She always spoke to and of my mother as "mammy." What she was to her own daughter I have already said.

There was somewhat of the tendency towards "spoiling," which is mostly inseparable from the adoration which a young mother, of the right sort, feels for her firstborn child, but she never made any attempt to avert or counteract my endeavours to prevent such spoiling.

When little Bice had to be punished by solitary confinement for half an hour, she only watched anxiously for the expiration of the sentence.[1] [Footnote 1: I do not remember that little Bice ever consoled herself under the disgrace of such captivity as my present wife has confessed to me that she did when suffering under the same condemnation.

_Her_ method of combining the maintenance of personal dignity with revenge on the oppressor, was to say to the first person who came to take her out of prison: "No! you can't come into _my_ parlour!"] But that her worth, her talent, her social qualities, were recognised by a wider world than that of her own family, or her own circle of friends, is testified by the recording stone, which the Municipality placed on my house at the corner of the Piazza dell' Independenza, where it may still be seen.

Indeed the honour was not undeserved.