It was a large and comfortable house, very pleasantly
furnished, with a big garden. His father died in the early years of
the marriage, and left him a good income; with the proceeds of his
books he was a comparatively wealthy man. His wife was one of those
people who have a serene and unaffected interest in human beings.
She was a religious woman, but her relations with others were
rather based on the purest kindliness and sympathy. She knew every
one in the place, and, having no touch of shyness, she went in and
out among their poorer neighbours, the trusted friend and
providence of numerous families; but she had not in the least what
is called a parochial mind. She had no touch of the bustling and
efficient Lady Bountiful. The simple people she visited were her
friends and neighbours, not her patients and dependents. She was
simply an overflowing fountain of goodness, and it was a natural to
her to hurry to a scene of sorrow and suffering as it is for most
people to desire to stay away. My friend himself had not the same
taste; it was always rather an effort to him to accommodate himself
to people in a different way of life; but it ought to be said that
he was universally liked and respected for his quiet courtesy and
simplicity, and fully as much for his own sake as for that of his
wife.
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