It is difficult for a son to write impartially of his mother.  My mother’s character was a blend of extreme simplicity and great dignity, with a limitless gift of sympathy for others.  I can say with perfect truth that, throughout her life, she succeeded in winning the deep love of all those who were brought into constant contact with her.  Very early in life she fell under the influence of the Evangelical movement, which was then stirring England to its depths, and she throughout her days remained faithful to its tenets.  It could be said of her that, though, in the world, she was not of the world.  Owing to force of circumstances, she had at times to take her position in the world, and no one could do it with greater dignity, or more winning grace; but the atmosphere of London, both physical and social, was distasteful to her.  She had an idea that the smoke-laden London air affected her lungs, and, apart from the pleasure of seeing the survivors of the very intimate circle of friends of her young days, London had few attractions for her; all her interests were centred in the country, in country people, and country things.  Although deeply religious, her religion had no gloom about it, for her inextinguishable love of a joke, and irrepressible sense of fun, remained with her to the end of her life, and kept her young in spite of her ninety-three years.  From the commencement of her married life, my mother had been in the habit of “visiting” in the village twice a week, and in every cottage she was welcomed as a friend, for in addition to her gift of sympathy, she had a memory almost as tenacious as my father’s, and remembered the names of every one of the cottagers’ children, knew where they were employed, and whom they had married.  With the help of her maid, my mother used to compound a cordial, bottles of which she distributed amongst the cottagers, a cordial which gained an immense local reputation.  The ingredients of this panacea were one part of strong iron-water to five parts of old whisky, to which sal-volatile, red lavender, cardamoms, ginger, and other warming drugs were added.  “Her Grace’s bottle,” as it was invariably termed, achieved astonishing popularity, and the most marvellous cures were ascribed to it.  I have sometimes wondered whether its vogue would have been as great had the whisky been eliminated from its composition.  In her home under the Sussex downs, amidst the broad stretches of heather-clad common, the beautiful Tudor stone-built old farm-houses, and the undulating woodlands of that most lovable and typically English county, she continued, to the end of her life, visiting amongst her less fortunate neighbours, and finding friends in every house.  Her immense vitality and power of entering into the sorrows and enjoyments of others, led at times to developments very unexpected in the case of one so aged.  For instance, a small great-nephew of mine had had a pair of stilts given him.  The boy was clumsy at learning to use them, and my mother,