but I do not like such things to prevent me from saying just once
that I like you, honour you, and respect and admire you more than almost
any man I ever knew. For nearer forty than thirty years you have been to
me a sort of spiritual and intellectual uncle or elder brother, and my
feelings about you have constantly grown and strengthen