‘She rarely “preached” to one. I should say she rather suggested little things that somehow were never forgotten. The letter I, for example—when written with a capital letter—called for playful comment. Up to the last I would often count in a fearful manner the all too plentiful I’s in my letters to her....
‘My father remembers “Sister Char” as the life and soul of their nursery circle in Portland Place,—how in the gardens close by she used to lead their glees and songs.... We knew what a great hand Auntie Char was at games of all kinds. No one could play like her. She seemed far younger than any child present, and was quite an enthusiast in them, as in everything she undertook. No one could play half-heartedly with her....
‘Auntie Char had a wonderful way of strengthening and encouraging one to open out one’s heart to her, and a great and rare capacity for putting herself in “her neighbour’s shoes.”[20] It was during a visit to us, in the May of 1875, that she acquired the pet name of “Fairy Frisket,”—the name of one of her own works,—owing to her marvellous activity. She would come home after a long day’s walking, and run lightly upstairs, faster than we young ones cared to do. In many of her letters to me from India she playfully alludes to this pet name.’
III.
‘She never seemed to care a bit to receive any praise for her books, and she never let writing interfere with any family duties. She was wonderfully sweet-tempered, but there was no weakness in her sweetness. If others were inconsiderate to her, I never saw her resent it.... Her unconscious influence was, I believe, much larger than she has ever dreamed. She was more utterly regardless of personal ease and comfort than any one I ever knew, but was ever ready to praise others....
‘My aunt had a guitar on which she enjoyed playing as far back as I can remember, and on which she used to play to us with much animation and impressiveness, singing to her own accompaniment; but I never remember her playing to herself for her own personal amusement. One of her songs I do not remember hearing from any one else. The refrain in each verse was—“Till green leaves come again.” ... Another song that she sang took my fancy,—I believe it was an old-fashioned one in MS.,—and she at once copied it for me, making time to do so amid the many things occupying her at the time. Most people would have let me copy it for myself, as I was quite a girl and had plenty of leisure; but she never seemed to do things like other people....
‘Nothing that I can say would explain how beautifully unselfish she was, how utterly regardless of herself, and thoughtful for others. She was one of the few whom one could most truly call noble, and yet so sweetly humble. I mourn her irreparable loss all the more for the long parting since she left us for the Mission-field abroad.’