iably sat by him at breakfast, and when the children went
in to dessert it was Bessie who sat by his side and poured out his glass
of wine. "How do you know when it is full?" some one asked. "By the
weight," she replied. The father, we may be sure, was training her in
the transfer of the work of one sense to another, and helping her to
supplement the lost eyesight by touch and sound, raising her up to the
level of other children; and his initiative was followed in the family.

A special tie between the father and his blind child was always
recognised. If any favour was to be asked it was Bessie who was sent to
the father, and also if any difficulty arose amongst the children they
would say, "We will tell Bessie," "We will ask Bessie."

There seems to have been no jealousy of her influence, no opposition to
it. The sisters thought it her right to be first, and looked upon it as
a great distinction, honour, and privilege to have a blind sister. It
was their part to make her feel as little as possible the difference
between herself and them, and to help her to be as independent as they
were. She was taught to dress herself unaided as early as the other
children. She was full of fun, and enjoyed a romping game; she would
much rather risk being knocked over than allow any one to lead her by
the hand when they were all at play. She was passionate as a child,
liable to sudden violent outbursts of anger; and as there were a good
many passionate children together, she was quite as often mixed up in a
quarrel as any of the others.

One incident remembered against her was that at seven or eight years old
she seized one of the high schoolroom chairs and hurled it, or intended
to do so, at a governess who had offended her. Another was that when she
was somewhat younger, at the close of their daily walk, she and a little
sister hurried on to enjoy the luxury of ringing the front door bell. It
was just out of reach, and the little girls on tiptoe were straining to
get at it. An undergraduate, passing by, thought to do them a kindness
and pulled the bell. Bessie stamped with anger, and turned upon him a
little blind passionate face: "Why did you do it? You knew I wanted to
ring."

"A most affectionate nature, unselfish, generous, but passionate and
obstinate; so obstinate no one could turn her from the thing she had
resolved on," says one of the sisters.

In after life we find a temper under perfect control, and a will
developed a