The wit, humor, irony, and sarcasm of these letters all combine to reveal a remarkable soul and rare personality. For twenty years she was a true, steadfast, resourceful, sympathetic helpmate to Samuel Butler. He accepted her amatory homage and her literary co-operation, and she might legitimately have inferred from his letters that she was somatically as well as spiritually sympathetic. Many women have convinced themselves that their passion was reciprocated by men who gave less tangible evidence of it than Samuel Butler gave Miss Savage. That she loved him there can be no doubt, but her unæsthetic appearance appalled him, her halting stride annoyed him, and her loving attentions bored him. Some years after her death he composed two sonnets to her memory, the first exquisitely vulgar, the second painfully pathetic. "She was too kind, wooed too persistently, Wrote moving letters to me day by day; The more she wrote, the more unmoved was I, The more she gave, the less could I repay, Therefore I grieve not that I was not loved But that, being loved, I could not love again. I liked; but like and love are far removed; Hard though I tried to love I tried in vain. For she was plain and lame and fat and short, Forty and over-kind. Hence it befell That, though I loved her in a certain sort, Yet did I love too wisely but not well. Ah! had she been more beauteous or less kind She might have found me of another mind. "And now, though twenty years are come and gone, That little lame lady's face is with me still; Never a day but what, on every one, She dwells with me as dwell she ever will. She said she wished I knew not wrong from right; It was not that; I knew, and would have chosen Wrong if I could, but, in my own despite, Power to choose wrong in my chilled veins was frozen. 'Tis said that if a woman woo, no man Should leave her till she have prevailed; and, true, A man will yield for pity if he can, But if the flesh rebels what can he do? I could not; hence I grieve my whole life long The wrong I did in that I did no wrong." Her memory deserves a better fate than interment in Mr. Jones's huge mausoleum. The third of Samuel Butler's distinguishing characteristics was that he was incapable of falling in love with any one but himself.