d, and unaffected. He was
greatly beloved by children and young people. I wrote the other day to a
lady, at whose father's house he was a frequent visitor, asking for her
recollections of him; and the reply is so pleasant and graphic, that,
without her permission, I shall quote it verbatim:

"When he dined with papa it was always a 'gentlemen's' party, and
only mamma dined with them. We used to see the visitors at dessert
only. I remember Mr. Gillott as always being very cheery in manner,
with a kind smile; and few words. As children, when we went to
dancing parties at his house, he would come during the evening, with
a few old friends (the fathers of the children assembled), and,
standing in the door of the drawing-room, pat the children on the
head and have a little joke with them as they passed him. He would
stay for about half-an-hour or so, and then return with his friends
down-stairs to smoke. I have heard papa, who, as you know, was no
mean judge, say what a remarkably quick ear Mr. Gillott had for
music. When they had been together to hear a new opera, he, on his
return home, would whistle correctly the greater portion of the
music, having only heard it once."

Personally, Mr. Gillott was rather short, and was of broad and sturdy
build. He had a remarkably firm step, and there was a rhythmic
regularity in his footfall. He was fond of light attire, and generally
wore a white hat. There was an air of freshness in his appearance that
was very pleasant, and he had such a remarkably clean look that I have
often thought that _his_ cleanliness was something _positive_, something
more than the mere absence of dirt. He had a curious way, as he walked,
of looking dreamily upon the ground a few yards in front of him, and
when anyone met him his eye would rise with a kind of jerk; then with a
piercing glance he would intently, for a moment only, "take stock" of
the passer by, and drop his eyes again.

For the last two or three years of his life he was haunted by a fear of
impending blindness. The thought of being shut out from the sight of his
pictures caused him much gloomy apprehension. Happily, his fears were
not realised. He retained his sight and other faculties unimpaired until
his death. On the 26th of December, 1872, he, in accordance with his
annual Christmas custom, assembled all his family to dinner, at his
house in Westbourne Road, and in his kindly, affe