The details which can be traced in Julie’s letters after undergoing the removal of her tonsils read very much like extracts from Madam Liberality’s biography.  During my sister’s last illness she spoke about this episode, and said she looked back with surprise at the courage she had exercised in going to London alone, and staying with friends for the operation.  Happily, like Madam Liberality, she too earned a reward in the relief which she appreciated so keenly; for, after this event, quinsies became things of the past to her, and she had them no more.

On April 14, 1863, she wrote—­

“MY DEAREST MOTHER,—­I could knock my head off when I think that I am to blame for not being able to send you word yesterday of the happy conclusion of this affair!! * * I cannot apologize enough, but assure you I punished myself by two days’ suspense (a letter had been misdirected to the surgeon which delayed his visit).  I did intend to have asked if I might have spent a trifle with the flower-man who comes to the door here, and bring home a little adornment to my flower-box as a sugar-plum after my operation * * now I feel I do not deserve it, but perhaps you will be merciful!

“It was a tiresome operation—­so choking!  He (Mr. Smith, the surgeon) was about an hour at it.  He was more kind and considerate than can be expressed; when he went I said to him, ’I am very much obliged to you, first for telling me the truth, and secondly for waiting for me.’  For when I got ‘down in the mouth,’ he waited, and chatted till I screwed up my courage again.  He said, ’When people are reasonable it is barbarous to hurry them, and I said you were that when I first saw you.’”

     April 16, 1863.  “Thank you so much for letting me bring home a
     flower or two!  I do love them so much.”

As Julie emerged from the nursery and began to take an interest in our village neighbours, her taste for “projects” was devoted to their interests.  It was her energy that established a Village Library in 1859, which still remains a flourishing institution; but all her attempts were not crowned with equal success.  She often recalled, with great amusement, how, the first day on which she distributed tracts as a District Visitor, an old lady of limited ideas and crabbed disposition called in the evening to restore the tract which had been lent to her, remarking that she had brought it back and required no more, as—­“My ’usband does not attend the public-’ouse, and we’ve no unrewly children!”

My sister gave a series of Lessons[6] on the Liturgy in the day-school, and on Sunday held a Class for Young Women at the Vicarage, because she was so often prevented by attacks of quinsy from going out to school; indeed, at this time, as the mother of some of her ex-pupils only lately remarked, “Miss Julie were always cayling.”