In the intervals of wringing out hot flannels for her quinsy she would amuse herself by devising a desert island expedition, on a larger and possibly a damper scale than hitherto, against the time when she should be out again.

     It is a very old simile, but Madam Liberality really was like a
     cork rising on the top of the very wave of ill-luck that had
     swallowed up her hopes.

     Her little white face and undaunted spirit bobbed up after each
     mischance or malady as ready and hopeful as ever.

Some of the indoor amusements over which Julie exercised great influence were our theatricals.  Her powers of imitation were strong; indeed, my mother’s story of “Joachim the Mimic” was written, when Julie was very young, rather to check this habit which had early developed in her.  She always took what may be called the “walking gentleman’s” part in our plays.  Miss Corner’s Series came first, and then Julie was usually a Prince; but after we advanced to farces, her most successful character was that of the commercial traveller, Charley Beeswing, in “Twenty Minutes with a Tiger.”  “Character” parts were what she liked best to take, and in later years, when aiding in private theatricals at Aldershot Camp, the piece she most enjoyed was “Helping Hands,” in which she acted Tilda, with Captain F.G.  Slade, R.A., as Shockey, and Major Ewing as the blind musician.

The last time she acted was at Shoeburyness, where she was the guest of her friends Colonel and Mrs. Strangways, and when Captain Goold-Adams and his wife also took part in the entertainment.  The terrible news of Colonel Strangways’ and Captain Goold-Adams’ deaths from the explosion at Shoebury in February 1885, reached her whilst she was very ill, and shocked her greatly; though she often alluded to the help she got from thinking of Colonel Strangways’ unselfishness, courage, and submission during his last hours, and trying to bear her own sufferings in the same spirit.  She was so much pleased with the description given of his grave being lined with moss and lilac crocuses, that when her own had to be dug it was lined in a similar way.

But now let us go back to her in the Nursery, and recall how, in spite of very limited pocket-money, she was always the presiding Genius over birthday and Christmas-tree gifts; and the true ‘St. Nicholas’ who filled the stockings that the “little ones” tied, in happy confidence, to their bed-posts.  Here the description must be quoted of Madam Liberality’s struggles between generosity and conscientiousness;—­

It may seem strange that Madam Liberality should ever have been accused of meanness, and yet her eldest brother did once shake his head at her and say, “You’re the most meanest and the generousest person I ever knew!” And Madam Liberality wept over the accusation, although her brother was then too young to form either his words or his opinions correctly.