The secret of success
"The world saw little of her during these latter years. She lived her life in quiet places, among the trees and flowers in which she delighted, within sight and sound of the ever-changing sea. During these spring months her thoughts had dwelt much on that other world and the mysteries that await us there. She spoke of it often, and expressed to me more than once what seemed rather a curious wish—curious because one so rarely meets it—to sit at a table with learned divines, as she called them, and to hear them discuss together the great matters of God and man, life and death, things present and things to come. She had a most intense desire to know better that Power that holds us and shapes our ends. She wanted to see His work more plainly that she might adore Him more perfectly. She longed to discern His will that she might do it with a ready heart. And, as she talked of all this, deep reverence and great wistfulness came into her voice. She wished so much to understand. Well, she has passed through the Valley now. She has climbed above the mists that hang so closely around human life. She has come out into the light—the light that never was on sea or land—before which all the shadows flee away.
"So we think of her, so we give thanks for her to-day. Men differ much in their ideas of success. For myself, there is one definition that I like very much: 'He has achieved success who has lived long, laughed often, and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the affection of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world a little better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy or by a perfect poem or by a saintly soul; who was looking always for the best in others, and was trying always to give the best he had.' So much of that is true of her whom we commemorate. And we follow her now with our earnest prayers into that state of life into which it has pleased God to call her."
After the end many treasured letters came to me about her. One was written by the Queen, and sent to me by hand; my wife for many years had been given the honour of writing direct to Her Majesty.
From all the letters I will only quote a few words written by a friend:
"Your loss is indeed great, and the world is poorer by the loss of a brilliant personality. Nobody has ever given greater pleasure to thousands and thousands than she did. Let me tell you a little incident. The first time you and Lady Bancroft came to us in Belgrave Square was one day when my mother was alive; she died forty years ago, so you will not recollect it. At the time she was very ill, very depressed, and scarcely ever smiled. After you and your wife left, my mother turned to me and said: 'What a wonderful woman! She has made my sad heart like a bright garden.'"
"Mary's Place"
I will end by telling of an episode which occurred on the day the old Prince of Wales's Theatre was launched on its eventful career, which, as it happily chanced, was a success from start to finish. The incidents may have interest for the superstitious and afford amusement to the sceptic. My wife's mother was too nervous to attend the first performance, and a married daughter took her for a country drive to distract her anxious thoughts. They followed the road leading to Willesden, then quite rural. All kinds of subjects were begun, to no purpose; the mother's mind was in the little theatre. "Mary"—my wife was christened Marie, but Mrs. Wilton called her Mary—"has always been so fortunate; she seems to have lived a charmed life, but her luck may desert her now, and I am always wondering and dreaming, Emma, what may be the end of this brave but dangerous enterprise." As the words left the mother's lips a corner in the road was reached, and suddenly their eyes encountered a little block of stone with an inscription upon it let into the wall of a row of humble houses facing them. The inscription was: "Mary's Place, Fortune Gate." It seemed like an answer, a prophecy, and it comforted Mrs. Wilton's anxious wonderings.