He was the finest-looking man that I ever saw, except old Lord Wemyss, [Footnote:  The Earl of Wemyss and March, father of the present Earl.] the late Lord Pembroke, Mr. Wilfrid Blunt and Lord D’Abernon.  He had been introduced to my sister Charty at a ball in London, when he was twenty-one and she eighteen.  A brother-officer of his in the Rifle Brigade, seeing them waltzing together, asked him if she was his sister, to which he answered: 

“No, thank God!”

I was twelve when he first came to Glen as Thomas Lister:  his fine manners, perfect sense of humour and picturesque appearance captivated every one; and, whether you agreed with him or not, he had a perfectly original point of view and was always interested and suggestive.  He never misunderstood but thoroughly appreciated my father. ...

Continuing from my diary: 

“My papa was a character-part; and some people never understood character-parts.

“None of his children are really like him; yet there are resemblances which are interesting and worth noting.

“Charty on the whole resembles him most.  She has his transparent simplicity, candour, courage laid want of self-control; but she is the least selfish woman I know and the least self-centred.  She is also more intolerant and merciless in her criticisms of other people, and has a finer sense of humour.  Papa loved things of good report and never believed evil of any one.  He had a rooted objection to talking lightly of other people’s lives; he was not exactly reverent, but a feeling of kindly decent citizenship prevented him from thinking or speaking slightingly of other people.

“Lucy has Papa’s artistic and generous side, but none of his self-confidence or decisiveness; all his physical courage, but none of his ambition.

“Eddy has his figure and deportment, his sense of justice and emotional tenderness, but none of his vitality, impulse or hope.  Jack has his ambition and push, keenness and self-confidence; but he is not so good-humoured in a losing game.  Frank has more of his straight tongue and appreciation of beautiful things, but none of his brains.

“I think I had more of Papa’s moral indignation and daring than the others; and physically there were great resemblances between us:  otherwise I do not think I am like him.  I have his carriage, balance and activity—­being able to dance, skip and walk on a rope—­and I have inherited his hair and sleeplessness, nerves and impatience; but intellectually we look at things from an entirely different point of view.  I am more passionate, more spiritually perplexed and less self-satisfied.  I have none of his powers of throwing things off.  I should like to think I have a little of his generosity, humanity and kindly toleration, some of his fundamental uprightness and integrity, but when everything has been said he will remain a unique man in people’s memory.”

Writing now, fourteen years later, I do not think that I can add much to this.