though she had to summon her soul from far to do rightful service to the ear; and her answers were so invariably coloured by this circumstance that not seldom they appeared to the listener start- ling and enigmatic. But all who knew her can understand this now, and understand too, how in her poems, the discipline of pain and the pleasantness of death hold such a place. The in- visible hand stretched forth from the darkness, say rather from the excess of light, was near her, and she wrote always under the consciousness of this. She bravely hid her sufferings that the innocent enjoyment of others might be unshadowed by her pain; and though she treated little trials lightly, no one could have been warmer, more considerate, or have shown more womanly wile in her ways of giving sympathy when sympathy was really needed. She might have used in reference to herself the words she put into the mouth of another —
"'Human by birthright of pain, and free of the guild of woe;
Tender by thorns in the heart, so that our kindred may trust me;
Dropping not gall, but balm, as you did, where'er I go.'"
What follows calls for little comment. It will be better to let it tell its own tale.
She vindicates her adherence to her nom de plume: —
" I am willing to appear quite anonymously, and I would yield altogether to your reasoning were ' Sadie ' only a nom de plume; but the name, self-given they say in baby-days, has so grown with me, has become so literally a part of me, that I could lose both the others with less sacrifice of identity. In fact, I am Sadie or nobody, which it shall be I leave to you." ***** "Thanks for the query about my own name. It is more comfortable to know how to address people; but I suppose most of
