onderful。　After　half　a　century　of　banging　added　to　their　ordinary　wear；　they　are　as　good　as　when　they　were　made。　We　do　not　see　such　joinery　nowadays。

Considered　as　a　whole　it　would　have　been　difficult　to　find　a　more　jovial　party　than　we　were　at　Bradenham　in　the　days　of　my　youth；　especially　when　my　father　was　in　a　good　mood。　The　noise　of　course　was　tremendous；　because　everybody　had　plenty　to　say　and　was　fully　determined　that　it　should　not　be　hidden　from　the　world。　In　the　midst　of　all　this　hubbub　sat　my　dearest　mother　—　like　an　angel　that　had　lost　her　way　and　found　herself　in　pandemonium。　Not　being　blest　with　the　Haggard　voice；　though　she　had　a　very　sweet　one　of　her　own；　often　and　often　she　was　reduced　to　the　necessity　of　signifying　her　wishes　by　signs。　Indeed　it　became　a　habit　of　hers；　if　she　needed　the　salt　or　anything　else；　to　point　to　it；　and　beckon　it　towards　her。　One　of　her　daughters…inlaw　once　asked　my　mother　how　on　earth　she　made　herself　heard　in　the　midst　of　so　much　noise　at　table。

“My　dear；”　she　answered；　“I　whisper！　When　I　whisper　they　all　stop　talking；　because　they　wonder　what　is　the　matter。　Then　I　get　my　chance。”

Here　I　will　try　to　give　some　description　of　this　mother　with　whom　we　were　blest。　Twenty…two　years　have　passed　since　she　left　us；　but　I　can　say　honestly　that　every　one　of　those　years　has　brought　me　to　a　deeper　appreciation　of　her　beautiful　character。　Indeed　she　seems　to　be　much　nearer　to　me　now　that　she　is　dead　than　she　was　while　she　still　lived。　It　is　as　though　our　intimacy　and　mutual　understanding　has　grown　in　a　way　as　real　as　it　is　mysterious。　Someone　says　that　the　dead　are　never　dead　to　us　until　they　are　forgotten；　and　if　that　be　so；　in　my　case　my　mother　lives　indeed。　No　night　goes　by　that　I　do　not　think　of　her　and　pray　that　w