Richard Curran, who took pains to send that broken letter to a woman who valued it above fine gold, was always a good brother. Concerning his dear Sarah he had to be reticent, too, in reticent company. A lady who knew W. Henry Curran long and well, heard him mention his youngest sister only once. They were searching for something in a garret, when an exquisite picture standing laced with cobwebs, the picture of a girl about eighteen, caught her eye. “My sister Sarah, by Romney,” Henry said shortly, seeing that he had to say something. “Family pride had been deeply hurt by the publicity attached to poor Sarah’s unfortunate love-episode.” The Romney, sold by auction when Henry Curran died, is now the property of the Hon. Gerald Ponsonby; it has been beautifully engraved for Miss Frances A. Gerard’s _Some Fair Hibernians_, 1897. The delicately powdered hair, the low frilled dress with the line of black velvet about the neck, the gracious shoulders, the purely Irish mouth and eyes, half-scornful of life, half-resigned to it, which never knew illusion, and can never know abiding joy—-these are most tenderly painted, and remain among the things one does not forget. The last word of this haunting personality shall be loyal “M.’s”:— “In person Mrs. Sturgeon was about the ordinary size, her hair and eyes black. Her complexion was fairer than is usual with black hair, and was a little freckled. Her eyes were large, soft, and brilliant, and capable of the greatest variety of expression. Her aspect in general indicated reflection, and pensive abstraction from the scene around her. Her wit was keen and playful, but chastised [_sic_]; although no one had a quicker perception of humour or ridicule. Her musical talents were of the first order: she sang with exquisite taste. I think I never heard so harmonious a voice.”