Many stories of her young days we heard from our mother. They were different in many ways from our own happy and athletic childhood. It is true that, like ourselves, she belonged to a family of six brothers and sisters, who had merry times together. But the great misfortune of losing her mother shadowed her young life. Aunt Eliza Cutler (afterward Mrs. Francis), who took, as far as she was able, the latter’s place, was most conscientious in fulfilling her duties. But she was very strict with her young charges. Witness the story of the little girl whom Julia invited to tea. After this rash act her courage completely failed her. She did not dare bring her visitor down-stairs, and sat miserably waiting the course of events. The delay seemed to her interminable, but at length a message was sent up, coldly inviting “Miss Ward,” as she was called even in childhood, to bring her friend down to tea. She never repeated the offense. Our mother was very fond of her grandmother Cutler, who spent the last years of her life under her son-in-law’s roof. She was a woman of literary tastes as well as of personal charm. The niece of General Francis Marion, the “Swamp Fox,” Grandma Cutler possessed a goodly share of spirit. Thus when Wemyss, the biographer of Washington and Marion, dined at the home of Grandfather Ward, Mrs. Cutler took the careless historian to task: “Mr. Wemyss, how is it that you say in your _Life_ of the General that you have never heard what became of his sister Esther, my mother?” The old lady was a flaming Huguenot, as her letters show. I fear that, despite the fact that she had been a belle in the Revolutionary period, she took snuff. Our mother told us that the Ward family carriage was in the habit of stopping at “Lorillard’s,” then a small tobacco-shop, to buy great-grandmother’s favorite brand—this, if I remember aright, was Maccaboy. In our mother’s story of her early life the dominating figure was that of her father, Samuel Ward, the third of the name. She fully recognized his great affection for his children and his almost painful desire to shield them from all evil. Evidently to Grandfather Ward “the world, the flesh, and the devil” were not outworn features of a half-forgotten creed, but dreadful realities. He was as liberal in giving money to good causes as he was illiberal in his religious views. During a period of hard times (perhaps in 1837), he suggested to our mother that they should take care of the conservatory themselves, sending away the gardener. “For I will not cut down my charities,” quoth Grandfather Ward.